The younger grandson saw the priest’s interest in this figure. “That,” he said, “is my name saint, Santiago.” “Oh, yes; Santiago. He was a missionary, like me. In our country we call him St. Jacques, and he carries a staff and a wallet—but here he would need a horse, surely.” The boy looked at him in surprise. “But he is the saint of horses. Isn’t he that in your country?” The Bishop shook his head. “No. I know nothing about that. How is he the saint of horses?” “He blesses the mares and makes them fruitful. Even the Indians believe that. They know that if they neglect to pray to Santiago for
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