labor, clothing of every sort, including vestments and adornings for the
mission churches, as well as laborers and soldiers, together, sometimes,
with a few priests to swell the number already in the new field. The
ship preparing for her voyage this pleasant June morning was the centre
of all such busy scenes witnessed many times before, but which never
seemed to lose their interest for the inhabitants of the town.

But this particular occasion was one of more than usual interest to the
people assembled by the water to watch the preparations for departure.
An hour before the time set for sailing, a procession was seen coming
slowly down the main street of the town, heading for the ship. It was a
strange, silent, pathetic little company. At the head were two sisters
of charity, following them a score of young children, evenly divided as
to sex, and all under ten years of age. They were dressed with the
utmost simplicity, almost severity, although with extreme neatness.
Hardly a word was spoken among them, as they came along, but their eyes
were busy glancing from one side to the other, noting everything about
them, and, in particular, the ship which was evidently their
destination.

This little procession was the cause of the unusual interest shown in
the sailing of the ship. The children were on their way from Mexico City
to the new country, where they were to find homes among the people
settled there; for they were foundlings, with no one but the Church to
look to for aid in their helplessness. The Church had responded nobly,
and had cared for these poor little waifs from infancy, and until they
were large enough to be sent to their new home.

"Caramba!" exclaimed a by-stander to his companion. "What will become of
the pobrecitos in that heathen country? I grow cold to think of it," he