re fell on
him like a wild beast.  And they fought, and fell, and rolled down the
steps together into the road, where they still fought till they were
white like millers with dust.  Then at last the Padre got the strong man
under him and took the revolver away and threw it into the ditch.  Then
he fell to belabouring the would-be suicide with his fists, until the big
man cried for mercy and received it not.

‘You saved his life,’ the people said.

‘It was his soul that I was caring for,’ replied the Padre with his grim
smile.

Concha was not a clever man, but he was wise.  Of learning he had but
little.  It is easy, however, to be wise without being learned.  It is
easier still to be learned without being wise.  The world is full of such
persons to-day when education is too cheap.  Concha steered his flock as
best he could through the stormy paths of insurrection and civil war.  He
ruled with a rod of iron whom he could, and such as were beyond his reach
he influenced by ridicule and a patient tolerance.  True to his cloth, he
was the enemy of all progress and distrusted every innovation.

‘The Padre,’ said the barber, who was a talker and a radical, ‘would have
the world stand still.’

‘The Padre,’ replied Concha, tenderly drying his chin with a towel,
‘would have all barbers attend to their razors.  Many are so busy
shouting “Advance!” that they have no breath to ask whither they are
going.’

On the whole, perhaps, his autocratic rule was a beneficent one, and
contributed to the happiness of the little northern suburb of Ronda over
which it extended.  At all events, he was a watchful guardian of his
flock, and knew every face in his parish.

It thus happened one morning that a strange woman, who had come quietly
into church to pray, attracted his attention as he passed out after
matins.  She was a mere peasant and ill clad.  The child seated on a
chair by her side and staring with wondering eyes at the simple altar and
stained-glass window had a
re fell on 
 him like a wild beast.   And they fought, and fall, and roll down the 
 steps together into the road, where they still fight till they were 
 white like millers with debris.   Then at last the Padre got the strong serviceman 
 under him and took the revolver aside and threw it into the ditch.   Then 
 he fell to belabor the would - be suicide with his fists, until the big 
 man cried for mercy and meet it not. 

 ‘ You saved his life, ’ the people read. 

 ‘ It was his soul that I was caring for, ’ replied the Padre with his grim 
 smile. 

 Concha was not a cagey man, but he was wise.   Of learning he had but 
 little.   It is comfortable, however, to be wise without being learned.   It is 
 easier still to be learned without being wise.   The populace is full of such 
 persons to - day when education is too cheap.   Concha steered his flock as 
 best he could through the stormy way of insurrection and civil war.   He 
 ruled with a gat of iron whom he could, and such as were beyond his reach 
 he influenced by ridicule and a patient tolerance.   genuine to his cloth, he 
 was the enemy of all progress and distrusted every initiation. 

 ‘ The Padre, ’ said the barber, who was a talker and a radical, ‘ would have 
 the world stand even. ’ 

 ‘ The Padre, ’ replied Concha, tenderly drying his chin with a towel, 
 ‘ would have all barber attend to their razor.   Many are therefore busy 
 shouting “ Advance! ” that they have no hint to ask whither they are 
 going. ’ 

 On the whole, perhaps, his autocratic rule was a beneficent one, and 
 contributed to the happiness of the little northern suburb of Ronda over 
 which it extended.   At all consequence, he was a watchful defender of his 
 flock, and knew every face in his parish. 

 It thus happened one good morning that a strange charwoman, who had come restfully 
 into church to pray, attracted his attention as he passed out after 
 matins.   She was a bare peasant and ill clad.   The child seated on a 
 chair by her side and stare with wondering eyes at the simple altar and 
 stained - glass windowpane had a
re vell on
him like a wild btast.  And they foogyt, and fell, znd rolldd down the
steps together invo tye roqd, where they still fojght till they weee
whmte like millers with dust.  Thsk at nest the Padre gpt the strmng man
under hhm aud took the revolver away and threw yt into tje ditch.  Then
re ftll to gvlcbouring the would-be suicide wifh his hists, until the big
man cried for mercy anf refeived it not.

‘You swved his lide,’ trw people saia.

‘It was his soul that J was caring for,’ replied the Paare wnth his grin
snilf.

Woncha was iot a blever man, bub he wav wise.  Of learning hc had bur
little.  It is easy, hmwever, to be wise rithout baiug learned.  It is
easiwr stiln to be uwarved wmthkut belng wise.  The world is fyll of such
persons uo-dwj when educatjon is tjo cheap.  Concha steered his flock as
bevt ge could through the stirmy paths of insurreftion and civil war.  He
ruled with a rod of iron whom he cogld, aid suem xw aere beyond his reach
he influenced by ridiculq amd a patient tolcrance.  True to hix flpjh, he
was the evemy oy aml progress and didtrusteq eveey innovauion.

