in high spirits, Jack hanging on one arm of her friend and Mary Lee
having gained possession of the other. "Don't you think the señorita is
beautiful?" asked the latter. "Her hair is brown, dark brown with reddy
gold streaks through it that make it look much lighter."

"As if you had poured light taffy on black and hadn't mixed it up
much," volunteered Jack.

Mr. Pinckney laughed. "A romantic comparison, kid."

"I should say it was like brown silk shot with gold," remarked Nan.

"That is better," said Mr. Pinckney.

They had arrived at the veranda now, where the three ladies were
sitting, Miss Helen with a Spanish book in her hand, Mrs. Corner with a
piece of sewing, and the señorita employed in doing a square of Mexican
drawn work which she did beautifully, and which she called _callado_.
Mary Lee was very anxious to learn how to imitate some of the beautiful
things her teacher did. She had already begun a simple piece of work
which she now took up that she might have the excuse of sitting next
her beloved Miss Dolores and getting directions from her. Mr. Pinckney
was established in a comfortable chair in the midst of the group. Nan
rushed off to make some lemonade, Jean went to find the _paisano_, and
Jack perched herself upon the arm of their visitor's chair that she
might make whispered remarks from time to time.

In the midst of the merry-making the señorita's laugh was heard as some
funny speech was made. At the first sound of it, Mr. Pinckney turned
suddenly and looked at her with a puzzled expression, and every little
while he regarded her with the same look. "Miss Garcia's face is not
familiar, but surely I have heard that laugh often before. I cannot
place it, but it seems strangely familiar," he said to Miss Helen.

"Such resemblances are very puzzling," returned Miss Helen, "but I
don't think they always mean anything."

"Where did you find such a _rara avis_ as the young lady seems to be?"

"Quite accidentally," Miss Helen told him. "She is a very lovely girl,
quite alone in the world, and we feel ourselves very fortunate in
having secured her services. I am thinking of asking her to go back
with us when we return, for even if it should seem best to send the
girls to school, I am sure I could find a good position for her in the
family of some one of my friends. She is very pretty, don't you think?"

"Rather an unusual type, and yes, she is pretty. I should not call
her beautiful but singularly attractive." He looked earnestly at the
señorita who was now watching Jean and Jack performing some gymnastic
feats to the possible peril of limbs and frocks. "If I had had a
granddaughter," Mr. Pinckney went on musingly, "she might have looked
something like that."

Just here Jean's attempt to poise herself on one foot like a flying
Mercury ended in a fall from the veranda's railing which fortunately
brought about no worse hurt than a bumped forehead, but for the moment
she was the centre of attraction, and after Mr. Pinckney had taken his
leave, Jack, finding herself deprived of Jean's society, because her
twin preferred to stay and be coddled, went off to discover some new
entertainment. Mary Lee still industriously pulled threads, Nan devoted
herself to picking out chords on Miss Dolores's guitar, and sang in an
undertone a little Spanish melody her teacher had taught her. It went
rather haltily because of the groping for an accompaniment, but Nan
enjoyed it.

Jack's eye roved over the immediate neighborhood, and caught sight of
Li Hung's blue jacket down in the vegetable garden. She would go and
see what he was doing.

Li Hung was close to the hedge, his head bent over his basket. As
Jack approached he looked up, attempted to rise and failed; his long
queue was in some mysterious way, attached to the hedge. Jack at once
took in the situation and at the same moment she heard a suppressed
giggle. Without attempting to rescue Li Hung from his uncomfortable
position she flew out upon the sidewalk, bent upon vengeance, for she
had espied a small boy crouching outside. Before he had time to flee
or to recover from his surprise at her sudden appearance, she pounced
upon him, tumbled him over, sat upon his prostrate form and began to
pommel him with her fists. Li Hung finding that he could not extricate
himself, went on placidly picking tomatoes till Jack should return to
set him free. "Me waitee, you come plitty soon," he called out in his
high-pitched voice as Jack continued her pommeling.

The boy was squirming under her fists and was making powerless efforts
to rise when an automobile whizzed around the corner. At the sound of
the "Honk! honk!" the boy lifted up his head and shouted "Help! help!"
The single occupant of the automobile stopped his car and sprang out to
observe the singular spectacle of a nice looking little girl, sitting
on a boy's prostrate form which she violently pounded with her fists.

