CHAPTER ELEVEN
PADRE MIGUEL’S STORY
When they reappeared on the piazza in simple tailor-made suits, they found the young men already there. Sandy was engaged in an interesting conversation with an aged old priest who had stopped at the mission with some newspapers. He smiled divinely at the group of girl scouts and his salute, as he lifted his trembling right hand, seemed like a benediction.
He went indoors, and instantly Julie turned to her companions and whispered: “You-all wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.” Before the Captain could reply the girl disappeared behind the swingdoors. A few moments later she returned, followed by the mild-looking old priest.
“Captain, this is Padre Miguel of the little ancient chapel we passed just before coming to the city. He says he would be pleased to tell us many interesting things which he personally remembers since he came to Santa Fé in his youth. Padre, this is my scout Captain, Mrs. Vernon, and these are my friends, Joan, Hester, and my twin-sister, Betty. Scouts this is Padre Miguel,” was Julie’s explanation. “The young men you know already.”
The priest acknowledged the introduction in English, but the Spanish accent was noticeable.
Adair instantly pulled out a wooden chair for the Padre, who very courteously placed it for Mrs. Vernon, and she, smiling, thanked him and sat down. At the same time Sandy had discovered a second chair at the end of the narrow piazza, and now ran to fetch it. The scouts sat on the top step of the entrance from the pathway, and were anxiously waiting for the promised tale. The young men seated themselves Indian fashion, upon the grass at the foot of the steps and seemed more interested in the girls than in the Padre’s words.
“What a wonderful story you could tell, Padre, if you have lived in Santa Fé so many years,” began the Captain, encouragingly.
The wrinkled old priest nodded his head.
“Yes, my children, I can. Many, many miracles I see in this city since I come to be shepherd to my flock in leetle mission seventy year ago. I now eighty-eight, my children, and it’s mos’ time I called home to render account of my work.”