the world, you have no idea how much may
be done. And we have many branches. But the beauty of Montserrat is
supreme, and you know that it is world-wide. Now you want rooms,"
continued the eloquent little monk. "I will go across with you to the
Hospederia. But first you must record your names in this book. Miguel,"
to a young man in attendance, "where are the keys? They are not here.
Why are they not here? How often am I to report you to the
Father-Superior for carelessness?"

The keys were guiltily produced by Miguel.

"I thought so," cried the monk. "Suppose, now, you had gone down to
Monistrol with the keys in your pocket! We must have got through a
window like thieves and vagabonds. A very undignified proceeding. The
Reverend Father would have stopped your butter for a month. As it is, I
must overlook it, I suppose; you are so very fond of butter. Now,
gentlemen---- Dear me, what beautiful writing you English always have!"
scanning the book, in which, with the aid of a very bad pen, we had
hieroglyphically scratched our names. "Now, gentlemen, I am at your
service. We will take our little pilgrimage. You have a choice of rooms.
There is not a soul in the Hospederia--a thousand rooms, every one
empty. Miguel, attend us; you will have to make up beds for these
gentlemen."

The pilgrimage was certainly a short one. We gave the little monk as
wide a berth as politeness and the way permitted. To keep step with him
was impossible. He had a curious motion which resembled more the
trotting of a young colt than the walk of a human being. As he skipped
across the road, a small, animated mass of quicksilver, full of peculiar
life and energy, it was difficult to keep becomingly grave. The great
Hospederia was in front of us, huge, modern, unsightly, depressing. The
monk jingled the great keys as though they made pleasant music in his
ear. Then he applied one of them to the huge lock and the heavy door
rolled back on its hinges.

If the exterior had looked depressing, it was cheerfulness itself to the
interior. A chilling, silent, uninhabited, ghostly atmosphere met us at
the very threshold. Our postman might well say it was haunted. Voices
and footsteps echoed in the long, bare, gloomy corridors. A monk's cell
could scarcely have been more guiltless of comfort. We had hardly made
up our minds whether to stay the night or not, and our proposed lodging
kept us still more undecided. As far as sunrise was concerned, at this
t