The Indian extended his hand.
"I came to-day a little late," he said, "but not too late, I think, to make one more person see that we do not want their tracts or their pictures or their preachings. They may do what they will, but we are Catholics to the end—except, perhaps, some few who find later they would have been better off to remain as they were. Did any of our people take pictures?"
"Not one," said Mr. Page. "It was quite interesting to see how utterly they ignored them."
"That is good," murmured Mauricio. "That finished it."
"I wanted to ask," said Mr. Page, while the children strolled slowly away together, "why they say the Rosary in that way, reversing the prayers at every other decade, and why they finish it in a chant. It is very odd, but exceedingly beautiful."
"I believe they change the prayers as they do because in the beginning the Fathers found it helped them in teaching the 'Hail, Mary,' and 'Holy Mary,' You see, when the Father said always the 'Dios te salve,' or, the 'Hail, Mary,' as you call it, the people did not learn it so well as when they said it themselves. And for the chanting—that was like a hymn at the end."
"I see," said Mr. Page. "And I think you did exactly as you should have done with regard to that officious woman. I am glad to have my children know your nephew. He is a good boy, and very bright. You ought to be proud of him."
"So far he is very good," rejoined Mauricio. "He is also very smart for one who has not been long at school. We have some land here; together we make a living, with what we get from the visitors. One of those houses over there belongs to me. In the summer I lease it; in the winter we go back to it again. But this will end soon. There is no more hope for us; we must go."
"It seems to be inevitable," said Mr. Page.