funeral procession dressed in habits of guingon. The
sacristan mayor or head warden of the order made quite a little capital
by selling and giving away all those things considered necessary to
save the soul and overcome the devil.

The only enemy of this powerful soul saver, with tendencies in accord
with the times, was, as we have already stated, the alferez. The women
relate a story of how the devil tried one day to tempt Father Salvi
and how the latter caught him, tied him to the bed post, whipped
him with a lash and kept him tied fast for nine days. Thus he had
been able to conquer the devil entirely. As a result, any one who
persisted in being an enemy of the priest was generally considered a
worse man than the devil himself--an honor which the alferez alone
enjoyed. But he merited this reputation. He had a wife, an old,
powdered and painted Filipino by the name of Dona Consolacion. The
husband and several other people called her by a different name,
but that does not matter. Anyway, the alferez was accustomed to drown
the sorrows of unhappy wedlock by getting as drunk as a toper. Then,
when he was thoroughly intoxicated he would order his men to drill
in the sun, he himself remaining in the shade, or, perhaps, he would
occupy himself in beating his wife.

When her husband was dead drunk, or was snoring away in a siesta,
and Dona Consolacion could not fight with him, then, wearing a blue
flannel shirt, she would seat herself in the window, with a cigar
in her mouth. She had a dislike of children and so from her window
she would scowl and make faces at every girl that passed. The girls,
on the other hand, were afraid of her, and would hurry by at a quick
pace, never daring to raise their eyes or draw a breath. But say what
you may, Dona Consolacion had one great virtue; she was never known
to look into a mirror.

These were the leading people of San Diego.

Toward the west of San Diego, surrounded by rice fields, lies a village
of the dead. A single, narrow path, dusty on dry days, and navigable
by boats when it rains, leads thither from the town. A wooden gate,
and a fence, half stone and half bamboo, seem to separate the cemetery
from the people in the town, but not from the goats and sheep of the
parochial priest of the immediate vicinity. These animals go in and
out to rummage among the tombs or to make that solitary place glad
with their presence.

One day a little old man entered the cemetery, his eyes