away, and he lost considerable time in making the collections and on
his trips to the capital.

"Patience! Pretend that the cayman's relatives have joined him,"
advised Tandang Selo, smiling placidly.

"Next year you'll put on a long skirt and go to Manila to study like
the young ladies of the town," Cabesang Tales told his daughter every
time he heard her talking of Basilio's progress.

But that next year did not come, and in its stead there was another
increase in the rent. Cabesang Tales became serious and scratched
his head. The clay jar was giving up all its rice to the iron pot.

When the rent had risen to two hundred pesos, Tales was not content
with scratching his head and sighing; he murmured and protested. The
friar-administrator then told him that if he could not pay, some one
else would be assigned to cultivate that land--many who desired it
had offered themselves.

He thought at first that the friar was joking, but the friar was
talking seriously, and indicated a servant of his to take possession
of the land. Poor Tales turned pale, he felt a buzzing in his ears, he
saw in the red mist that rose before his eyes his wife and daughter,
pallid, emaciated, dying, victims of the intermittent fevers--then
he saw the thick forest converted into productive fields, he saw the
stream of sweat watering its furrows, he saw himself plowing under
the hot sun, bruising his feet against the stones and roots, while
this friar had been driving about in his carriage with the wretch who
was to get the land following like a slave behind his master. No, a