palm of the priest was already upon his shoulder, and the snuffy but
kindly upper lip, trembling with some strange emotion, close beside his
cheek.

"What is it, Clarence?" he said hurriedly. "Speak, my son, without fear!
You would ask--"

"I only wanted to know if 'padre' takes a masculine verb here," replied
Clarence naively.

Father Sobriente blew his nose violently. "Truly--though used for either
gender, by the context masculine," he responded gravely. "Ah," he added,
leaning over Clarence, and scanning his work hastily, "Good, very good!
And now, possibly," he continued, passing his hand like a damp sponge
over his heated brow, "we shall reverse our exercise. I shall deliver
to you in Spanish what you shall render back in English, eh? And--let us
consider--we shall make something more familiar and narrative, eh?"

To this Clarence, somewhat bored by these present solemn abstractions,
assented gladly, and took up his pen. Father Sobriente, resuming his
noiseless pacing, began:

"On the fertile plains of Guadalajara lived a certain caballero,
possessed of flocks and lands, and a wife and son. But, being also
possessed of a fiery and roving nature, he did not value them as he did
perilous adventure, feats of arms, and sanguinary encounters. To this
may be added riotous excesses, gambling and drunkenness, which in time
decreased his patrimony, even as his rebellious and quarrelsome spirit
had alienated his family and neighbors. His wife, borne down by shame
and sorrow, died while her son was still an infant. In a fit of equal