At six o’clock the following morning we were awakened by a dozen little naked Indian boys flitting silently about, peering at us like tiny copper elves, or like human incarnations of the bats which had hovered about us during the night. Going outdoors in the dusk we heard a perfect medley of bird notes, Wrens, Thrushes, Tanagers, Seedeaters, all giving voice at once, while from the farther end of the cocoanut walk came a chorus from a colony of Yellow-backed Cassiques.[151] We saw the mission cat teasing something and took from her a tiny oppossum with fur of richest brown, and no larger than a mouse. The little creature was unhurt, but played ’possum until it recovered from its fear when it made itself at home in a small suitcase. [Illustration: FIG. 95. FATHER GILLETT AND HIS INDIAN BOYS.] When our jolly priest appeared to wish us good-morning, the little Indian lads bowed their bronze figures reverently and kissed his hand. Some of them busied themselves weaving a hammock, while others set the table and later served us at breakfast. Our priest was like the genial monk of a mediæval story. He was delightful with his tribe of small Indian boys, ordering them about in a great voice but with his eyes beaming with affection for them. “Man alive!” he would shout, “bring the finger-bowls!” And to our amazement, the wee naked valet not only knew what finger-bowls were, but actually produced them, passing them around the table with colossal dignity. “That man’s a linguist,” the Father added; “he speaks English, Spanish and several Indian dialects.” The good Father’s heart was overflowing with kindness toward every living thing. He could not even bear to see his cat waiting hungrily for her breakfast, but ordered his small butler at once to give her some milk. We wondered why the Father’s Indian boys had such straight, slim, well-proportioned figures, instead of the unwieldy “cassava-stomachs” so characteristic of the little savage Indians. With a twinkle in his eye the Father told us that his first step in converting the small Indian lad to Christianity was a huge dose of castor oil; then regular hours and regular meals of nourishing food, instead of allowing them to munch cassava all day. Then one might proceed by teaching them the doctrine, and always a useful trade, while after that was achieved there was plenty of time for a more literary education, if the individual warranted it. He had reason to be proud of his method, for in all our travels we never met a missionary whose works “spoke louder” than those of Father Gillett; for the most successful and worthy Indians in the colony had been trained by him. Some of them had become excellent engineers, others priests and still others had learned good trades.