eir son,
who was a few years older. It had been decided that when Santiago was
fifteen he should go to his uncle in Mexico; which country, for the
simple inhabitants of Biscay, is still "India," and the retired
merchants who return to spend their last days in their native towns are
"Indians"--a class that often play an important part in the denouement
of Trueba's simple plots. At the beginning of the story the two children
(Santiago was nearly fifteen) had gone off to play and allowed the goats
to get into the fields. The angry father is about to punish Catalina,
who has assumed all the blame, but his wife mollifies him by reminding
him that they have received a piece of good news. Ramon good-humoredly
says, "You women always have your own way," and proceeds to tell a story
to illustrate it. We give it as an example of the popular tales that
Trueba often weaves into his stories:

"Once upon a time, when Christ went through the world healing the sick
and raising the dead, a woman came out to meet him and said to him,
seizing hold of his cloak and weeping like a Magdalen, 'Lord, do me the
favor to come and raise my husband, who died this morning.'

"'I cannot stop,' answered the Lord. 'I am going to perform a great
miracle--that is, find a good mother among the women who are fond of
bull-fights; but everything will turn out well if the ass doesn't stop.
All I can do for you is that if you take it into your head to raise your
husband, your husband will be raised.'

"And indeed the wife took it into her head that her husband must be
raised, and her husband was raised, for even the dead can't resist the
whims of women."

The good news that Ramon had received was a letter from his brother, who
wished Santiago to be sent to him by the first steamer leaving Bilbao.
It was the 15th of August, the Feast of the Assumption, when Santiago,
accompanied by his father, prepared to start for Bilbao.

"Quica, who until the moment of departure had not shed a tear, because
she had only seen her son on the way to happiness, as you saw yours,
disconsolate mother, who now see only a sepulchre in the
Americas,--Quica now wept without restraint. Poor Catalina had wept so
much for a month and a half that there were no tears left in her eyes:
she did not weep, but she felt the faintness and sorrow which the dying
must experience. Santiago's eyes were moist at times, but soon shone
with joy.

"'Come, come! You are like a lot of crying child