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 coming in it, a sweet assurance that is as placid as an evening bell."

"Where on earth did you learn English, Padre Mateo?" Juan inquired, his wonder widening every time the priest spoke. "You know it a 'tarnal sight better than I do, or ever will."

"I learned it in Quebec, Canada, my little son, where I was carried by my parents when a little lad. Although French is more common there, the vigor of your roaring English always made my heart jump to hear. But I am neither English nor French, but a Spaniard of the bone. My father was a sea trader, who came to anchor in Quebec for its business advantages. And so it comes."

"I beg you to pardon my curiosity; I didn't mean to pry into your life."

"It is a book for any man to read," Padre Mateo said, so simply ingenuous that no man of honor could have doubted his smallest word.

"You remember it remarkably for all the years you've been where no man's got an English word in his mouth. That's all I can say for you."

"There are many Franciscan brothers who speak English; from time to time one of them has come my way these twenty years past. The last was a friar who made a survey extending our irrigating system; he remained at San Fernando almost two years. I kept his tongue going long hours. A good plan is to talk to your own ear when you are alone, but you will not have need of that in the practice of Spanish, a matter which you must begin at once.