The times., 1898-12-18

she cried, "as long as they can have good pro-
cession."
She shook her Ast at the crowd, and came away
in tears. Her mistress, devout Catholic. tried
to console her by reminding her that, after all,
it was only an image and not the dear Lord she
loved. Oh. she knew that; but 1t was cruel. but
1t was shameful! She felt mother would feel
il the dress of her dead baby. its little half
worn shoe, were spoiled by the caprice or cold
heartcdness OF some one who had no feeling for
it,. Altogether Holy Thursday was not very con-
every hour.
The next day, Good Friday. she had only time
to go to church through the silent streets. where
wheels were heard. and say her prayers and
look at the black, black affairs and the veiled
statues. That night, after her work was done,
and the last baby had been served with its last
porridge, she put her kitchen in hurried order
and stole out silently She had bought the pound
of oil at little shop in the next street. and,
hiding 1t under her shawl, turned her steps to-
ward Barcenilas.
The night was black and tempestuous. A hot
dry wind blew; occasionally gust brought
few drops OF rain, but more often II was only
roaring gale, which made the street lamps blink.
and whirled the dust a:ound her. 1t was long
way to the suburb; it was late; there few
abroad. But matter; the good Lord knew why
she was out; and he would take care OF her.
There are no trans running in the days OF
Holy Week From Holy Thursday until after
the cathedral bells ring for first vespers Holy
Saturday. no horse is taken out OF its stall, no
wheels move in the streets of Malaga. Ii was
nearly midnight when she got to Barcenillas.
She crossed the silent plaza. passed through the
gate, and began the ascent of the steep hill.
There is great, broad road that winds up to it.
and at every station" there is a lamp burning.
She knelt at each as she reached it. But the
place was very lonely; the eucalyptus trees shook
and whispered to each other, and the lamps were
dim and hickered in the rough wind The night
before there had been professions all through the
night, crowds unpon crowds going up the hill,
she would not have been lonely then But she
could not because of little losers
i'll and needing the water heated for his bath every
hour. Yes, it would have been nicer last night
with all the priests and all the chanting. and all
the flaming torches. But the good God knew all
about ii, why she did not come then when she
wanted to. and why she came now. when she
was afraid. and almost did not want to. Not
that exactly; she did want to-only-oh. but
then He knew: she would not worry, but she said
her prayers with chattering teeth, and many fur
tive looks behind her.
At last she reached the summit where in
little chapel, burned the light that could be seen
for miles around Malaga. There a solitary brother
knelt, saying his beads and keeping watch. Sac
said her last prayers at the altar, and left the
votive oil with the friar, who commended her
piety. and was very kind As she came out. the
clouds broke and the paschal moon shone through
them, and the broad road led down with
smooth toward the sleeping city. Her
steps made just as lonely echoes the stones OF
the deserted streets, but she felt he.seif favored
of heaven. as no doubt she was, and ali her fears
We're gone
1t was after 8 O'Clock when she let herself in
at the kitchen door, and it was several weeks
before her mistress learned, by accident, of the
dolcrous little pilgrimage.
Superstition? Some will call it so. But
the story is the story of u faithful and low
ing soul, at all events. The writer of this
little tale might well ill another book
with short stories of Spanish life tBos-
ton: Houghton. Miffiin & Co. s1.25)