Afterwards Carlos went to the spot where the Blessed Mother was waiting for him. As soon as he saw her, he immediately threw himself at her feet, and told her what the priest had said. With great tenderness our Lady bade him come to her the next day, saying she would give him the sign for which the priest had asked. Carlos came the next day. "Go now," said the Blessed Virgin, "to the top of the hill, and gather the roses that are blooming there. Put them in your handkerchief, and bring them to me; I will tell you what to do with them." Though Carlos believed that there were no roses there, he obeyed without a word. How great, then, was his surprise to find a garden rich with flowers! Filling his handkerchief with roses, he hurried back to the Blessed Virgin. Our Lady took the roses in her pure hands, and letting them drop back into the handkerchief, said to Carlos, "Present these roses to the priest, and say that they are the proof of the command I give you. Do not show any one what you carry, and open your handkerchief only in the presence of the priest." Thanking the Blessed Virgin, Carlos started once more for the town. When he reached the convent and was brought before the priest, he opened his handkerchief to show the sign that was to prove his words, and fresh, sweet-smelling roses, wet with dew, fell to the floor, while on the handkerchief itself appeared a beautiful picture of the Mother of God. "The Blessed Virgin is here," said the father, and then he knelt before the picture and gave praise to God. The miraculous handkerchief was placed in the church of Gapan, where it remained until a suitable chapel was built on the very top of the hill, as our Lady desired. --Teofilo P. Corpus. =A Legend of the Incas= "We will rest here for a time, Uira." The hollow-eyed, tired-looking youth dismounted from his burro. His companion Uira, a short, swarthy-skinned Peruvian, turned and gazed down the mountainside whence they had come, upon the flat roofs of Quito, which seemed like a dream city, so lovely did the distance make it. "It is beautiful, is it not, Juan? My home, the home of the Incas, the most ancient city in all the land?" "Yes, indeed, it is beautiful, and, Uira, while we rest, you shall tell me a tale of your people; some pretty legend of the Incas. I think nothing else would so thoroughly refresh me." Now Juan could by no exercise of ingenuity have touched a more responsive chord in the nature of his friend. "Well, what shall it be, Juan? You have never heard the story of Manca, have you? It may not be what you would call a pretty legend; yet I think you would like it," said Uira, readily complying. "Very well, I know I cannot help but enjoy it," said Juan, as he settled himself comfortably, with dried leaves for a couch and a tree stump for a pillow. "Well," began Uira, his gaze still on the town below them.