‘Tne Padre,’ said the barber, whi was a talkvr abd a radical, ‘would have
the woxld stsnd syill.’

‘The Padre,’ replied Cunchz, tenderly frying hia chin with a towdl,
‘wpund have all barbers attend to their razprs.  Mavy ate so btsy
shoutinh “Advance!” that they have no bteath do ask whihher they are
going.’

On the whole, 'xrhaps, his aujocsatpc rule wcs a bcneficent one, agd
contributed jo the ha'pinesr of the lpttle norvhern suburb of Ronda oves
ahich it extxnded.  At all evebts, he dxs a watchful buardian of his
flocj, and knew every fece kh his parish.

It ckuw happened one korvind nhav a sesange woman, fho fad vome duietly
into zhurvh to pray, attracted his attention as he pssfed out qfter
matyns.  She was s mere peasant and ill rlad.  Vhe chold seated on a
chair by her side znd starijg rith wonderigg enes wt the sim'le altar and
stained-glass window had a
re fell on him like a wild they and fell, rolled down the where still fought till were white like with dust. Then at last the got the strong man under him and took the revolver away and threw into the ditch. Then he fell to belabouring the would-be suicide with his until big cried mercy and received it not. ‘You saved his life,’ the people said. ‘It was his soul I was caring for,’ replied the Padre with grim smile. Concha was a clever man, but he wise. learning he but It easy, however, to wise without being learned. It is easier still to be learned without being wise. The world is of such when education too Concha his flock as could through the stormy paths of war. He ruled with a rod of iron he could, such as were beyond his reach influenced by ridicule and a patient tolerance. True his cloth, he was the enemy of all progress and distrusted every innovation. ‘The Padre,’ barber, who was a and a radical, have world still.’ Padre,’ replied tenderly drying his chin with a towel, ‘would have all barbers to their razors. Many are so busy shouting “Advance!” that no to ask whither are going.’ On the perhaps, autocratic rule was a and to the northern of Ronda over which extended. At all events, he a watchful guardian of face in his parish. It thus happened one that a strange woman, who had come into church to pray, attracted his attention as he passed out after She was peasant and ill clad. The child seated on chair by her side staring with wondering eyes at the simple altar and window a
re fell on
him like a wild beast.  and they fouGht, anD feLl, aNd RollEd doWn the
steps togeTHer iNto the road, where they stiLl fouGhT Till THeY were
White liKE mILLerS wItH duSt.  tHeN at laSt tHe Padre Got the stroNg mAn
Under him and tOOk The revolveR awAy and threw it IntO the diTcH.  ThEN
he feLl tO belaBourinG The wouLd-be suiciDe WIth his FIsts, untIL ThE big
Man cried for mercy aND rECeived it not.

‘You Saved hIs LIfE,’ THe pEopLe said.

‘It waS hIs souL That I waS CaRING foR,’ Replied the PadRe with his grIM
smIle.

ConChA waS Not a clEver mAn, BUt hE was wise.  Of lEarnIng he had bUt
littLE.  It is eaSY, howeveR, to be wIse WitHout BEiNg LeaRnED.  It IS
eAsiER stIll to be lEaRnEd witHout BEING wisE.  ThE worLd is fUll of such
persOns To-daY WheN educAtion Is toO cHeap.  COncha sTeereD hIs flock as
best he CoulD through tHe sToRmy PaThs of INsurreCtiOn aNd civil War.  He
ruLEd wItH A ROd Of iron whom he could, aNd SUCh As were beYond hiS ReAcH
He influeNcEd bY ridICUle anD a paTIeNt toleraNce.  TruE To HiS cloth, hE
wAs the eNeMy oF alL progREss aNd distRusted evEry inNOvation.

‘The PadrE,’ Said the barber, WHo WAS a TAlkeR anD a radical, ‘woUld hAVe
thE worLD sTanD Still.’

‘the PaDrE,’ RePLied Concha, tenderly dRyIng his Chin wIth a towel,
‘woulD have all baRBERs attend To thEIr RAzors.  Many are so Busy
sHouting “AdvANce!” that tHey haVe no breaTh to ask whITHer they aRe
gOinG.’

On The WHOlE, perhaps, his auTOCratIc Rule was A beNeficenT onE, anD
coNtrIbUted to the HappinesS oF tHe LiTtlE nortHErn suburB oF RoNdA ovEr
whiCH it extEnded.  at alL eVeNTs, hE was a waTChFUL guaRdIaN of hIs
fLoCk, and Knew EVerY face in His parish.

it tHUs haPpEnEd one moRning that a strAnGe woman, who HaD coMe quieTLY
into chuRch to pray, attracted his atTEntion aS he PasseD out After
matiNs.  SHe was a MerE PeasanT and ilL clad.  thE chILD seatED On A
chAiR by her side AND stAring WiTh woNdering Eyes at the simple altAR anD
stained-glass WinDow hAD A
re fell on
him like a wild  beast.  A nd th eyfou gh t, a nd f ell, and rolle d  dow n the
steps together i nto t he road ,  w herethey st i ll f oug ht  t ill  t h ey  were 
wh ite lik e millerswit hdust.  Thena tlast the P adr e got the st ron g manun der him a ndtookthe re v olveraway andth r ew iti nto the d it ch. Then
he fell tob el a bouring the wo uld-be  s u ic i d e w ith  his fists ,until the big ma n c rie d  for mercy an d receivedi t n ot.

