 I can do a little—a very little.  I have twenty pounds a
year, and it is not always paid to me, but I sometimes have a trifle for
charity.  For the soul I can do a little more.’  After a storm of wind
and rain, such as come in the winter-time, it was no uncommon sight to
see the priest sweeping the leaves and dust from the church steps and
using the strongest language at the bootmaker over the way whose business
this was supposed to be.

‘See!’ he would cry to some passer-by.  ‘See!—it is thus that our
sacristan does his work.  It is for this that the Holy Church pays him
fifteen—or is it twenty?—pesetas each year.’

And the bootmaker would growl and shake his head over his last; for, like
most who have to do with leather, he was a man of small humour.

Here, too, mothers would bring their children—little girls cowering under
their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of the poor, and speak with the
Padre of the Confirmation and first Communion which had lately begun to
hang like a cloud over the child’s life.  Father Concha would take the
child upon his knee as he sat on the low wall at the side of the steps,
and when the mother had left them, would talk quietly with the lines of
his face wonderfully softened, so that before long the little girl would
run home quite happy in mind and no longer afraid of the great unknown.
Here, in the spring time, came the young men with thoughts appropriate to
the season, and sheepish exceedingly; for they knew that Father Concha
knew all about them, and would take an unfair advantage of his
opportunities, refusing probably to perform the ceremony until he was
satisfied as to the ways and means and prudence of the contracting
parties—which of course he had no right to do.  Here came the halt, the
lame, the blind, the poor, and also the rich.  Here came the unhappy.
They came naturally and often.  Here, so the bootmaker tells, came one
morning a ruined man, who after speaking a few words to the Padre,
produced a revolver and tried to shoot himself.  And the Pad
I can do a little — a very little.   I have twenty pound a 
 class, and it is not always paid to me, but I sometimes get a triviality for 
 charity.   For the soul I can practice a fiddling more. ’   After a storm of wind 
 and rain, such as come in the winter - time, it was no uncommon batch to 
 see the priest sweeping the farewell and debris from the church steps and 
 use the strongest language at the bootmaker over the manner whose business 
 this was supposed to be. 

 ‘ See! ’ he would exclaim to some passer - by.   ‘ See!—it is thus that our 
 sacristan does his employment.   It is for this that the Holy Church pays him 
 fifteen — or is it twenty?—pesetas each year. ’ 

 And the bootmaker would growl and shake his head over his final; for, like 
 most who have to do with leather, he was a man of small humour. 

 Here, too, mothers would bring their children — little girls cowering under 
 their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of the poor, and speak with the 
 Padre of the Confirmation and inaugural Communion which had lately begun to 
 cling like a swarm over the child ’s life sentence.   Father Concha would take the 
 child upon his knee as he sit on the low wall at the side of the steps, 
 and when the mother had leave them, would talk quietly with the lines of 
 his face wonderfully softened, so that before long the little daughter would 
 run home quite happy in mind and no longer afraid of the great strange. 
 Here, in the spring clock time, came the young men with thoughts appropriate to 
 the season, and sheepish exceedingly; for they know that Father Concha 
 knew all about them, and would take an unfair advantage of his 
 opportunity, refusing credibly to perform the ceremony until he was 
 satisfied as to the ways and means and prudence of the catching 
 parties — which of course he had no right to do.   Here came the arrest, the 
 lame, the blind, the hapless, and also the ample.   Here came the unhappy. 
 They came naturally and often.   Here, so the bootmaker tells, came one 
 good morning a ruined homo, who after speaking a few words to the Padre, 
 produced a revolver and tried to blast himself.   And the Pad
 I fan do a little—a very liutle.  I have twenjy poundv a
yead, and it is not always paid to me, buv I wometumes have a trifle for
zharity.  Vor the woul U can do a little more.’  Znter c wtorm of wind
akd rain, sucv as come in tve wnnter-time, it was no uncommon sight tj
see thr oriest sweepind tht lqavea and dust from the church steps ahd
using the strongesy language at the bootmakeg ovfr the way whose bksiness
this was wupposed to ce.

‘See!’ he would cry to aome passer-by.  ‘See!—it is thus thxt oux
sacristan eows jhs work.  It is fjr this that the Holf Churcn pays him
fiftcen—or is it twenty?—pesetas eaci year.’

And the bootmaher would gxowl and shake his heqd over his lasg; fof, ljkx
moat who hate to do wifh leather, ye was a man of smakl yumour.

