angry. It was Magdalena. I saw her once, at first, and she was like
that, yes, exactly like that, with her hands up, so. She was like one of
the angels in your new missal, and I remembered, and drew it many times
over, and do you really think it will do for the church, Padre?" he
finished eagerly, his face aflush with excitement.

"Yes, it is certainly good enough, Te--filo," said the Father. "We will
have gold round the heads and golden stars on the robes, and San Juan's
church shall be the finest in California. Though how it comes that the
girl Magdalena can have been your model passes my understanding. Indeed,
I think it is the good San Lucas, or San Juan himself, who has helped
you. Well, you deserve praise, Te--filo, and perhaps some reward. But go
now, and tell Magdalena to come to first mass to-morrow, as I said. You
may take a candle from the sacristy and give it to her."

That evening Te--filo told Magdalena all that had happened. But her
Spanish blood was in hot rebellion, and in spite of her love and
Te--filo's entreaties, she would not give in. To carry a candle, as if
she were one of the Indian girls, caught in disgrace! No, it was too
much. Why, the whole pueblo would see her, and laugh (which, indeed, was
true for she had held herself above the girls of the Mission, and was
not loved by them). In vain Te--filo told her of the Father's words about
sending him to Mexico to become a real painter. No, it would be a
victory for the Father if she gave in, and he should see that she was
Spanish as well as he. And contemptuously she tossed the candle aside
into the chia bushes in the courtyard, where they talked in the shadow
of the arches.

It was with a heavy heart that Te--filo left her, yet with a faint hope
that she might repent and come to mass in the morning. It was a dull,