Stop at no posada nor fonda, but if the child is weary, rest then awhile
at Don Juan Briones' or at the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman. Have no
converse with stragglers, least of all those gentile Americanos.
So . . ."

The first strokes of the Angelus came from the nearer tower. With a
gesture Father Pedro waved Antonio aside, and opened the door of the
sacristy.

"Ad Majorem Dei Gloria."




CHAPTER II


The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a wooded cleft of the
foot-hills, was hidden, as Father Pedro had wisely reflected, from
the straying feet of travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. As
Francisco, emerging from the canada, put spurs to his mule at the sight
of the whitewashed walls, Antonio grunted.

"Oh aye, little priest! thou wast tired enough a moment ago, and though
we are not three leagues from the Blessed Fisherman, thou couldst
scarce sit thy saddle longer. Mother of God! and all to see that little
mongrel, Juanita."

"But, good Antonio, Juanita was my play-fellow, and I may not soon again
chance this way. And Juanita is not a mongrel, no more than I am."