The porter of a Jesuit college--for the servants of these institutions love their employers no better than do their friends and relatives outside--told his brother, who told me, that every night during the first two or three weeks in August, 1909, after the Barcelona riots, refugees were admitted to the college. At least eighty, he said, came in all. They slipped in secretly, after the lights were out, disguised in lay dress, often of the poorest description, having travelled half dead with fear [_muertos de miedo_] from Cataluña. That the porter’s story was true was proved by the large purchases of provisions made by the college during that month. A baker told me that the _frailes_ were more insistent than ever that all the waste bread should be given to them “for the poor.” And, he added, the “good Fathers” were already buying twice their usual supply of him. “The _frailes_ always demand all the bread we put by for the poor,” said my friend. “We would prefer to give it direct to the poor ourselves, for we do not feel sure how much of it they get from the _frailes_, whose house-keepers are great hands at making _pasteles_ and _dulces_[7] for sale to good Catholic families. These good Catholic families prefer to buy their _pasteles_ cheap from the friars, who say that they are sold for the good of the Church. We do not care to give our stale bread to be used in injuring the trade of our companions the confectioners; for the friars, having no taxes to pay, can naturally undersell ordinary tradesmen, and all the more when they get the bread for their confectionery free. But if we said that we wished to give our bread to our own acquaintances among the poor, the Jesuits would ruin us. They would tell all their clients that we were bad men and enemies of the Church, and we should lose all our trade. We know this by experience. So we give our stale bread to the _frailes_ and they let us live. But the poor are getting no bread from the _frailes_ since the Barcelona business.” During the disturbances in Cataluña it was said that “shiploads” of monks and nuns were being landed in the middle of the night at sundry ports along the coast, and that they so effectually betrayed themselves by their nervousness of manner that the country people had not the slightest doubt as to who and what they were. But as the people had no desire to injure them personally--notwithstanding a certain amount of talk about cutting throats and hanging--they were permitted to pass unmolested, though it is true that there were occasional scowls at ill-clad individuals who wore their trousers “with a difference,” as though they missed the flowing skirts of their cloth.