"_Dios te salve, Maria_," she sang, and the others answered in the same fashion, "_Santa Maria, Madre de Dios_," till the decade was ended. It was all very strange and beautiful; the sweet voices of the dark-skinned worshipers, deprived of their priests and teachers, coming Sunday after Sunday thus to preserve and perpetuate the services of their religion. Other prayers, also in Spanish, were said, and the old woman returned to her place.
Francisco was about to extinguish the candles, when the door of the sacristy opened, and a tall, finely-formed Indian, about fifty years of age, issued forth. The boy stepped aside; the newcomer advanced to the railing. His sharp eyes seemed to rest at once upon the pictures which had been placed on the walls during the preceding week. He addressed the people in Spanish; then, pointing to the pictures, asked in English:
"Who can tell the person who has hung those pictures around the walls of the church?"
No one answered. The Indians, whispering among themselves, made various gestures of disapproval.
"You will all see that although they are very good pictures," he continued, "they are not for our church. We do not need them. We have here already the Sacred Hearts of Our Lord and His Mother; a kind lady would have given us also the stations, but for the removal which we must soon make from this--our home."
Here those of his hearers who understood English--all the younger people and many of the others--made sorrowful gestures. Some of them uttered a peculiar wailing sound.
"It will be now our duty to find who has put those pictures where they are, and give them back to the person who placed them."
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, the Indian turned to Francisco.
"Have you loaned the key to someone this week?" he inquired.
"No, uncle," replied the boy, "I have not given it to anyone; but somebody has come in through the window: one day I found it open." So saying, he glanced toward the door where some white persons were seated.
At this point a woman arose and stepped about midway up the aisle.
"The missionary lady," whispered Walter to his father. "Now there will be a fuss."
"I wish to state," said the woman, in tones that could be distinctly heard all through the church, "I wish to state that _I_ placed those _beautiful_ pictures where they are. I intended to offer them to the person whom they call 'the priest,' hoping that he would hang them for the benefit of the congregation, wherever he pleased. Hearing he was absent, I took the liberty of entering, and pinning them above the crosses, which _I_ consider superstitious emblems."