He continued to work a little, and pray a good deal, and keep
saints' days and holidays, from year to year, while his family grew up
as gaunt and ragged as a crew of gipsies. As he was seated one evening
at the door of his hovel, he was accosted by a rich old curmudgeon,
who was noted for owning many houses, and being a griping landlord.
The man of money eyed him for a moment from beneath a pair of
anxious shagged eyebrows.
"I am told, friend, that you are very poor."
"There is no denying the fact, senor- it speaks for itself"
"I presume then, that you will be glad of a job, and will work
cheap."
"As cheap, my master, as any mason in Granada."
"That's what I want. I have an old house fallen into decay, which
costs me more money than it is worth to keep it in repair, for
nobody will live in it; so I must contrive to patch it up and keep
it together at as small expense as possible."
The mason was accordingly conducted to a large deserted house that
seemed going to ruin. Passing through several empty halls and
chambers, he entered an inner court, where his eye was caught by an
old Moorish fountain. He paused for a moment, for a dreaming
recollection of the place came over him.
"Pray," said he, "who occupied this house formerly?"
"A pest upon him!" cried the landlord, "it was an old miserly
priest, who cared for nobody but himself He was said to be immensely
rich, and, having no relations, it was thought he would leave all
his treasures to the church.
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