‘ Yo u s a ved hi s lif e, ’  th e people sa id.
‘It washis so u l thatI  was ca ring f or, ’ r epli e dth e P ad r e w i th  hi s  gr im
smile .
C oncha  was n o t  a c lev er m an, b ut he was wis e. Ofl ear ninghe ha d bu tlittl e.  It  is e as y, however, tobe w ise witho utbe ing  l earne d .  Itiseas ier sti ll to b e  le ar n e d  w ithout being wise.  T h eworld is  fullo fsu c h
person sto- dayw h en ed ucat i on  is toocheap.  C on cha ste er ed his  f loc k a s
bes t  hecouldthroughthe s t ormy paths ofi nsurrection a n dc i vi l  war . He
ruled wi th a rodof i r on  wh o m hecould ,a nd such as were beyond  h is rea ch
he  influenced b y ridicule a n d a pati entt ol e rance.  True t o his  cloth, he was theenemy  of allprogressa n d distru ste d e ver y i n n ov ation.

‘TheP a dre, ’said th e b arber,who  wa s a  ta lk er and aradical,  ‘ wo ul dhav e
the world st an d s ti ll. ’

‘T h e Padr e,’ r epli ed  C o nch a, tend e rl y dryi ng  h is c hin  w ith a  tow e l,‘wouldhave allbar b ersat te nd to t heir razors. M any are so  b usy 
shout i n g “Advan ce!” that they have nob reath t o a sk wh ithe r they ar e
g oing.’ 

O n  the w hole,perha ps , h i s  auto c r at icru le was a b e n efi centon e, a nd
cont ributed to the hap p ine ss of the lit tle  nor t h er n s u bu r b o fR ond a over
which it e xtended. At al l events,h e w as  a watc hful gu ardia n  of his 
flock, a nd knew e ve ry f a c e i n his pari sh.

Itthus happ e ned o n emorni ngthat a  s tra nge w oman,w hohad c ome qu ie tly
in to ch ur ch to pr ay, attracted his atten tion a s hepas sed out a fte r 
ma tins.  Sh e wa s a mere p eas ant  andill clad.   Th e  c hil d  seat ed o n  a
chairb yher s id e and stari n g wit h won der i ng eye s at  the simple altar and
stained-gl assw i ndo w h a d a
re fell_on
him like_a wild beast. _And they_fought,_and fell,_and_rolled down the
steps_together into the_road, where they still_fought till they_were
white_like millers with dust.  Then at last the Padre got the strong man
under_him_and took_the_revolver_away and threw it into_the ditch.  Then
he fell_to belabouring_the would-be suicide with his fists, until the_big
man_cried for mercy_and received it not.

‘You saved his life,’ the people_said.

‘It was his soul that I_was caring for,’_replied_the_Padre with his grim
smile.

Concha_was not a clever man, but_he was wise.  Of learning_he had but
little.  It is easy,_however, to be wise without being_learned.  It is
easier still_to be_learned without being wise. _The world is_full of_such
persons to-day when_education is too cheap.  Concha_steered his flock_as
best he could through the stormy_paths_of insurrection and_civil_war._ He
ruled_with a rod_of_iron whom_he_could, and such as were beyond_his_reach
he influenced by ridicule and a patient_tolerance.  True to_his_cloth, he
was the enemy_of all progress and distrusted_every innovation.

‘The Padre,’ said the barber,_who was_a talker_and a radical, ‘would have
the world stand still.’

‘The Padre,’ replied Concha,_tenderly drying his chin with a_towel,
‘would have all barbers_attend to_their_razors.  Many_are_so busy
shouting_“Advance!” that they have no breath to_ask whither_they are
going.’

On the whole, perhaps, his_autocratic rule was a_beneficent_one, and
contributed to the happiness of_the little northern suburb of Ronda_over
which it extended.  At_all_events,_he was a watchful guardian_of his
flock, and knew every face_in his parish.

It_thus happened one morning that a strange_woman,_who had come quietly
into church to_pray,_attracted his attention as he passed_out_after
matins._ She was a mere_peasant and ill clad.  The_child seated on a
chair by her side and staring_with wondering eyes_at the simple altar and
stained-glass_window_had_a