been bitten by a "fool" dog, and he died a few
hours afterwards, as we could do but little to relieve his suffering.

We spent the remainder of the evening looking over the long mass for
Easter Sunday. And the padre said naively, "Will it not be necessary
that I take one beer when I have reached this place, and then I can
continue with the mass?" He looked back fondly to the days when he had
sung his part in the antiphony in the magnificent cathedral at Manila.

The town was always at the friar's service. And no wonder! Had he
not sent all the way to Manila for a Christmas box of goodies for the
schoolboys,--figs, and raisins, and preserves? I caught him gloating
over them one evening--when he gave his famous supper of roast kid
and frosted cake for his American guests from the army post--and
he had offered us a taste of these almost forgotten luxuries. How
he anticipated the delight he had in store for all the boys! Then
in the time of cholera, when the disease invaded even the convent,
although a young man, Padre Pedro never left his post.

The only time I ever knew him to complain was when the people came in
hundreds to confession. The confession-box was too hot, and the breath
of the penitents offensive. "Eet ees a work of charity," he said;
"they pay me nothing--nothing." The priest was only human when he
feigned the toothache in order to secure a transfer to Cebu. The little
station in the wilderness was too monotonous. He packed his effects
in secret, fearing that the people would discover his intention and
detain him. The father superior had granted him a leave of absence. His
suspicions had not been aroused. When he had reached Cebu the _freile_
would be under different authority, and it was even possible that
he be stationed in Manila or returned to Spain. He had not seen his
parents for ten years, but his education had prepared him for a life
of sacrifice. For the first time he felt neglected and forgotten. On
arriving at the trading port, he learned that his parishioners had
found him out. They sent a delegation to entreat him to remain. The
little padre's heart was touched. "They love me too much," he said,
"and they have nobody but me."

My friend the padre might have been an exception to the general
rule. He was a "Friar in the Philippines," a member of a much-maligned
religious order. Still I have met a number of their priests and
bishops, and have found them charming and delightful men. They are suc