"Si, Se–or, I am eighty-one now. Until I was about twenty, I lived at
Mission San Luis Rey, twenty miles from here. Has the Se–or ever seen
San Luis Rey?"

I nodded, continuing with my sketch.

"Ah! that was a beautiful mission sixty years ago," the old man said, in
a tone of sad retrospect.

"Tell me about it," I said. "In those days, sixty years ago, the mission
must have been perfect, with no ruins to mar its beauty. And were there
not many neophytes at that time?" I added.

"Se–or, San Luis Rey was the largest mission in California. So much
larger than this place, although Pala had many more Indians in those
days, before the padres were driven away, that it seemed to me like a
city. There were more than two thousand Indians, and all worked busily
from morning until night, the men plowing and planting in the fields, or
making adobes for building houses, and the women weaving and sewing and
cooking. Every one had something to do, and knew it must be done, and
all were willing and glad to do it; for we all dearly loved the padre,
he was so good, and it was a happiness to do what he demanded of us."

"You speak of Padre Peyri, do you not?" I asked.

"Si, Se–or. Padre Peyri was the head of the mission, and no one could do
anything unless he had the padre's consent. There was almost always a
second padre there, but this second padre never stayed long, and when
one went away, another would come in his place; but Padre Peyri was