FAYAL AND THE PORTUGUESE 319 
birds sang on every spray. We walked and 
rode over a steep promontory, down into a 
green valley, scooped softly to the sea; the 
church was by the beach. As we passed along, 
the steep paths converging from all the hills 
were full of women and men in spotless blue 
and white, with bright kerchiefs ; they were all 
walking barefooted over the rocky ways, only 
the women stopping, ere reaching the church, 
to don stockings and shoes. Many persons sat 
in sunny places by the roadside to beg, with 
few to beg from, — blind old men, and groups 
of children clamorous for coppers, but propiti- 
ated by sugarplums. Many others were bring- 
ing offerings, —candles for the altar; poultry, 
which were piled, a living mass, legs tied, in 
the corner of the church; and small sums of 
money, which were recorded by an old man in 
a mighty book. The church was already so 
crowded that it was almost impossible to enter ; 
the centre was one great flower garden made 
of the gay headdresses of kneeling women, and 
in the aisles were penitents, toiling round the 
church upon their knees, each bearing a lighted 
candle. But the services had not yet begun, 
so we went down among the rocks to eat our 
luncheon of bread and oranges; the ocean 
rolled in languidly, a summer sea; we sat be- 
side sheltered, transparent basins, among high 
