endeavoring to wake her, pulling her by the sleeve, thinking she had
fallen asleep, and calling her mamma. One may judge of Margarita's
surprise when the curate returned with two children on his arms.

"Santa Madre! What can this mean! What will you do in the night? We have
not even sufficient food for ourselves, and yet you bring two children. I
must go and beg from door to door, for them and ourselves. And who are
these children? The sons of a bandit--a gipsy; and worse, perhaps. Have
they ever been baptized?"

At this moment, the infant uttered a plaintive cry: "What will you do to
feed this baby? we cannot afford a nurse; we must use the bottle, and you
have no idea of the wretched nights we shall have with him."

"You will sleep in spite of all," replied the good curate.

"O! santa Maria, he cannot be more than six months old! Happily I have a
little milk here, I must warm it," and forgetting her anger, Margarita
took the infant from the priest, kissed it, and soothed it to rest. She
knelt before the fire, stirred the embers to heat the milk quicker, and
when this little one had had enough, she put him to sleep, and the other
had his turn. Whilst Margarita gave him some supper, undressed him, and
made him a bed for the night, of the priest's cloak, the good old man
related to her how he had found the children; in what manner they had
been bequeathed to him.

"O! that is fine and good," said Margarita, "but how can they and we be
fed?"

The curate took the Bible, and read aloud--

"Whosoever shall give, even a cup of cold water, to one of the least,
being a disciple; verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward."

"Amen," responded the housekeeper.

The next day, the good father ordered the burial of the poor woman, and
he himself read the service over her grave.

Twelve years from this time, the curate of San-Pedro, then seventy years
of age, was warming himself in the sun, in front of his house. It was
winter, and there had been no sunshine for two days.

Beside him stood a boy, ten or twelve years old, reading aloud the daily
prayers, and from time to time casting a look of envy on a youth of about
sixteen, tall, handsome, and muscular, who labored in the garden
adjoining that of the priest. Margarita, being now blind, was listening
attentively, when the youngest boy exclaimed, "O! what a beautiful
coach," as a splendid equipage drove up near the door.

A domestic, richly dressed, dismounted,