... And he came here to be the Chaplain in Fairyland. Here, you see, no matter how badly he preached—and he preached badly even for a clergyman—he could not possibly do any harm because nobody would ever take the slightest notice of what he said except when he was cross. Then the fountain chuckled.
He built his little adobe house beside the crooning spring, and that was all right until a female Griffin, eighteen feet long, became his lady companion for lessons in deportment. Whenever she was pleased she wagged her tail, and when she wagged her tail the house came down. That is why the new walls are unusually thick, and the inside so small that the Griffin has to wag her tail outside. She has got so far with her lessons that now she puts her paw before her crocodile mouth before she sneezes—and then the clergyman is not blown through the window.
She was out mousing when Storm paid his call. That is, the boy crept in on all fours while the Padre was busy writing his book, which nobody will ever read, on Fairyology. Storm got under the stool and tickled the Padre's bare ankles with a feather.
"Bless the mosquitos!" said the holy man, "and send them a nourishing maiden."
Storm tickled again, and the Padre stooped down to slap the mosquitos, saying "Pax vobiscum."
Storm laughed, the fountain chuckled, and the Padre looked under the stool.
"Hello!" said he. "That you?"
"No," answered Storm, "I'm not."
So of course as it wasn't he, the holy man went on with his writing.
Since Rain had warned him of his mother's death, Storm was uneasy, and in his dream-life frightened of being alone. So as the Padre could not be bothered with him he crept into a corner of the cabin, where it was nearly dark, to brood upon this matter of his mother's passing.