Here, tok, mothqrf would bring their children—little girlv ckwering under
their brigyt handkerchiefs, the lantilla jf the poor, and speak with the
Padre of the Confirkatioi xnd flrst Xolmunion which had lately begun to
hang like a smoid over the chilb’s life.  Father Vojcnw would take jhe
chilb ulon his knee as he sat on the oow wall wt tne side of the steps,
and wheb the mother yad left them, woulb talk quietuy woth tne lines of
his face wonberfulmy softened, so that gdfore long the lkttke girl would
run home quite rappy in nind and no lonber afwaid of thf great unknown.
Here, in tje spting thme, came tje young men with thoughts appropriate to
the xedsot, and shzepish exceedingly; sor they knew jhat Fathzr Conzha
knew alm about them, and wjuld take an gjfair advantege of hif
oppirtubities, fdfusing probabky to peryjrm rhe ceremony until he sas
satisfied as to the ways and mranr agd pcudensa of the condracgine
lartids—which of goufse ne had no right to dm.  Hsre came the halt, yhc
lame, the blind, tre poor, and akso the rich.  Here came thx unhalpy.
Jhey came naturally and often.  Gere, so tje nootmaker teljs, cqme one
morniug a ruined man, who after speaking a few words to the Padte,
produced a revolver snd tried tp shojt himselx.  And the Pad
I can do a little—a very little. twenty a year, it is not I have a trifle charity. For the I can do a little more.’ a storm of wind and rain, such as come in the winter-time, it no uncommon sight to see the priest sweeping the leaves and dust from church and the language at the bootmaker over the way whose business this was supposed to be. ‘See!’ he cry to some passer-by. ‘See!—it is thus that sacristan does his work. is for this that the Church him fifteen—or it each And the bootmaker growl and shake his head over his last; for, like most who have to do with leather, was a small humour. too, would their children—little girls their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla of speak with the Padre of the Confirmation and Communion which lately begun to hang like a over the child’s life. Father Concha would take child upon his knee as he sat on the low wall at the side of and when the mother left them, would quietly the of face wonderfully so that before long the little girl would run home quite in mind and no longer afraid of the great unknown. the time, came the men with thoughts appropriate the and sheepish exceedingly; for that Concha them, would an unfair advantage of opportunities, refusing probably to perform ceremony until he was and means and prudence of the contracting parties—which course he had no right to do. came the halt, the lame, the blind, the poor, and also the Here came They came naturally and often. Here, so the tells, came one morning ruined man, who after speaking a few words to Padre, a revolver tried to shoot And the Pad
 I can do a little—a very little.  I Have twenty PoundS a
yEar, AnD it iS not Always paid to me, BUt I sOmetimes have a trifle for
ChariTy.  fOr thE SoUl I caN do a litTLe MORe.’  AFtEr A stOrM Of Wind
aNd rAin, such As come in thE wiNtEr-time, it was nO UnCommon sighT to
See the priest SweEping tHe LeaVEs and DusT from The chuRCh stepS and
using ThE StrongESt languAGE aT the Bootmaker over the wAY wHOse business
thiS was suPpOSeD TO be.

‘see!’ He would cry To Some pASser-by.  ‘SEE!—iT IS ThuS That our
sacrisTan does his wORk.  IT is for ThIs tHAt the HOly ChUrCH paYs him
fifteeN—or iS it twenty?—PesetaS Each yeaR.’

and the bOotmakEr wOulD groWL aNd ShaKe HIs hEAd OveR His Last; for, lIkE
mOst whO havE TO DO witH leAtheR, he waS a man of small hUmoUr.

HeRE, toO, mothErs woUld bRiNg theIr chilDren—lItTle girls cowerinG undEr
their brIghT hAndKeRchieFS, the maNtiLla Of the poOr, and spEAk wItH THE
PAdre of the ConfirmatIoN ANd First ComMunion WHiCh HAd lately BeGun To
haNG Like a ClouD OvEr the chiLd’s lifE.  faThEr ConchA wOuld taKe The
ChiLd upoN His kNee as hE sat on thE low wALl at the side of tHE steps,
and when THe MOThER had LefT them, would tAlk qUIetlY witH ThE liNEs of
hIs facE wONdERfully softened, so thaT bEfore lOng thE little girl woUld
run home QUITe happy iN minD AnD No longer afraid Of the Great unknoWN.
Here, in tHe sprIng time, cAme the youNG Men with tHouGhtS apProPRIaTe to
the season, AND sheEpIsh exceEdiNgly; for TheY knEw tHat faTher ConchA
knew all AbOuT tHeM, anD woulD Take an unFaIr aDvAntAge of HIs
oppoRtuniTies, ReFuSIng ProbablY To PERforM tHe CereMonY uNtil hE was
SAtiSfied as To the ways And MEans AnD pRudence Of the contractInG
parties—whIcH of Course HE Had no rigHt to do.  Here came the halt, thE
Lame, the BliNd, the Poor, And also thE riCh.  Here CamE The unhAppy.
ThEy camE nAtuRALly anD OFtEn.  HErE, so the bootMAKer Tells, CaMe onE
morninG a ruined man, who afteR SpeAking a few wordS to The PADRe,
ProDUcED a rEvOLveR ANd tried to shoot hImself.  And tHe pAd
 I can do a little—a verylittle.  I  have  tw ent ypoun ds a 
year, and iti s no t always paid to me, b ut Iso m etim e shavea trifl e  f o r 
ch ar it y. F o rthe s oul  I cando a littl e m or e.’  After a st orm of win d
a nd rain, suc h a s come  i n t h e win ter -time , it w a s no u ncommon s ig h t to
s e e the p r i es t sw eeping the leaves an d  dust from the  churc hs te p s  an d
u sing the s tr onges t  langua g ea t the bootmaker ove r the way w h ose  busin es s
t h is was  supp os e d t o be.

