up to now prices had not risen. Ha, ha, ha! Why should a baptism cost less than a chicken? But I play the deaf man, collect what I can, and never complain. We 're not avaricious, are we, Padre Salvi?"
At that moment Simoun's head appeared above the hatchway.
"Well, where've you been keeping yourself?" Don Custodio called to him, having forgotten all about their dispute. "You 're missing the prettiest part of the trip!"
"Pshaw!" retorted Simoun, as he ascended, "I've seen so many rivers and landscapes that I'm only interested in those that call up legends."
"As for legends, the Pasig has a few," observed the captain, who did not relish any depreciation of the river where he navigated and earned his livelihood. "Here you have that of Malapad-na-bato, a rock sacred before the coming of the Spaniards as the abode of spirits. Afterwards, when the superstition had been dissipated and the rock profaned, it was converted into a nest of tulisanes, since from its crest they easily captured the luckless bankas, which had to contend against both the currents and men. Later, in our time, in spite of human interference, there are still told stories about wrecked bankas, and if on rounding it I didn't steer with my six senses, I'd be smashed against its sides. Then you have another legend, that of Doña Jeronima's cave, which Padre Florentino can relate to you."
"Everybody knows that," remarked Padre Sibyla disdainfully.
But neither Simoun, nor Ben-Zayb, nor Padre Irene, nor Padre Camorra knew it, so they begged for the story, some in jest and others from genuine curiosity. The priest, adopting the tone of burlesque with which some had made their request, began like an old tutor relating a story to children.
"Once upon a time there was a student who had made a promise of marriage to a young woman in his country,
