“I guess that’s a good idea,” he said soberly. “Brother Gregorio is a fine fellow, and we understand each other.”
As the others departed, they looked back and saw Frank go up to the monk and place an arm over his shoulders. They stood thus for a long time, no words interchanged.
When it came to the point of packing for the journey, there was much that could not be taken along. Brother Gregorio, indeed, would have loaded each man like a pack mule with his gifts of this, that and the other—of clothing, boots, ponchos, prayer books and what not, of medicine cases and packages of herbs and simple remedies. Nor were Father Felipe or the many other monks to whom the various members of the party had endeared themselves, the less behindhand in their offerings.
“We can’t take all this stuff,” said Jack, in comical dismay, as he stood in their common sitting room, surrounded by bundles, boxes, heaps and bales. “What’ll we do with it? Every single thing that I take up, I say to myself, ‘Well, this will be absolutely useless, and just in our way. But if we don’t take it, we shall break Brother Gregorio’s heart or Father Felipe’s heart or somebody’s else heart.’ What are we going to do?”
Mr. Hampton shook his head.
“There are only eight of us, Jack,” he said. “And we can’t overload ourselves. We have difficult country through which to make our way—country that for a large part is trackless and uncharted. We can afford to take only essentials.”
“Yes, but, Dad, Brother Gregorio and the rest of them consider all they have given us as essential.”
Don Ernesto laughed.
“Bale up what we can’t take, and leave it here against our return,” he said. “Let none of the monks see what has been taken and what left behind. Thus no feelings will be hurt.”
Jack’s face brightened.