“I thought you’d be,” said Cranch, quietly.  “That’s why I came.  And then you might be of service too.”

“True, true,” said the priest, with rapid accents; “and this girl, Senor, this girl is—­”

“Juanita, the mestiza, adopted daughter of Don Juan Briones, over on the Santa Clare Valley,” replied Cranch, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and then sitting down upon the bench beside Father Pedro.

The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his companion for a few seconds, and then doggedly fixed them upon the ground.  Cranch drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a portion, placed it in his cheek, and then quietly began to strap the blade of his jack-knife upon his boot.  Father Pedro saw it from under his eyelids, and even in his preoccupation despised him.

“Then you are certain she is the babe you seek?” said the father, without looking up.

“I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything.  Her age tallies; she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,”—­he partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,—­“that year.  Injin woman says she picked up a baby.  Looks like a pretty clear case, don’t it?”

“And the clothes, friend Cranch?” said the priest, with his eyes still on the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference.

“They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes,” said Cranch; “the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was my job; the lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say what’s wanted, later on.”

“But why lawyers,” continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he could not repress, “if the child is found and Senor Cranch is satisfied?”

“On account of the property.  Business is business!”

“The property?”

Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it up with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,—­

“Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he died, which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that she is his daughter.”

He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes full upon Father Pedro.  The priest arose hurriedly.

“But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch,” said he, with a gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and taking a step towards the refectory.

“Why should I?  I was looking after the girl, not the property,” returned Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still keeping his careless, easy attitude.

“Ah, well!  Will it be said so, think you?  Eh!  Bueno.  What will the world think of your sacred quest, eh?” continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting himself in his excitement, but still averting his face from his companion.

“The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if the proofs are all right,” replied Cranch, carelessly; “and the girl won’t think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune.  Hallo! you’ve dropped something.”  He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary which had fallen from the Padre’s fingers, and returned it to him with a slight touch of gentleness that was unsuspected in the man.