“O how beautiful!” exclaimed Francisco enthusiastically.  “Ah, Juanita, would it had been me!”

“Thee!” said the girl bitterly,—­“thee!  No!—­it was a girl wanted.  Enough, it was me.”

“And when does the guardian come?” persisted the boy, with sparkling eyes.

“He is here even now, with that pompous fool the American alcalde from Monterey, a wretch who knows nothing of the country or the people, but who helped the other American to claim me.  I tell thee, Francisco, like as not it is all a folly, some senseless blunder of those Americanos that imposes upon Don Juan’s simplicity and love for them.”

“How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee?” asked Francisco.

“What care I how he looks,” said Juanita, “or what he is?  He may have the four S’s, for all I care.  Yet,” she added with a slight touch of coquetry, “he is not bad to look upon, now I recall him.”

“Had he a long mustache and a sad, sweet smile, and a voice so gentle and yet so strong that you felt he ordered you to do things without saying it?  And did his eye read your thoughts?—­that very thought that you must obey him?”

“Saints preserve thee, Pancho!  Of whom dost thou speak?”

“Listen, Juanita.  It was a year ago, the eve of Natividad; he was in the church when I sang.  Look where I would, I always met his eye.  When the canticle was sung and I was slipping into the sacristy, he was beside me.  He spoke kindly, but I understood him not.  He put into my hand gold for an aguinaldo.  I pretended I understood not that also, and put it into the box for the poor.  He smiled and went away.  Often have I seen him since; and last night, when I left the Mission, he was there again with Father Pedro.”

“And Father Pedro, what said he of him?” asked Juanita.

“Nothing.”  The boy hesitated.  “Perhaps—­because I said nothing of the stranger.”

Juanita laughed.  “So thou canst keep a secret from the good father when thou carest.  But why dost thou think this stranger is my new guardian?”

“Dost thou not see, little sister?  He was even then seeking thee,” said the boy with joyous excitement.  “Doubtless he knew we were friends and playmates—­maybe the good father has told him thy secret.  For it is no idle tale of the alcalde, believe me.  I see it all!  It is true!”

“Then thou wilt let him take me away,” exclaimed the girl bitterly, withdrawing the little hand he had clasped in his excitement.

“Alas, Juanita, what avails it now?  I am sent to San Jose, charged with a letter to the Father Superior, who will give me further orders.  What they are, or how long I must stay, I know not.  But I know this:  the good Father Pedro’s eyes were troubled when he gave me his blessing, and he held me long in his embrace.  Pray Heaven I have committed no fault.  Still it may be that the reputation of my gift hath reached the Father Superior, and he would advance me;” and Francisco’s eyes lit up with youthful pride at the thought.