"All right," he said at last, "if you'll let me take a ten minutes nap
before we start." He stretched himself at full length on the soft grass
and pulled his hat low over his eyes.

I was glad to be quiet for a time and let my imagination have full
sweep. I seemed to see, toiling up the peninsula, a little band of
foot-sore travelers, the leathern-clad soldiers on the alert for hostile
Indians, the brown-robed friars encouraging the women and children, and
the sturdy colonists bringing up the rear with their flocks and herds.
At last the little company come to a sparkling rivulet and stoop to
drink eagerly of the cool water. The commander examines his chart and
nods to the tonsured priest who falls on his knees and raises his voice
in thanksgiving. Stretching out his arms in blessing to his flock, he
exclaims: "Rest now, my children. Our journey is at an end. Here on the
Arroyo de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores, we will establish the mission
to our Father San Francisco de Asis."

"If we want to see the old building before lunch time, we shall have to
be moving," said a sleepy voice at my elbow.

"Come on, then, I'll be your pathfinder," and we raced down the
hill-side until the paved streets reminded us that city manners were
expected.

We followed the former course of the Arroyo de los Dolores down
Eighteenth to Church street, then turned north. Two, blocks further on I
laid a detaining hand on my companion's arm.

"Hold, skeptic," I whispered, "thou art on holy ground."