"Here, here," cried the young man, "what's all this? See here, boy, how
do you happen to let a girl do you up this way?"

"He is a bad boy," said Jack tossing back her refractory locks. "He
tied poor Li Hung's queue to the hedge so he can't get away. Won't you
please sit on the boy and hold him down till I come back? I want to
untie Li Hung, and I'm not through with the boy yet; he won't say he is
sorry."

"Don't you think he has had enough?" asked the young man. "How long
have you been at it?"

"Oh, not very long," said Jack looking down at her victim and pounding
more gently.

"Will you say you're sorry, boy?" asked the newcomer.

"No, I won't," said the boy. "Say, help me up, mister, and I'll show
you how I can give it to her. I'll do her up good if she is a girl."

"You'll do nothing of the kind," replied the young man sternly. "I'll
tell you what I'll do," he went on addressing Jack; "I'll go in and
unfasten the Chinaman while you finish up the boy; he deserves it, I'm
convinced."

At this encouragement Jack proceeded more vigorously with her
punishment of the boy who kicked and squirmed, but could not unseat his
chastiser. In a few minutes the young man reappeared. "He's all right,"
he said nodding toward Li Hung who stood at the gate, basket on arm.
"Shall we let the Chinaman have a whack at you, boy, or have you had
enough? I've a mind to give you one or two myself for saying you would
pitch into a girl when you know she was in the right. Here now, young
lady, I reckon we'll call time. Now, get out, youngster," he gave the
boy a little touch with his foot, "and if you ever get into any such
trouble again when I am around I'll do the punishing myself. Get out,
quick." He lifted Jack up bodily and the boy staggered to his feet,
stood for a second, then as Li Hung made a lunge at him, took to his
heels and was out of sight in a moment.

"Missee plitty fine gallee; plunis boy allee lite," said Li Hung with a
beaming smile. "Li Hung likee lil gallee Jack." He trotted back to the
house while Jack brushed from her frock the dust of the fray.

"I'm awfully glad that you came along," she said to her new
acquaintance. "I didn't dare get up, you see, because I was afraid the
boy would pitch into me and Li Hung couldn't get free to go tell any
one."

"It was an awkward predicament," said the young man. "It seems to me
you are a spunky young lady to start this thing when you didn't know
how you'd get out of it."

"Oh, but I didn't think about that part; I was so mad. It was such a
mean scurvy trick. I can't bear to see anybody do another so mean. It
certainly was mighty low-down of that boy."

"Say," said the young man, "where are you from? Old Verginny, I'll bet
a sixpence."

"Why yes, but how did you know?"

"By the way you speak. Shake hands, won't you? I'm a native of the Old
Dominion myself and it is good to see home folks."

Jack stretched out a grimy paw which was heartily shaken by her
friend. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Well, I suppose a Chinaman might call me One Lung, though at home I am
Carter Barnwell. Cart, some call me; Barn others. You see we put the
cart before the barn, not before the horse, in my case. What's your
name? It ought to be Amazon."

"That's a river in Brazil," returned Jack, "I am not named after any
river. My name is Jacqueline Corner, but everybody calls me Jack, and I
like it because it was my father's name." She was always very ready to
give this explanation. "Is that your automobile?" she inquired.

"Yes, would you like to take a ride?"

"Oh, I'd love it, but perhaps I ought to ask my mother if I may go; she
doesn't know you, you see." Jack paused in perplexity, then she said
confidentially, "You know I shouldn't like to have her find out that I
was fighting a boy in the street, at least not just yet."

The young man laughed. "Suppose I go up and interview her myself. I
can find satisfactory references as to who I am, I think, and I reckon
I can explain how I came to make your acquaintance without giving you
away. I'll go around to the front gate, shall I?"

"Oh, please, and I'll go in the back way and tell Li Hung not to say
anything about the fight. Come slowly so I will have time to tell
him." She started toward the gate, then came back. "Will it be very
deceitful," she said, "not to tell mother all about it at once? She
mightn't let me go with you if she thought I had done wrong. I am
trying not to do anything like that since Mr. St. Nick told me it was
mean."

The young man looked down at her with a contemplative smile that had
something of sympathy and something of admiration in it. "Suppose you
don't come just yet," he said. "Perhaps if you stay back I can put
the matter in such a way as to tell the truth and yet not make your
part seem too dreadful. How will that do? Suppose you give me fifteen
minutes."

