hat in his hand. 'Pardon my interruption. I came at an opportune
moment, for I heard the word politics.'

He turned and shook a lean finger at the innkeeper, who was backing
towards the door with many bows.

'Ah, bad Miguel,' he said, 'will you make it impossible for
gentlemen to put up at your execrable inn? The man's cooking is
superior to his discretion, senor. I, too, am a traveller, and for
the moment a guest here. I have the honour. My name is Concha--the
Padre Concha--a priest, as you see.'

Conyngham nodded, and laughed frankly.

'Glad to meet you,' he said. 'I saw you as I came along. My name
is Conyngham, and I am an Englishman, as you hear. I know very
little Spanish.'

'That will come--that will come,' said the priest, moving towards
the window. 'Perhaps too soon, if you are going to stay any length
of time in this country. Let me advise you--do not learn our
language too quickly.'

He shook his head and moved towards the open window.

'See to your girths before you mount, eh? Here is the verandah,
where it is pleasant in the afternoon. Shall we be seated? That
chair has but three legs--allow me! this one is better.'

He spoke with the grave courtesy of his countrymen. For every