"Of course you can't, you stupid man!" I laughed. "If you'll use your
imagination instead of your glasses you will see it easily. The stream
arose, we are told, between the summits of Twin Peaks, and tumbling down
the hill-side, made its way east, emptying into the Laguna."

"I don't see a laguna!" Again the skeptic surveyed the field of roofs.

"Put down your glasses and close your eyes," I commanded. "When you open
them the houses from here to the bay will have disappeared and the
ground will be covered with a carpet of velvety green, dappled here and
there by groves of oak trees and relieved by patches of bright poppies."

"And fields of yellow mustard," he supplemented.

"No, your imagination is too vivid. The padres brought the mustard seed
later. A little south of the present mission," I continued, "you will
see a group of willows bending to drink the crystal waters of the Arroyo
de los Dolores, so named because Anza and his followers discovered it on
the day of our Mother of Sorrows, and to the east is the shining
laguna."

"It's clear as a San Francisco fog," he laughed. "I'd like to take a
look at the old building! Is there a car line?"

"Let's follow in the footsteps of the padres," I begged. "They used
often to climb this hill and it isn't very far."

He looked dubiously down the rugged side and mentally measured the
distance from the base to the low tiled roof.