Before the high altar stood a carved, gilded wooden statue of San Pancrazio, the African, dressed in his best robes, wearing his finest jewels, mitre and gloves. He was mounted on a paso (platform), like those we saw at Seville in the Easter processions. Opposite stood a similar figure of San Pietro. As we were looking at them, Ciro tracked us down--when he had no fare he haunted Patsy’s footsteps. He said a sharp word in _dialetto_ to the old woman--something equivalent to “hands off”--we were his legitimate _forestieri_; had not Gasperone recommended us to him? “San Pancrazio--_molto bello_.” “When it comes to beauty,” said Patsy, “don’t you prefer Ciro’s style?” Ciro, warm with running, his young face glowing, his eyes like gems, was certainly handsomer than the poor old bedizened negro saint. “It is the _festa_ of San Pancrazio perhaps?” I asked, puzzled to account for his presence before the altar. “No. After the earthquake San Pancrazio was brought here, and for the moment remains,” said Ciro. “Some people say, how do I know if it is true, that he caused the earthquake? He has great powers, he protects against dangers of land and sea. Lately, for one reason or another, he has been neglected--it is true, when I was a child they made far more of his _festa_ than now.” “Maria Santa is my witness,” cried the woman passionately, “that for two years next to nothing has been spent for the patron’s _festa_! There were warnings: an old crone appeared to a _contadino_ and, waving her stick, cried three times, _acqua, acqua, acqua leggiera_, then she disappeared in the clouds. The _contadino_ from that day was seen no more. Behold! three weeks before the earthquake, the _acqua leggiera_ came--it was a cloudburst, bad enough but nothing to what came after--if we had only taken warning!” She wiped the saint’s foot with her apron, kissed it, and wiped again as good manners demand. * * * * * “Behold! here is money for two candles; let me see you light them.” Patsy gave her a franc. “May you be blessed, by Santissima Maria, by all the saints, by the Apostles! The ignorant say that San Pancrazio and San Pietro were brothers--a madness! Saint Peter was a Sicilian, white as the blessed Lord himself. San Pancrazio was a Moor, with a black skin as you see. The truth is, their mothers were sisters and they were cousins. The morning of the _terramoto_ we carried San Pancrazio to the Piazza outside there and showed him to the sea. It was a terrible sight! The water had been drawn back one hundred metres; we saw all the rocks at the bottom, the great fish leaping in the air. After a moment a big wave came high, high, and remained on the shore. It broke the boats, tore the nets; one fisherman was drowned. When the wave saw San Pancrazio, _poco à poco_, it went back to its place.” “It was pitch-dark,” murmured Patsy, “nobody saw anything.”