"Yes, Reverend Father Obispo. Antonio, my husband, left two dollars with me, all he had-for we are poor, Senor!"

"Well," replied the man, "this is a very low sum. Thou dost know, where there is high money, there is high mass; low money, low mass; no money, no mass."

The woman sighed. The bishop looked indifferently in the other direction.

"Well!" he said, after a pause, "thou hast no money; masses will be impossible without money. But there is yet a way. Thou hast friends. Hast thou some article in thine house that can be raffled among thy friends? This may take the place of money."

She had nothing

The woman thought. of value in her house! Yes! there was that table cover which she had been embroidering. She had been working on it for months, and was intending, with the sale of it, to get for herself and children something to wear, for it would be worth ten dollars at least. But she would be glad to forego those garments if thus she might secure the release of her husband's soul in purgatory!

"It is not my concern," said the reverend coldly. "It concerns only thee and the soul of thy husband!"

"Oh, yes, Father! I have something!" exclaimed the widow.

The people gathered. The Reverend Bishop himself conducted the raffle. Each paid for a draw, but it was Diego Martinez who received the table cover for his wife, one hundred and sixty days of indulgence for himself, and release from purgatory the soul of his friend Antonio.

But there was yet a marriage ceremony, confessions to hear, penances to impose, offerings to receive, and the widow's baby to be baptized. But, as she was absolutely penniless now Dona Refugia paid the dollar fee.

The sun was lowering in the west before the bishop and his attendants were able to continue on their journey. They were to be in a neighboring hacienda for a special night function.

"It was not such a bad thing, after all, this side trip, was it, Senor Obispo?" said his attendant in familiar tone, as they rolled along.

"Not so bad!" murmured the bishop, as he laid his hand on the money bag, languidly closed his eyes and leaned against the cushioned back.

CHAPTER XI.

ALTIZO TOWN AND ITS MAYOR.

Several days' journey by horse from El Rancho del Agua Fresca, there stretched a beautiful green valley. Following the clear stream of water, which spread itself in this valley, one had need to make a gradual climb, till the valley narrowed to a canyon, and up against one of its sloping sides stood a town, built tier upon tier. Borings in the mountain side, and miners' huts and paraphernalia, revealed the metals hidden there; while the stream below and fields of maize and sugar cane and melon patches showed industries of other kinds. A thrifty little town this was, the town of Altiza, busy and prosperous its people, and safe to live among. But perhaps, this was mostly due to Don Ramon, the Alcalde, or town mayor.

Nothing of lawlessness would he allow. The quarrelsome kept out of reach of those strong arms, and flinched before the gaze of those piercing black eyes. The insolent were silenced by words that fell like blows. And yet the poor feared not to come to him for justice or for money, while chil