A STORY OF CATTLEYA BOWRINGIANA 43 



patiently the Cura replied that he never looked at them — 

 very likely they were. People decked the church with 

 white flowers, and perhaps they got them from the roof. 

 He had other things to think about. 



Oversluys guessed that the man was eager to sell but 

 afraid, and fretful accordingly. He raised his price, whilst 

 Don Hilario taunted the Cura with fearing his parishioners. 

 That decided him. Loudly he declared that the church was 

 his own, and consented. 



The deed must be done that night. But who would 

 climb the church roof in the dark ? Don Hilario was pre- 

 pared for that difficulty. He knew half a dozen fellows of 

 his own age and stamp who would enjoy the mischief. And 

 he went to collect them. 



It was long past midnight when the band appeared — a 

 set of lively young ruffians. So vivacious were they, in fact, 

 though not noisy, and so disrespectflil to their pastor as they 

 drank a glass for luck, standing round the board, that 

 Oversluys thought it well to prepare for a ' row.' He 

 slipped out, saddled his mule and tied it by the door. 



Then the young Indians filed off in high spirits, chuckling 

 low and nudging one another. The Cura followed to the 

 door, commended them to heaven and stopped. Don 

 Hilario would not have that — he must take his share of the 

 enterprise. The others returned and remonstrated warmly. 

 In short, there was such hubbub, though all in low tones, 

 that Oversluys grew more and more alarmed. The Cura 

 gave way savagely, however, and they started again ; but 

 Oversluys kept well behind, leading his mule. It was a 

 dark night, though not dark as in a northern climate. He 

 could follow the little group with his eyes, a blurred mass 

 stealing over the plaza. The church itself was faintly visible 

 a hundred yards away. All remained still and silent. He 

 advanced. 



