In the heavy, lumbering coach we left next morning, Saturday, for Mitla.  The road, usually deep with dust, was in fair condition on account of recent rains.  We arrived in the early afternoon and at once betook ourselves to the ruins.  At the curacy, we presented the archbishop’s letter to the indian cura, who turned it over once or twice, then asked the padre to read it, as his eyes were bad.  While the reading proceeded, the old man listened with wonder, and then exclaimed, “What a learned man you are to read like that!” As we left, the padre expressed his feelings at the comeliness of the old priest’s indian housekeeper, at the number of her children, at the suspicious wideness of his bed, and at his ignorance, in wearing a ring, for all the world just like a bishop’s.  But he soon forgot his pious irritation amid those marvelous ruins of past grandeur.  In our early ramble he lost no opportunity to tell the indians that he would repeat mass on the morrow at seven, and that they should make a special effort to be present.

[Illustration:  WITH THE PADRE IN MITLA RUINS]

[Illustration:  THE PADRE, ERNST AND THE DOGS]

But as we wandered from one to another of the ancient buildings, the thought of the morrow’s duty lost its sweetness.  He several times remarked that it was a great pity to lose any of our precious morning hours in saying mass, when there were ruins of such interest to be seen.  These complaints gained in force and frequency as evening approached, until finally, as we sat at supper, he announced his decision to say mass before daybreak; he would call me at five o’clock, we would go directly to the church, we would be through service before six, would take our morning’s coffee immediately after, and then would have quite a piece of the morning left for the ruins, before the coach should leave for Oaxaca.

The plan was carried out in detail.  At five we were called from our beds by the anxious padre.  Herman and I were the only members of the party who were sufficiently devout to care to hear mass so early.  With the padre, we stumbled in the darkness up to the church, where we roused the old woman who kept the key and the boy who rang the bell.  The vestments were produced, the padre hastily robed, and the bell rung; the padre was evidently irritated at the absence of a congregation, as he showed by the rapid and careless way in which he repeated the first part of the service.  When, however, at the Credo, he turned and saw that several poor indians had quietly crept in, a change came over him; his tone became fuller, his manner more dignified, and the service itself more impressive and decorous.  Still, we were through long before six, and throwing off his vestments, which he left the boy to put away, the padre seized me by the arm, and we hastened down the hill to our morning’s coffee.  On the way we met a number of indians on their way to mass, whom the padre sternly rebuked for their laziness and want of devotion.  Immediately after coffee, we were among the ruins.