At the Manse.

It was seven o’clock when Brother Salvi finished his last mass. He took off his priestly robes without a word to any one.

“Look out!” whispered the sacristans; “it is going to rain fines! And all for the fault of those children!”

The father came out of the sacristy and crossed to the manse. On the porch six or seven women sat waiting for him, and a man was walking to and fro. The woman rose, and one bent to kiss his hand, but the priest made such a gesture of impatience that she stopped short.

“He must have lost a real miser,” she cried mockingly, when he had passed. “This is something unheard of: refuse his hand to the zealous Sister Rufa?”

“He was not in the confessional this morning,” said a toothless old woman, Sister Sipa. “I wanted to confess, so as to get some indulgences.”

“I have gained three plenary indulgences,” said a young woman of pleasing face, “and applied them all to the soul of my husband.”

“You have done wrong,” said Sister Rufa, “one plenary is enough; you should not squander the holy indulgences. Do as I do.”

“I said to myself, the more there are the better,” replied young sister Juana, smiling; “but what do you do?”

Sister Rufa did not respond at once; she chewed her buyo, and scanned her audience attentively; at length she decided to speak.