eBooks Base 2000

Bring her with
thee into the sacristy and attend without. Go!"
Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the muleteer and
hurriedly swept his thin, dry hand, veined and ribbed like a brown
November leaf, over his stony forehead, with a sound that seemed almost
a rustle. Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary,
dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a rigid step
returned to the corridor and passed into the sacristy.
For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty. Tossed
carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a few
straggling black horsetails, like an unstranded _riata_. A trembling
agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the heap and
distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha, the
Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel. Only her eyes lived.
Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a
mild form of deliquescence.
"Listen, Sanchicha," said the father, gravely. "It is important that
thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment.


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