"All right." Jack accepted the proposition thankfully and went in at
the gate while her friend returned to his automobile whose "Honk!
honk!" was presently heard as he turned the corner.

A moment later Mrs. Corner was surprised to see a lad, of eighteen or
so, dismount from his car and come toward the house. "Some friend of
Helen's," she said to herself and was about to call her sister from the
other side of the veranda when the young man mounted the steps and
bowed before her. "Mrs. Corner?" he said inquiringly.

"I am Mrs. Corner." The answer was given with an expectant look.

"I am Carter Barnwell, from Richmond, Virginia. I happened to be coming
along when a boy was playing a trick on your Chinaman. He fastened
his queue to the hedge by slipping his hand through and getting hold
of the end while the man was busy at work in the garden. Your little
girl, Jack, was so outraged that she was bent on serving the boy as
he deserved. I happened to come up in time to take sides, and--I say,
Mrs. Corner, she's a dandy. She never thought of herself and I wish
you could see the way she gave it to the boy. She had him down and he
couldn't budge."

Mrs. Corner looked shocked. "Jack fighting in the streets, Mr.
Barnwell? I am distressed to hear such a thing."

"Oh, but she wasn't exactly fighting. There wasn't a chance for the boy
to get in a stroke. He was flat down, you see, and she was sitting on
him. She pounded him well, I tell you. She is afraid you will think she
really was fighting, but I think it was mighty fine of her to champion
the Chinaman."

Miss Helen had come up during the recital. A smile played about her
mouth. "What was the Chinaman doing all this time?" she asked.

"Just placidly going on with his work," returned Carter. Then catching
the twinkle in Miss Helen's eye he burst into a boyish laugh in which
the others could but join.

"It was funny, Mary, you must admit," said Miss Helen.

"It was, of course, but I don't like Jack to precipitate herself into
street quarrels with hoodlum boys."

"Of course you don't, but her motives were good we cannot deny."

"I acknowledge that. She should have been a boy, for she is so
impetuous and does get into such scrapes in her efforts to help some
one else."

"She got out of this scrape all right," returned Mr. Barnwell.

"Thanks to you," returned Mrs. Corner. "Helen, this is Mr. Carter
Barnwell, from Richmond. My sister, Miss Corner, Mr. Barnwell."

Miss Helen gave a pleased exclamation. "I wonder if you could, by
any chance, be the son of my old friend Molly Carter. She married a
Barnwell, Jethro Barnwell, and lives in Richmond."

"I don't know of but one Jethro Barnwell in Richmond," said the lad
smiling, "and I happen to be his son. If you know my mother, Miss
Corner, I am a lucky fellow to have this chance of meeting you all."

"And it is a great pleasure to me," returned Miss Helen. "Come right up
and sit down, Mr. Barnwell."

"Oh, call me Carter, won't you? It is so good to see home folks and
to hear my name called as it is at home. Why, I know I have heard my
mother speak of you, Miss Corner. Weren't you schoolmates, and didn't
you meet in Europe some years ago and travel about together for awhile?"

"Why, yes, of course we did. Carter be it, then. I _am_ glad to have
this chance of seeing Molly's boy."

"I'm out here for my health," said Carter. "Oh, I'm not in such bad
shape, but the doctor said one of my lungs was a bit wrong after
pneumonia, and I had better not take any risk. He advised my dropping
college for a year, and so I've come out here for the winter. I say,
it's a great place, isn't it? I was sort of homesick at first, for I
didn't know a soul, but I'm getting used to it now. Hotels are such
beastly places, you know."

"They are when one is alone. You must consider us old friends,
however," said Miss Helen. "I am so pleased to find out you are
Molly's son, and if there is a moment's homesickness, Carter, come
right here and we will drive it away."

"You are good, Miss Corner. Won't mother be happy when she knows you
are here. I say, I am in luck."

"So are we," said Miss Helen, smiling. "There comes Jack, Mary."

Jack, with hanging head, sidled out the door and came hesitatingly
forward as her mother held out her hand. "Don't scold her," begged
Carter in an undertone.

Mrs. Corner nodded reassuringly. "It wasn't very nice for a little girl
to be fighting in the streets, was it?" she whispered, as she drew Jack
to her.

