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 not drop somewhere far from food and water. I can carry very little with me except my vestments and the sacred vessels.”

The Mexican had been growing more and more thoughtful, as if he were considering something profound and not altogether cheerful. Suddenly his brow cleared, and he turned to the priest with a radiant smile, quite boyish in its simplicity. “Father Vaillant,” he burst out in a slightly oratorical manner, “you have made my house right with Heaven, and you charge me very little. I will do something very nice for you; I will give you Contento for a present, and I hope to be particularly remembered in your prayers.”

Springing to the ground, Father Vaillant threw his arms about his host. “Manuelito!” he cried, “for you this darling mule I think I could almost pray into Heaven!”

The Mexican laughed, too, and warmly returned the the embrace. Arm-in-arm they went in to begin the baptisms.

The next morning, when Lujon went to call Father Vaillant for breakfast, he found him in the barnyard, leading the two mules about and smoothing their fawn-coloured flanks, but his face was not the cheerful countenance of yesterday.

“Manuel,” he said at once, “I cannot accept