itions were unsettled at
this time. The garrison at Surigao had been attacked by the so-called
ladrones. Night messages were flying to and fro. Padre Jose's summons
seemed a harbinger of trouble. But, in spite of the fact that Padre
Pedro had been sick for several days, he obeyed the command of his
superior like any soldier, and at midnight saddled the ponies, tucked
a revolver under his gown, and started at a gallop down the road. When
he arrived at Father Jose's house, nothing serious was found to be
the matter. Only the dear old soul was lonesome and had wanted company.

Often at evening we would sit on the veranda till the evening star
appeared--"the star that the shepherds know well; the precurser of the
moon"--and then the angelus would ring, and Padre Pedro would stand
up and doff his cap, and, after a moment spent in silent prayer,
"That is good-night,'" he used to say, and then we would go in
for dinner. Dinner was served at eight o'clock, and was as formal
an affair as the noon meal. The evening would be spent at study,
for the padre was a scholar of no mean ability. He had translated
some of Stockton's stories into the Visayan language. Speaking of
Stockton, Padre Pedro said that he "knew well the spirit of your
countrymen." His work was frequently disturbed by the _muchachos_
running in with sums that they had finished on their slates; but the
padre never showed the least impatience at these interruptions.

Sometimes the "musickers" would come, and, crowding around the little
organ, practice the chants for some _fiesta_ day. The principal
"musicker" was a grotesque old fellow, with enormous feet, and glasses
rimmed with tortoise-shell. He looked so wise when he was poring
over the manuscript in the dim candle-light that he reminded one
of an intelligent gorilla. One of his assistants, meanwhile, would
be making artificial flowers, which were to decorate the battered
floats to be used in the festival procession on the morrow, carried
aloft upon the shoulders of the men, sparkling with lighted tapers,
while the bells up in the tower would jangle furiously. Or there would
be a conference with his secretary in regard to the town records,
which that functionary kept in the big book.

One night the padre was called out to attend one who, as was explained
to me, was bitten by a "fool" dog. On entering the poorly-lighted
shack, we found, surrounded by a gaping crowd, the victim foaming at
the mouth. He had indeed