and had given him a parish, although less than a day had passed since
his arrival. When the padre knew of our disappointment, he hastened to
his prelate, told him that an eminent American archaeologist, with a
party of four, wished to visit Mitla, but had no interpreter; might he
not accompany these worthy gentlemen, in some way serving mother church
by doing so? So strong was his appeal, that he was deputed to say mass
at Mitla Sunday, starting for his new parish of Chila on the Monday
following.

In the heavy, lumbering coach we left next morning, Saturday, for Mitla.
The road, usually deep with dust, was in fair condition on account of
recent rains. We arrived in the early afternoon and at once betook
ourselves to the ruins. At the curacy, we presented the archbishop's
letter to the indian cura, who turned it over once or twice, then asked
the padre to read it, as his eyes were bad. While the reading proceeded,
the old man listened with wonder, and then exclaimed, "What a learned
man you are to read like that!" As we left, the padre expressed his
feelings at the comeliness of the old priest's indian housekeeper, at
the number of her children, at the suspicious wideness of his bed, and
at his ignorance, in wearing a ring, for all the world just like a
bishop's. But he soon forgot his pious irritation amid those marvelous
ruins of past grandeur. In our early ramble he lost no opportunity to
tell the indians that he would repeat mass on the morrow at seven, and
that they should make a special effort to be present.

[Illustration: WITH THE PADRE IN MITLA RUINS]

[Illustration: THE PADRE, ERNST AND THE DOGS]

But as we wandered from one to another of the ancient buildings, the