Only when the clergy, with cross erect and with the same priest, fell on their knees in the glen did they decide to approach; and one after the other deposited his Host in the ciborium, retiring then from wave to wave, gracefully waggling their little tails.
In spite of the vague hope for a jug of choice wine that was animating most of his hearers, a murmur of incredulity always arose at the end of this tale.

The devout Caragol then became as wrathful and foul-mouthed as a prophet of old when he considered his faith in danger.

"Who was that son of a flea ?...

Who _was_ that son of a flea daring to doubt what I myself have seen ?..." And what he had seen was the fiesta of the _Peixet_ that was celebrated every year, simply listening to most learned men discoursing about the miracle in a commemorative chapel built on the banks of the glen.
This prodigy of the little fishes was almost always followed with what he called the miracle of the _Peixot_, endeavoring with the weight of such a marvelous fish tale to crush the doubts of the impious.
The galley of Alphonso V of Aragon (the only sailor king of Spain), upon coming out of the Gulf of Naples, once struck a hidden rock near the island of Capri which took away a side of the ship without making it leak; and the vessel continued on with all sails spread, carrying the king, the ladies of his court, and the retinue of mail-clad barons.
Twenty days afterward they arrived at Valencia safe and sound like all sailors who in moments of danger ask aid of the _Virgen del Puig_.

Upon inspecting the hull of the galley, the master calkers beheld a monstrous fish detach itself from its bottom with the tranquility of an upright person who has fulfilled his duty.