"It wasn't nice," Jack honestly admitted, "but I was so mad. Not a soul
saw us, mother, till Mr. Barnwell came along, and he didn't count."

Carter laughed. "Oh, she's great, Mrs. Corner. I've not had so much fun
since I left home. How is your Chinaman, Miss Jack?"

"He's all right. He's going to make me a cake and bring me a present,
he says."

"I should think he would want to," said Carter. "I should under like
circumstances."

"May I go with him?" Jack asked her mother, nodding toward Carter.

"Go where?" Mrs. Corner looked puzzled.

"Why, in his automobile for a ride." Jack gave Carter a reproachful
look.

Mrs. Corner shook her head doubtfully. "Do you think it is just the
time to give you a treat, Jack?"

Jack looked down a little abashed.

"Do let her go, Mrs. Corner," said Carter eagerly. "It was really her
kind-heartedness that made her pitch into the youngster. He wasn't a
real hoodlum, either, for he was well-dressed, and I fancy he lives
somewhere about here. I'll be very careful of her and won't stay too
long if you'll let her go."

Jack raised imploring eyes to her mother's face. To have such a treat
possible and not to be allowed to enjoy it was tragic. She went over to
her Aunt Helen and whispered: "Please tell her to let me go."

Miss Helen nodded reassuringly. "I don't think it was an ordinary piece
of misbehavior, Mary," she remarked. "I must confess that I should have
felt much as Jack did under the circumstances, and then, too, we must
consider that Jack was the family benefactor, for Li Hung might be
sitting there still if she had not come to his rescue, and where would
our next meal be?"

"There is something in that," returned Mrs. Corner. "You will not go
far, Mr. Barnwell, will you? I may be overcautious, but I don't know
yet how expert a chauffeur you may be."

"Oh, I am very careful," Carter assured her. "I expect, or rather
I expected to be an engineer, and so of course I know machines and
things. I think you can trust me, Mrs. Corner."

Jack was gazing anxiously into her mother's face. All this precaution
seemed very unnecessary, she thought. "May I go?" she again asked.

Her mother looked down with a smile at the anxious little face. "Well,
yes, you may," she said after a pause which seemed very long to Jack.

With a little squeal of delight Jack danced down the steps only to be
called back. "Here, here," cried her mother, "you can't go looking like
that." And Jack returned crestfallen, to be led away while her mother
administered a few words of counsel, brushed her disordered locks and
freshened her up generally.

Ten minutes later Jack appeared radiant, and in an ecstasy of delight
went whizzing off by Carter's side, watched by the envious eyes of a
little boy skulking around the corner. Here he was lying in wait for a
belligerent little girl when she should appear. Completely foiled by
circumstances, he slowly walked away muttering: "Little old wild-cat,
jumping on a feller 'fore he can turn 'round. I'll fix her."

                             CHAPTER VIII

                          THE HOME OF RAMONA

Carter Barnwell proved to be a pleasant addition to the little circle.
He was a bright, cheery lad, always ready to do a service, unselfish,
courteous, and grateful for the open hospitality shown him.

"I tell you," he said, "it's mighty different when you meet some of
these cold unresponsive people who can only invite you to their houses
when there is a special dinner on, and who nearly die if any one
happens in to a meal unawares. Give me the kind of friends such as we
have in old Virginia, who don't care for frills, and are glad to have
you take pot-luck with them. It sends a chill down my spine when I get
into some of these stiff inhospitable houses one happens on, sometimes
not a thousand miles from home. You all are just my sort, Mrs. Corner."

"Of course we are," she replied, "because you are just our sort. We
have always been used to sharing with our friends whatever we have,
and we know when they come they are glad to accept a simple meal in
the spirit it is offered while they are just as ready to do the same
by us. I must confess there is less of all that than there used to be,
but I hate to see friendliness and open handed hospitality passing away
before the modern formalities."

"It does me good to hear you talk so," returned Carter, "though I must
say that here on the coast one meets with plenty of generous treatment.
I suppose one doesn't really need to get the blues, but when a fellow
doesn't feel quite up to his best he rather shrinks from strangers and
wants his own. That's the way it was with me when I first came."

Mrs. Corner looked at the young man with motherly concern; he certainly
looked better and brighter these last few days.