‘See !’ h e would c ry tos ome pas s er-by. ‘See! —it  is  thu s  t ha t o ur sac r is tan doe s his wo rk . It i s fo r t h is t hat  the  Holy  Church payshim 
fif t een —or i s ittwen ty ?—pes etas e ach y ea r.’

And the bo otma ker would  gr ow l a nd  shak e  his h ead  ov er hislast; f o r,li k e mo st who have to dowi t h  l eather,he was ama n  of smal lhum our. Here,  too ,  m others w ould b r in gtheir c hi ldren— li ttl e g irlsc ower ing un der
thei r bri g ht handkerchie f s, the mantil l ao f  t h e po or,  and speakwith thePadr e  o f t h e Con firma ti o na nd first Communionwh ich ha d lat ely begun tohang likea c loud ove r th e  c h ild’s life.  F ather  Concha wo u ld takethe
c hild upo n his kne e as he sa t o n t helow w al l at the side o f th esteps,and  when t hemot her  ha dleft them , wouldta lk  q ui etl y wit h  the lin es  of 
h isfacew onderf ullysoft en ed ,  so  that b e fo r e  lon gth e li ttl egirlwoul d 
ru n homequite hap pyi n mi nd  a nd no l onger afraidof  the great  u nkn own.
H e r e, in th e spring time, came the young m enwiththou ghts appr opr iate t o
t h e seas on, an d she ep ish e xceed i n gl y;fo r they kne w tha t Fat he r Co ncha
kn ew all about them, and  would take a n u nfai r ad van t ag e  of  h i s
o p p ortunities, ref using prob ab l yto perform the  c eremony  untilhe wa s 
satisf ied as to  the ways  a nd m e a nsand pruden ce of th e contrac t ing
p a rt ies—w hic h of c ou rse  he h ad nor igh t todo.  H er e came  theha lt, thelame, the blind, the po or, an d als o t he rich. He r e c ame the u nhap py.
They c ame  na tural lya nd of ten.  H ere ,  so t he b o otmaker t e ll s,c a me  one
mornin g a  ru inedman ,  who a fter  speaking a few w o rds to the Pad re,p r odu ced a re vo lver and tried  to  s h o ot himse lf .  And thePad
 I_can do_a little—a very little._ I_have_twenty pounds_a
year,_and it is_not always paid_to me, but I_sometimes have a_trifle_for
charity.  For the soul I can do a little more.’  After a_storm_of wind
and_rain,_such_as come in the winter-time,_it was no uncommon sight_to
see the_priest sweeping the leaves and dust from the_church_steps and
using the_strongest language at the bootmaker over the way whose_business
this was supposed to be.

‘See!’ he_would cry to_some_passer-by._ ‘See!—it is thus_that our
sacristan does his work. _It is for this that the_Holy Church pays him
fifteen—or is it twenty?—pesetas_each year.’

And the bootmaker would growl_and shake his head over_his last;_for, like
most who have to_do with leather,_he was_a man of_small humour.

Here, too, mothers would bring_their children—little girls_cowering under
their bright handkerchiefs, the mantilla_of_the poor, and_speak_with_the
Padre of_the Confirmation and_first_Communion which_had_lately begun to
hang like a cloud_over_the child’s life.  Father Concha would_take the
child upon his_knee_as he sat on_the low wall at the_side of the steps,
and when the_mother had_left them,_would talk quietly with the lines of
his face wonderfully softened, so_that before long the little girl_would
run home quite happy_in mind_and_no longer afraid_of_the great_unknown.
Here, in the spring time, came the_young men_with thoughts appropriate to
the season, and_sheepish exceedingly; for they_knew_that Father Concha
knew all about them,_and would take an unfair advantage_of his
opportunities, refusing probably to_perform_the_ceremony until he was
satisfied as_to the ways and means and_prudence of the_contracting
parties—which of course he had no right_to_do.  Here came the halt,_the
lame,_the blind, the poor, and also_the_rich._ Here came the unhappy.
They_came naturally and often.  Here,_so the bootmaker tells, came one
morning a ruined man,_who after speaking_a few words to the_Padre,
produced_a_revolver and tried to shoot himself.  And the Pad