"So nice to see you."
Momentarily the dark room, after brilliant sun, bothered Raul and he bumped into one of the familiar leather chairs. He only half saw the Spanish desk with papers in every pigeonhole, its reed-bottom chair, the shelves of books, and the plain wall cross carved from a scrap of high altitude cedar. Raul touched Gabriel's silver and bone rosary, where it lay on a corner of the desk.
"I'd like to talk with you."
"Sit down. Let me take these papers off the chair."
They faced each other on leather chairs, the door slightly open; again horsemen crossed the court, the hoof beats making the cobbles sound like empty clay bowls.
"One of these days you'll have your stained-glass windows," said Raul.
"Ah," said Gabriel, amused at such an unprompted declaration. "Right now, I think we ought to have a school teacher. We must reopen our school."
"I'm going to see to it," said Raul.
"What made your father change his mind?" asked Gabriel eagerly.
"I've decided to make these changes, now."