“Well, what do you do?” asked Juana.
“You must imitate what I do. For example, suppose I earn a year of indulgence: I set it down in my account-book and say, ‘Most Blessed Father and Lord St. Dominic, please see if there is anybody in purgatory who needs exactly a year—neither a day more nor a day less.’ Then I play heads and tails: if it comes heads, no; if tails, yes. Let’s suppose that it comes tails, then I write down paid; if it comes heads, then I keep the indulgence. In this way I arrange groups of a hundred years each, of which I keep a careful account. It’s a pity that we can’t do with them as with money—put them out at interest, for in that way we should be able to save more souls. Believe me, and do as I do.”
“Well, I do it a better way,” remarked Sister Sipa.
“What? Better?” demanded the astonished Rufa. “That can’t be! My system can’t be improved upon!”
“Listen a moment and you’ll be convinced, Sister,” said old Sipa in a tone of vexation.
“How is it? Let’s hear!” exclaimed the others.
After coughing ceremoniously the old woman began with great care: “You know very well that by saying the Bendita sea tu pureza and the Señor mío Jesucristo, Padre dulcísimo por el gozo, ten years are gained for each letter—”
“Twenty!” “No, less!” “Five!” interrupted several voices.
“A few years more or less make no difference. Now, when a servant breaks a plate, a glass, or a cup, I make him pick up the pieces; and for every scrap, even the very smallest, he has to recite for me one of those prayers. The indulgences that I earn in this way I devote to the souls. Every one in my house, except the cats, understands this system.”
“But those indulgences are earned by the servants and not by you, Sister Sipa,” objected Rufa.