With the padre, we stumbled in the darkness up to the church, where we roused the old woman who kept the key and the boy who rang the bell.

The vestments were produced, the padre hastily robed, and the bell rung; the padre was evidently irritated at the absence of a congregation, as he showed by the rapid and careless way in which he repeated the first part of the service.

When, however, at the _Credo_, he turned and saw that several poor indians had quietly crept in, a change came over him; his tone became fuller, his manner more dignified, and the service itself more impressive and decorous.

Still, we were through long before six, and throwing off his vestments, which he left the boy to put away, the padre seized me by the arm, and we hastened down the hill to our morning's coffee.

On the way we met a number of indians on their way to mass, whom the padre sternly rebuked for their laziness and want of devotion.
Immediately after coffee, we were among the ruins.
The padre had kindly arranged for my presentation to his Grace, Archbishop Gillow.