"Lissy, will you go with ME?"

The child put her arms around his neck, and said joyfully, "Yes."

"But now--tonight?"

"Tonight."

And, hand in hand, they passed into the road--the narrow road that had
once brought her weary feet to the master's door, and which it seemed
she should not tread again alone. The stars glittered brightly above
them. For good or ill the lesson had been learned, and behind them the
school of Red Mountain closed upon them forever.




THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER


The year of grace 1797 passed away on the coast of California in a
southwesterly gale. The little bay of San Carlos, albeit sheltered by
the headlands of the blessed Trinity, was rough and turbulent; its foam
clung quivering to the seaward wall of the Mission garden; the air
was filled with flying sand and spume, and as the Senor Commandante,
Hermenegildo Salvatierra, looked from the deep embrasured window of the
Presidio guardroom, he felt the salt breath of the distant sea buffet a
color into his smoke-dried cheeks.