“Ah, only the notable ones, then?”
“Alas, no; you see I have only a moderate-sized note-book.”
The home and family of the alcalde who could not read
Our impromptu celebration of Christmas Eve in Pampa Grande
In the cool of evening the corregidor came again to share his troubles with me, bewailing the fact that Pampa Grande no longer had a Christmas celebration, because they had no cura. By the same token there was no longer a public market on Sundays and feast-days, “for the Indians only come to town to sell if there is a church fiesta at which they can drink chicha.”
“God save us,” he sighed as he rose to leave, “for want of a priest we are all turning Protestants!”
I respread my “bed” early. But the aftermath of the Christmas dinner had not yet run its course. Some time far into night I was for a long time half-conscious of some hubbub, and at last woke entirely. On his piece of blanket on the floor Tommy was rolling from side to side, in one hand his precious trowel, which he was beating on the flaggings until it rang again, while shouting at the top of his voice:
“Mortar! Mortar! How in —— can I lay bricks if you don’t keep me in mortar?”