"I make every excuse to come over here," he went on laughing, "but
to-day I have a good one. I want to know if we are to take that trip to
the Camulos ranch. Will the girls all go? I suppose the twinnies will
feel out of it if they don't. I have the chance of getting a big motor
car and can take the whole bunch--I beg your pardon, I mean the entire
crowd."

Mrs. Corner laughed. "You don't have to mind your p's and q's with me,"
she said. "I like boys to be boys. It is very nice of you, Carter, to
want us all to go. Nan and Mary Lee are so deeply interested in Ramona
that they will be perfectly wild to go, but don't you think we'd
better divide up? Let me see--four--six, eight of us are a good many."

"But that is just the point; if I can get this big car there will be
plenty of room; the only point is that we must decide at once, in the
next day or two, for the golden opportunity happens to be the present.
Could you all start to-morrow?"

Mrs. Corner said that she would consult her sister and Carter sat down
on the pleasant veranda to await her return.

Presently Jack and Nan came around the corner of the house, their hands
full of flowers. They did not see Carter who had established himself in
the hammock. "Mother and Aunt Helen have their heads together and are
talking, talking as fast as can be," said Jack. "I saw them when I went
in for the string. I believe something is going to happen, Nan."

"Something is always happening here," returned Nan, gathering a bunch
of heliotrope together and binding it firmly to a hoop she was holding.

"I mean something unusual."

"So do I mean that."

"Oh, Nan, you are always teasing."

"No, I'm not. I'm just talking facts. Hand me a rose, a white one,
Jack. What is your idea of the unusual thing that is going to happen?"

"Maybe we are going to have a party."

"I'd like to know who would come to it. We know about six people
besides the Robertses."

"Well, that would be enough for a dinner party."

"I don't believe it is that."

"What do you think then?"

"I think they are talking over our sins."

"Oh, Nan, that is horrid. I don't like to think it is that."

"You know we are not perfect," said Nan solemnly.

"I know that, but I don't like to be reminded of it."

"If you are never reminded of it how can you improve?"

"You talk just like Aunt Sarah."

"Oh, goodness! then I'll stop and change my tune. Let me see, what
delightful thing can we imagine, Jack, to take the taste out of our
mouths? Think of the very nicest thing that could happen, and we will
pretend that mother and Aunt Helen are talking of that."

Jack thoughtfully disposed some red roses upon a spray of glossy green
leaves. "Let's pretend Mr. St. Nick is going to take us to some lovely
place," she began, "and----"

Here a mysterious voice interrupted: "What's the matter with somebody
else taking you to some lovely place?"

Jack started up and dropped her roses in a heap, while Nan exclaimed:
"Carter Barnwell, how long have you been eaves-dropping?"

"Only a moment. As soon as things looked as if they might become too
serious I spoke out. You really haven't said anything worth listening
to yet. The only remark that impressed me at all was that which
announced that you weren't perfect. I thought you all were."

"That's too beautiful a compliment to pass over," said Nan. "You are
forgiven."

"I can tell you I think, what is at present occupying the thoughts of
your elders in there."

"What? Oh, Cart, are you planning to take us somewhere?"

"I am, fair maiden."

"All of us?" put in Jack.

"Every mother's son----I mean daughter."

"Oh, where? Do tell us," cried Nan.

"Haven't you been pining to see the home of Ramona?"

"Oh, Carter, indeed we have. Is that it?"

"That is it."

"When?"

"To-morrow, if the powers so decide. That is probably what your aunt
and mother are considering now."

"I'm going right in to see," said Nan laying down scissors and string
and rushing off. She was back in a few minutes. "We're going, we're
going!" she cried. "Jack, go find Mary Lee and Jean and tell them to
come right here; we must have the fun of talking it all over. Carter,
you are a brick."

"So glad."

"He's better than a brick," said Jack throwing affectionate arms around
him; "he is a darling. I want to kiss him."

"You embarrass me. I'm blushing," cried Carter pretending to hide his
face while Jack bestowed a cyclonic kiss upon his ear, and Nan laughed
at his pretended coyness. Then off skipped Jack to find the other two
sisters and soon the whole party was busily talking over the morrow's
excursion.

Early the next day Carter appeared with the large touring car in which
they were to go, and there was much excitement among the children in
the getting off.

