a when I get the new chapel built."

"Time enough to think of that, _mi padre_, when he gets strong again.
But just now all the prayers _you_ can say for him will do him no good,
and so I hope you won't put yourself to the trouble."

"_Cierto, amigo_, doctor; but don't sneer at the prayers of the Church.
They do good; they ease the soul and soothe the pangs of Purgatory."

"Ah! and how long do you expect to stop in Purgatory?"

"_Ave purissima!_ What a question to ask your pious and devout Padre
Ricardo!"

"Question the devil when you want fire," retorted the doctor, as he
opened a book lying on the table before him, and put an end to the
dialogue. His companion quietly helped himself to a measure of pure gin,
and unclasped the covers of his richly-bound missal.

Scarcely, however, had their conversation ceased, when a hoarse hum of
many voices was heard in the direction of the sheds without, mingled
with shouts in all tongues and uproarious laughter.

"_Peste!_" said the doctor, looking out of an open window; "the people
have knocked off work and are coming home to their supper. They seem to
have brought some of the crew of the felucca with them too. We shall
have a loud night of it, for the captain has sent them a pipe of wine
and a barrel of rum to carouse with."

"_Pobre citos!_ they have had a hard time of it during the summer--short
of rum, and water too, I hear, and they need refreshment and repose. So
many of my poor flock killed, too, by that savage American corvette, and
I not near to administer the last consolations and holy rite!" sighed
the padre, as he kissed the crucifix and bowed his head. "There is
Lascar Joe, too, among the missing! He refused the sacrament, infidel as
he was, the day before he sailed; but what turtle-soup he made!" The
padre hereupon sighed deeply again, but whether for the loss of the
Lascar or the soup, no one knows.

The noise without increased--the rattle of crockery, the clinking of
glasses, the moving of feet, and all the sounds of hungry, boisterous
sailors at table. Soon, too, a shout or cheer would be heard, then a
verse of a song, roars of laughter, and now and then the tinkle of a
guitar struck by vigorous fingers in waltz or fandango.

"_Merci!_" muttered the doctor, as he looked compassionately at the sick
child on the bed; "those noisy wretches will, I fear, disturb the little
boy, and it's as hot here too, padre, as the place we all are going
to."

"It _is_