Our new friend was communicative, and told us that he had been all
the way to Caridad to bring a priest to San Juan, _"para hacer cosas
de familia_," (to attend to family affairs,) which he explained as
meaning "to marry, baptize, and catechize." The people of San Juan,
he added, were too poor to keep a priest of their own; they couldn't
pay enough; and, moreover, their women were all old and ugly. And he
indulged in a knowing wink and chuckle.
Meantime we had kept on our course, and it had become quite dark;
still there was no sign of the village,--not even the flicker of
lights or the barking of dogs.
"What did the fellow say about the distance?" inquired H., angrily.
"That there was no more distance."
"Ask him again; he couldn't have understood you."
_"Amigo_, where is your village? You said just now that it was close
by."
_"Hay no masita, Senor!"_
"What's that?"
"He says that the distance was nothing before, and is still less
now!"
"Bah! he's a fool!" Half an hour later, which to H.'s indignant
imagination seemed an age, we reached the top of a high ridge, and
saw the first glimmer of the lights of the village, on the farther
edge of a broad plain, a mile and a half distant.
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