he considered must have been induced by his dying condition, and he
sternly banished the thought from his mind.

"My lad," he began, "you promise to carry out my wishes after I am
gone?"

"Ay, father, you know that I will. What do you wish me to do?"

The old man pointed to the crucifix.

"You swear it?"

"I swear it."

No sooner had the son uttered the wished-for words than his father fell
back on the couch and closed his eyes. The effort and excitement left
him as white as a sheet. It seemed to the boy as if his father might be
sinking into the last stupor, but after a while he opened his eyes and
called for a glass of _aguardiente_.

With difficulty he gulped it down; then he said feebly:

"My boy, the only American that ever was good was your mother. She was
an angel. All the rest of these cursed gringos are pigs;" and his voice
growing stronger, he repeated: "Ay, pigs, hogs, swine!"

The son made no reply; his father went on:

"What have not these devils done to our country ever since they came
here? At first we received them most hospitably; everything they wanted