The padres, in truth, were glad of visitors at any time. They were
clever educated men who had given their lives to christianising
brainless savages in a sparsely settled country; and any news of the
outer world was very welcome. They pushed back their hoods and sat about
the boys, their faces beaming with interest and amusement as they
listened to the adventures of those wayward youths. And as all men, even
priests, love courage and audacity, they clapped their hands together
more than once or embraced the lads heartily.

When luncheon was announced and the doors of the long refectory thrown
open, the boys were shown in as if they had been princes and told to
satisfy themselves. This they did, nor ever uttered a word. The priests
had tactfully withdrawn. Roldan and Adan ate enough beans, rice, cold
chicken, tongue, and dulces to make up for their prolonged fast, and
finished with a cup of chocolate and a bunch of grapes. After that they
went to sleep in two clean little cells, to which they were conducted,
nor awakened until all the air was ringing with the sweet-voiced clangor
of mission bells.

Roldan turned on his elbow and looked out of the window. The square was
rapidly filling with Indians, some running in willingly enough, others
driven in at the end of the leash by the lay brethren. All knelt on the
ground for a few moments. Roldan, whose eyes were very keen, and, during
these days, preternaturally sharpened, noted that several of the Indians
were whispering under cover of the loud mutterings about them. The face
of the Californian Indian is not pleasant to contemplate at any time: it
is either stupid or sinister. Roldan fancied he detected something
particularly evil in the glance of the whispering savages, and resolved
to warn the priests.