"But he said 'Devilishnisse' and 'pretty-as-a-girl,' and looked at me." The good father made the boy repeat the words gravely, and as gravely repeated them after him with infinite simplicity.

"They are but heretical words," he replied in answer to the boy's inquiring look; "it is well you understand not English.Enough.Run away, child, and be ready for the Angelus.

I will commune with myself awhile under the pear trees." Glad to escape so easily, the young acolyte disappeared down the alley of fig trees, not without a furtive look at the patches of chickweed around their roots, the possible ambuscade of creeping or saltant vermin.

The good priest heaved a sigh and glanced round the darkening prospect.

The sun had already disappeared over the mountain wall that lay between him and the sea, rimmed with a faint white line of outlying fog.