, but, Captain Basilio, I did not have a
chance. We must obey the curate!"

"We must obey!" repeated some of the Conservatives.

Don Filipo approached the gobernadorcillo and said bitterly:

"I sacrificed my pride in a good cause; you sacrifice your manliness
in a bad one; you spoil every good thing that might be done!"

Ibarra said to the schoolmaster:

"Have you any commission for the capital? I leave immediately."

On the way home the old philosopher said to Don Filipo, who was
cursing his fate:

"The fault is ours. You didn't protest when they gave you a slave
for mayor, and I, fool that I am, forgot about him!"

XXIII.

THE EVE OF THE FETE.

It is the 10th of November, the eve of the fete. The pueblo of San
Diego is stirred by an incredible activity; in the houses, the streets,
the church, the gallera, all is unwonted movement. From windows flags
and rugs are hanging; the air, resounding with bombs and music,
seems saturated with gayety. Inside on little tables covered with
bordered cloths the dalaga arranges in jars of tinted crystal the
confitures made from the native fruits. Servants come and go; orders,
whispers, comments, conjectures are everywhere. And all this activity
and labor are for guests as often unknown as known; the stranger,
the friend, the Filipino, the Spaniard, the rich man, the poor man,
will be equally fortunate; and no one will ask his gratitude, nor
even demand that he speak well of his host till the end of his dinner.

The red covers which all the year protect the lamps are taken off,
and the swinging prisms and crystal pendants strike out harmonies from
one another and throw dancing rainbow colors on the white walls. The
glass globes, precious heirlooms, are rubbed and polished; the dainty
handiwork of the young girls of the house is brought out. Floors
shine like mirrors, curtains of pina or silk jusi ornament the doors,
and in the windows hang lanterns of crystal or of colored paper. The
vases on the Chinese pedestals are heaped with flowers, the saints
themselves in their reliquaries are dusted and wreathed with blossoms.

At intervals along the streets rise graceful arches of reed; around
the parvis of the church is the costly covered passageway, supported
by trunks of bamboos, under which the procession is to pass, and
in the centre of the plaza rises the platform of the theatre, with
its stage of reed, of nipa, or of wood. The native pyrotechnician,
who learns