only those could obtain
who had served well and striven hard for years. He gets his six reals
a day, and as he can go freely about the church he can show the
curiosities to strangers; and so with the salary and the tips he
gets, he is much better off than I am. The foreigners who visit the
Cathedral, excommunicated people who look upon us as strange monkeys,
and who think that anything interesting of ours is only worthy of a
laugh, take a fancy to him. The English ask him if he is a toreador,
and he--what does he want better than that! When he sees they pay him
according as he pleases them, he brings out his pack of lies, for,
unfortunately, no one has any check on the deceit, and he tells them
about all the great bull-fights in which he has taken part in Toledo,
and all about the bulls he has killed; and these blockheads from
England make a note of it in their albums, and even some coarse hand
may make a sketch of this imposter's head; all he cares for is that
they should believe all his lies and give him a peseta on leaving. It
matters very little to him, if when these heretics return to their
own country they spread the report that in Toledo, in the Holy
Metropolitan Church of all Spain, the Cathedral servants are
bull-fighters, and assist in the ceremonies of worship between the
bull runs. The sum total is, that he earns more than I do, but in
spite of this he considers his employment beneath him. And such
beautiful duties, too. To walk in the great processions before
everyone, close to the Primate's great banner, with a staff covered
with red velvet to support him should he chance to fall, and wearing a
robe of scarlet brocade like a cardinal. Our Chapel-master, who knows
a great deal about such things, says that when he wears that robe
he looks like a certain Diente, or some name of the sort, who
lived hundreds of years ago in Italy, and went down into hell, and
afterwards described his journey in poetry."

[Footnote 3: _Perrero_--Beadle whose special duty it is to chase the
dogs out of church.]

Sounds of footsteps were heard on the narrow circular staircase in the
thickness of the wall that led from the sitting-room to the storey
above.

"It is Don Luis," said the "Wooden Staff," "he is going to say his
mass in the chapel of the Sagrario, and afterwards to the choir."

Gabriel rose from his sofa to salute the priest. He was feeble and
small of stature, but the thing about him that struck you at first
sigh