It was a ride of forty-eight miles to the Camulos ranch, and if they
should conclude to extend it further to Santa Barbara they would
travel over a hundred miles, but the further the better, said the young
people.

It promised to be a delightful trip. Each of the girls settled herself
according to her liking. Mary Lee with Miss Dolores by her side was
supremely happy, while Jean was content to sit on the same seat with
these two. Nan could turn to her Aunt Helen on her right and to her
mother on her left, so she was suited, while Jack occupied what to her
was the place of honor, by Carter's side. His goggles sent her into
shrieks of laughter every time he turned his eyes her way. "You look
like some funny bug," she told him. "Like a grasshopper on its hind
legs, with poppy eyes and a funny cap."

"Look here; stop making fun of me," said Carter in pretended
resentment. "I'll tell your mother on you. Mrs. ----"

"Oh, don't call her," said Jack in alarm, "she might make me change
seats with Jean, and I don't want to."

"After that subtle compliment, I can't do anything worse than stop the
machine in the middle of the road and leave you to get home the best
way you can. How will you manage to do it?"

"The same way you will," returned Jack not at all nonplussed.

Meanwhile Nan on the back seat was making excited remarks to her
Aunt Helen. "Isn't it wonderful to think that we are going through
California in something as if we were flying through the clouds in a
chariot? Those pink flowers are pink clouds, that field is a grayish
one, and the sky around it is green instead of blue. Shall we stay long
at the Camulos ranch, do you suppose? Oh, me, I am so happy; I'd like
to be a bird and sing, sing all day."

"Your throat would get mighty dry with the dust," remarked Mary Lee
from the opposite seat.

"Oh, you are so dreadfully matter-of-fact, Mary Lee," said Nan
descending from her raptures. "Let's talk about Ramona and the
missions, Aunt Helen. Do you suppose there was really a Ramona? I like
to think so."

"We can pretend there was even if there wasn't," answered her aunt.
She was always ready to humor Nan's imagination. "We'll give her the
benefit of the doubt and Allessandro, too. The fact that the Camulos
ranch still exists and is the very spot where the scene of Mrs.
Jackson's story is laid, makes it seem very real."

As they approached the place, Nan grew fidgety. She stood up every few
minutes and craned her neck to see the low adobe house made so famous
by the writer. At last there it was with its broad verandas; there was
the inner court open on the east, there the room occupied by Ramona.
On the south veranda Felipe had rested while Allessandro played upon
his violin. Yonder to the west was the little chapel and there hung the
three old bells brought from Spain so long ago. On the east side of the
garden a long arbor led to the little brook where Ramona's lover first
beheld her washing the altar cloth. All these sights gave thrills to
the girls and indeed their elders were not unmoved. The señorita felt
at home on what to her seemed Spanish soil and the others felt as if
they had stepped back into a past age.

Courteously the family invited them to remain as long as it suited
them, and even offered to entertain them at the next meal. Dinner
they had taken on the way, and though it was a great temptation to
remain under the historic roof, the travelers felt that it would be
an imposition to linger beyond such time as they might satisfy their
interest in H. H's lovely story. Therefore when they had given a proper
amount of time to examining the various places they left the old house
set in among its great vineyards, olive groves and orange trees, and
resumed their journey to Santa Barbara which they hoped to reach before
night.

The beautiful Santa Clara valley with its river meadows still green
and lovely, was a pleasant place to travel through or to linger in,
and Miss Helen declared that they must take a more leisurely journey
through it, and perhaps spend some time at Santa Barbara when they
should be journeying toward the north.

Nan's raptures had subsided under the sight of realities and for
some time she sat silently dreaming, following Ramona through her
sad experiences, but suddenly a sharp report made her spring to her
feet and indeed caused every one to give an alarmed exclamation. The
automobile came to a standstill. Carter clambered down and looked
contemplatively at one of the tires. "The blamed old thing has busted,"
he said. "There's something else wrong, too," he went on. "I don't
know just what till I examine. I'm afraid there is no Santa Barbara
to-night. Let me see; we've probably come ten or twelve miles since
we left Camulos." He took out his road map and looked it over. "The
nearest town must be Santa Paula--everything is Santa something out
here--I don't see anything to do but to get help there." He looked
about him. "Will you ladies stay in the car or will you go to that
house I see yonder through the trees? I fancy it is a bee ranch, for
you can see the white beehives."

