there to San Diego is a short distance compared with the others. You
will change horses at San Buenaventura, and at the ranchos on the way
from there to San Fernando. Felipe knows where to stop for them. He has
letters also for the padres at the missions, and will see to everything.
And now, my daughter, may the saints protect you and keep you, and bring
you back once more to your friends here, when you shall be no longer
needed at San Diego."

When the Father had ceased speaking, he assisted Apolinaria to mount her
horse, and with a last "adios" she made off, preceded by the messenger,
who had taken her bundle and fastened it to his saddle. The priest
watched them as they hurried away in a cloud of dust, and then,
breathing a blessing for Apolinaria, returned to the mission.

It was a glorious June morning. The air was fresh and crisp; the water
was just taking on a tinge of yellow from the light of the yet unrisen
sun, and the sky above was of the intensest blue. The road, for the
first twenty miles, lay along the shore, now on the beach itself, the
water not seldom lapping the horses' feet, now on the mesa above. Open
to all impressions of the beautiful in nature as was Apolinaria, she had
little time, or, indeed, inclination, for its indulgence this morning,
for the messenger had set the pace at a hard gallop, and her attention
was taken up with the riding. She was a good horsewoman, and found no
difficulty in keeping up with Felipe, although, whenever they came to a
bit of bad road, he slackened his pace a little. The sun was not two
hours high when they reached San Buenaventura, where they were received
by the fathers, given fresh steeds, and were soon on their way again.
With the exchange of horses they kept up their speed, and as the hours
went by, the riders saw mile after mile left behind. Whenever they
stopped for horses at the ranchos lying on the road, they were welcomed