Antonio perceived that the open scissors made the sign of the Cross; and it thrilled him to find, in this peasant-woman's chatter about eggs and scissors, a miniature picture of the millennial struggle between heathenism and Christianity. For he had common-sense enough to understand that, while she held the Christian Faith with all her heart and mind, she was only half-serious about her grandsires' goblins and demons. "Are open scissors good against anything else besides monsters out of black eggs?" asked José. "Yes," answered the spinner. "They're good against witches." "I was hoping they might be good against ghosts," grumbled José. Antonio was surprised. José was still only half-educated; but he had never before found him superstitious. As for the more serious guests, they were scandalized. The farrier's wife, Donna Catharina de Barros Lopes, who was a "Blessed One," said aloud: "Thanks be to God there are no witches left! As for ghosts, there never were any." "Then the Senhora has never been up to the old abbey chapel on a dark night?" asked José doggedly. Antonio could not believe his ears. As for the other guests, they sat up and bent forward, all sudden excitement. There were no more affected little squeaks from the maidens. All, even the men, were struck dumb at the news that a ghost walked within a league of Senhor Jorge's barn. Emilio Carneiro, whose farm was only a mile and a half from one of the abbey gates, turned white with terror. "No," answered the Blessed One curtly. "I do not go, Senhor, up to the old abbey chapel on dark nights. And what is more, I don't intend to." "I am glad to hear it," said José, with maddening slowness. "The Senhora is better at home. And the rest of your Worships too." When the general excitement could no longer be suppressed, Senhor Jorge, who had just re-entered the room, demanded sternly: "What is all this? Why are we better at home?" "Because," said José in awe-struck tones, "it's very easy for us to talk and be brave here, in the light and in good company. But I don't think we should stay up there very long if we saw--" "If we saw--?" urged six or seven voices. "If we saw a monk, all in black, sitting in his stall, with a face as white as a curd cheese." Rosalina Saldanha screamed and collapsed into the stout arms of Joanna Quintella. Twenty people began talking at once, and bombarding José with questions. "No," cried Antonio loudly. "No more. We've had more than enough of witchcraft and ghosts and superstition. Donna Perpetua--Senhor Jorge--I ask pardon for interfering." "Your Worship is quite right," answered Senhor Jorge, with warmth. "In my own house such talk is forbidden. We don't want the maids in hysterics. Luiz--Affonso--every one is dying of thirst and hunger. Where are the broas?"