from his head, as if to get a better focus on what he saw. "Padre," he
said, almost in a whisper, "I think it is the yellow thing that Pio
stole. The sergeant made it open when we went for the package, and it
was like that." "Holy Saints!" cried the Father; "it looks like that to
me, too, but it cannot be. How could my umbrella get to Santa Ysabel?
And what has become of Pio? If it is the umbrella, he must have brought
it here." "Padre," said Jose, "there he is. I think it is Pio, but he
looks very funny, and he is kneeling in front of the yellow thing as if
he was saying his prayers." "Saying his prayers!" said the priest with
warmth; "indeed, he had better say his prayers if it is he!" And the
party hurried forward.

As we know, there was no mistake about its being Pio. As for the
prayers,--an unusual demonstration from the Elcuanams had caused him to
glance again to the trail where they were pointing. There his horrified
eyes had seen what seemed a miracle, but a most unfortunate miracle for
him Padre Urbano himself, a sight as unmistakable as unbelievable. Panic
seized him, but on the instant he had an inspiration, too: he was
caught, and something awful was bound to happen; but why not at least
make an attempt to disarm the Father's indignation by being caught in
the attitude of worship, which the Padre was everlastingly inculcating?
It might not mitigate his wrath, but then it might. He propped the
unlucky Big Flower up so that it would stand, hurriedly stuffed a pair
of stockings into each slipper, dropped them beside the umbrella, and
then fell on his knees and began to patter Ave Marias, faster, and much
more fervently, than he had ever said them before the altar at the
Mission. In his haste he forgot to take off the nightcap, though,
indeed, he hardly viewed it in the light of a hat, or cap.

In this position the culprit was found by the Padre and his escort, and