The priest's name was Father Gonzales; Mariano knew, because this is what
the market-woman called him. The fat market-woman talked with the priest,
and the priest talked with the man with the dangling sword, and then
Father Gonzales took the boy by the hand and led him away, and Mariano
trotted along by his side, quite content, save for a stifled wish that
the big yellow dog might go too. And it is a gross error to suppose that
a yellow dog is necessarily nothing but a canine whose capillary covering
is highly charged with ocherish pigment.

Where they were going made no difference. "God is our father and our
mother"--Father Gonzales said so--and, faith! he ought to know.

And by and by they came to the tall old tenement-house, and climbed up
the stairs to where Mariano's old "grandfather" lived. Perhaps he wasn't
Mariano's sure-enough grandfather, but he was just as good as if he had
been.

* * * * *

But now it was an awfully long time ago since little Mariano and Father
Gonzales had first climbed the stairs to where Grandfather Fortuny lived.
The old grandfather and Mariano worked very hard, but they were quite
content and happy. They had enough to eat, and each had a straw bed and
warm blankets to cover him at night, and when the weather was very cold
they made a fire of charcoal in a brazier and sat before it with
spread-out hands, very thankful that God had given them such a good home
and so many comforts.

The grandfather made images out of white plaster, flowers sometimes, and