ly there! The cathedral is so big and grand! The padres and the bishop so elegant in their fine garments, the boys in the choir sing so beautifully, and-où, there is one among them who sings-oh, so heavenly is his voice, that his name is 'Voice of an Angel.' Will you not go with us, Dona Alicia?"

"Some time, children, I will. Not this time," was ever the reply.

But upon each return from the city she watched to see if there might be a letter, for she had written her brother in Mexico, making inquiries.

But no letter ever came.

CHAPTER VI.

"THE HERETICS" AND FATHER LORENZO.

Several years had passed. The city was fast growing into new life. The trains from the North were bringing many foreigners who were learning that, in Western Mexico, lay great wealth, gold and silver and copper buried under the high mountains.

Among these came two-a man and his wife who seemed in no great haste. They were in no quest of gold or silver. They rented a house, and soon those passing along the street saw behind the barred windows a display of books, large and small, but mostly Bibles. Those who chose to enter took away with them leaflets and papers.

Then it began to be told about that these newcomers were "heretics," a dangerous, godless people. The books they had sold and given away were very harmful; the Bibles, indeed, were not genuine, for they were "heretic Bibles." As far as possible, those who had bought were ordered to bring them to the Cura, and they were burned in front of the cathedral as a

warning. From the pulpit, excommunications were threatened to such as should have dealing with these heretics, said excommunications meaning the everlasting loss of souls. Along the street walls were posters which read:

"Beware of the heretics! They are devils! Excommunication from the most Holy Church to any who shall buy or sell to them, talk or listen to them, or upon whom their shadow even shall fall!"

But the heretic still walked the streets. His was a kindly face, men said, and when he smiled, they said, "Surely no devil can smile like that!"

And though there were many who shunned him, there were others, who, standing in their shop doors, would say, with a sly wink, as he passed:

"Come in here, Senor Heretic, buy of

me.

The Holy Church will not think my poor soul worth the cutting off!"

Gradually, people, losing fear, would gather into the front room or listen outside the window while the heretic told his story. The story of Him whose sacrifice upon the cross was so complete that there was no longer need for intercedence of virgin, priest or saint.

Meanwhile, the boys' school, under the direction of the new Father Lorenzo, Was

growing. His pupils all loved him, for there was something about the quiet man which drew them. He seemed to have passed through some sorrow which made him sympathetic. Frederico, the lonely boy, was especially drawn toward him. Father Lorenzo, in turn, took the boy into his heart. So often were they seen together that they became known as uncle and nephew. The boy loved nothing better than to sit by his side and listen to stories of the great City of Mexico, where his life had been spent.

"A strong, wild people had lived there once," he told the boy. "Then had come men from Spain, in the name of the holy Catholic faith, and had conquered these bloody people, and had given to them, instead of their idols, beautiful painted pictures and images to worship."

But when the old priest told of the cruelties by which the Spaniard drew from the Indians their jewels and their gold, his voice trembled and his dark eyes burned darker.

"Tell me again of the Indian who fought that his people might live," said the boy.

Then springing to his feet and walking the room, the old man would tell again of Juarez, the fearless Indian, who for fourteen years braved all dangers, though

hunted like a wild thing, meeting the enemy again and again, and conquering at last, that his people might think and worship as they pleased. He it was to whom Victor Hugo wrote, "America has two heroes, Lincoln, by whom slavery has died; Thee, by whom liberty has lived."

"My boy," said the old man, still walking the floor and closing his lips in that way Frederico had noticed of late, “my boy, those were dark days for Mexico. For three hundred years had she been under a power (I will not say more of that power) which kept her as a slave, till one man— one man-rose and said, 'My people shall think and worship as they please.' But there were others then who thought and fought with him. There be others now who would dare the same, for even now there be those who may not think and worship as they please."

The boy wondered, though little he understood. He did not know that in the veins of Father Lorenzo ran the same blood of the Indian Juarez and the same deep love for liberty in all. Nor did he know that, in the City of Mexico, strange things had been said of him. That he had dared to do his own thinking and his own teaching, which the Church called "insubordination." For this he had been sent