Early the next morning Juan's mother wended her way to the mission, and
asking to see the Father, was led to his reception-room. He was sitting
at a table covered with books and papers, reading from a large folio
filled with the early statistics of the mission, the first few pages of
which were written by the sainted Serra's hand. Father Zalvidea looked
up as the Indian woman entered.

"Good morning, my daughter," he said. "What do you wish with me?"

The woman responded with a trembling voice, "Father, my husband found
this in his wheatfield."

The Father took the paper with negligent curiosity. It was rumpled and
dirty, far different from its appearance when in the box, and he did not
recognize it. But as soon as he had smoothed it, and saw the
handwriting, he sprang to his feet, crying:

"Woman, how came you by this? Tell me. Why did you bring it to me? Where
is the box?"

Terrified at the outbreak she had evoked, the Indian fell on her knees
before the priest, and exclaimed:

"Father, I know nothing more about it than what I have told you. My
husband found it yesterday in his field, and gave it to me to bring to
you. That is all, Father."

The Father composed himself with difficulty, and, after a moment, spoke
with his accustomed calmness: