padre
was here at Pala to take the place of the fraile who was sick. The
beautiful church was crowded, every neophyte casting a glance now and
then at Don Manuel, who was seated in front, watching the door by which
the padre was to enter. But it was not until all had begun to wonder
what was the reason for his delay, and to grow uneasy and whisper softly
to each other, looking at the stranger as though they connected him with
some trouble about to befall the mission and their padre. For in those
days very little was necessary to stir up fears of a change all knew
might come suddenly at any time. At last the door opened, and the padre
came slowly into the church. He was pale, and looked sad and troubled,
but went through the service in his usual manner. But when he came to
the sermon, it seemed as if he could not go on. He did not take a text
from which to preach, but began at once to talk to us in his earnest,
gentle voice, saying we must look to God as our father, as one who loved
us and would guide us in all this life. Padre Peyri did not preach to us
like the fathers at other missions: he seldom said anything about hell
and the punishments waiting for us if we were wicked, but talked to us
and preached about the love of God and His Son Jesus Christ, and our
duty to them, not from fear of future punishment, but because we owed it
to them, as we owed our earthly parents love and respect. This morning
he was more than ever solemn, and before the close of his short talk,
many of his listeners had tears in their eyes. More than once he had to
stop for a moment, to regain control of his voice which, all through his
talk, trembled and sometimes was hardly above a whisper. As soon as
the service was ended, he left the church, followed quickly by the
stranger."

"I hastened from the choir and church to the padre's room to be ready at
hand in case he should want anything. He was not there, but I found him
in the patio, talking earnestly with Don Manuel, as they walked up and
down the cloister. As soon as he saw me, he told me to give orders to
have the visitor's horse ready for him immediately after dinner. I
did so, and on coming back from the large dining-room, where I told my
errand to one of the mozos, found the padre and Don Manuel just sitting
down to their own dinner. The padre ate little; but there was nothing
else to make me think that anything was wrong, and had not it been for
the night before, and the morning's ma