“This man shall come on shore, and neither to prison nor hospital,” José answered determinately. “Here we are, patre. Look, there stands the captain by the helm. I am to deal with him, you understand? But he must bring me to his cabin. I can do nothing within earshot of his men.” So successfully did José deal with the captain of the _San Cristofero_, that in less than an hour the sick man was taken gently from the dark and horrible hole into which he had been thrown to die, placed on a rude litter made out of a couple of spare planks covered with José’s mantle, and borne carefully to the lodging of Fray Fernando. “You succeeded marvellously—how did you manage?”—the monk asked of José, so soon as he had rendered Melchior the cares his situation immediately demanded, and had seen that he was slumbering from exhaustion. “I had, in the clasp of my yacollo, a certain magic stone, which I did but show the captain, and the sight of it bowed his heart at once.” “And what said he to you?” “Many things, which seemed utter unreason. Such as these: ‘Pray devoutly and hammer on stoutly.’ That ‘the golden load is a burden light,’ and that he was not like the tailor of Campijo, or Campillo, or some such place, who wrought for nothing, and found his customers in thread.” “What answer made you to his litany of proverbs?” “None; save to give him that glimpse of the magic stone. And to tell him I knew the poor fellow was dying (which in truth I know not at all); and that if he died on shore, there would be no man the wiser—but one man the wealthier. But had I known these were proverbs, I might have favoured him in return with one of ours, from the lips of the wise Inca Pacha-cutec: ‘Anger and passion may be cured; but folly is incurable.’ And of all the follies under God’s heaven, the worst, as I think, is that of the white men, who will do nothing for pity and for mercy, for the fear of God and the love of man; but everything for gold and silver, or for children’s toys of coloured or sparkling stones.” Fray Fernando sighed. “You have done well, José,” he said. “But I fear the deliverance has come too late.” “Nay, patre. Our people indeed die easily; but the white man is strong, and he clings to life as the lianas cling to the forest trees. With care and God’s blessing, I think we may save him yet.” XXXI. The Years that the Canker-worm hath Eaten. “Tell him, when he is a man, to reverence the dreams of his youth.” SCHILLER.