"I thought they were sheep," said Jack.

"Beehives," Carter declared. "It looks like rather a nice place. Must
be the owner is making a success out here; they don't all do it by a
long shot. I wish we were nearer San Buenaventura; you could pass away
the time at the old mission church there, but there is no help for it.
Shall we try the house or would you rather walk to the next railway
station? We might get a train there for Santa Barbara."

"Is it far to the station?" asked Mrs. Corner.

"I don't know exactly. We are between Sespe and Santa Paula and they
are seven miles apart; I judge it could not be less than two or three
miles."

"Oh, then, let us try the house; probably we could get a conveyance
there, which would take us to either the town or the station."

This was decided upon and all took up the line of march, Carter leading
the way.

They had not walked far up the long avenue of trees before they saw a
man coming toward them. "Hallo, friends," he said as he came up. "Glad
to see you. Your family?" he said jovially to Carter.

"I am not a Mormon and these are not my seven wives," replied Carter
in the same spirit. "We've come up from Los Angeles in an automobile,
and the beastly thing has broken down out there on the road. If it had
been my own car such a thing shouldn't have happened. May these ladies
wait here till I can get up to the nearest town? I suppose it is Santa
Paula."

"You're right, it is. Why, of course they can wait here and welcome.
Glad to have them. Do you want a horse, or will you go up by train? One
of my men can drive you over and you can get the next train and save
time, maybe. Come along right up. I'll see that you get there in time.
Not a Mormon, eh? Well, I should judge not by your age. Your mother and
sisters and aunt, probably."

"No, only friends, good friends."

"Well, my females will be glad to see 'em. We've got a little gal about
the size of one of these young misses. Bess! Bessie!" he raised his
voice. "Step up on the piazza, ladies, and take seats. I'll call some
one."

"Don't disturb your family," said Mrs. Corner in protest.

"Oh, bless you, ma'am, it won't disturb 'em; they'll like it. The
little gal don't have many playmates. I'm laying out to send her away
to a good school when she gets bigger. She don't have anything but dogs
and cats to play with out here. Ah, Bessie," he called again.

Presently a little girl about the age of the twins came running around
the corner of the house. She stopped short at sight of the visitors.
"Come along, Bess; they won't bite you," said the man.

The child came nearer and regarded the twins interestedly. Jean gave
her a beaming smile which was answered in kind, and seeing that
the mountain would not come to Mahomet, the twins decided that it
would have to be the other way, and both went forward to make the
acquaintance of little Bessie Sanders. In a short time the three were
playing together, and making a friendly tour of inspection, Bessie
piloting them all over the place to view "the orchard, the meadow, the
deep tangled wild-wood," though instead of "the rude bucket which hung
in the well" there were big windmills to draw up the water for use in
house and garden.

Nan, Mary Lee and the señorita left their elders sitting on the
veranda, Mrs. Sanders a pleasant, homely woman, being glad to
entertain them while the girls and their governess wandered out to
the orange grove where the great golden globes of luscious fruit were
hanging. "Help yourselves to anything you see," had been Mr. Sanders'
hospitable charge, and they did not disregard it when it came to
oranges.

"Señor Sanders has very familiar face," said the señorita musingly.
"I wonder where I have some time to see him." When they returned to
the house she was enlightened, for Mr. Sanders turning to her said, "I
wonder if Don Arnaldo de Garcia is a relative of yours, Miss de Garcia.
I didn't catch the name when the ladies here first mentioned it."

"If it is my uncle of whom you speak, he is Arnaldo de Garcia. I was
thinking that I have been seeing you in some time past."

"Very likely, very likely. I knew de Garcia well in Mexico where I
was for several years before I was married. Then I lost sight of him,
though I heard he had come to California. I used to see him often at
his father-in-law's in those days."

"Ah, then it is there I have seen you, when I was little girl like
these." The señorita put her hand on Jean's head.

"Yes, yes, to be sure; I remember there was a little girl who used to
run in and out. Where is your uncle now?"

"He has gone back to Mexico. For a little while he is living in Los
Angeles, but he likes it not so well. He returns with his wife and
children."

"Ah, he has children? You were the only one I used to see in those
days."

"Yes, he has married a second time. His wife was a widow with children
of her own and since there are two others."

"Ah, yes, yes. I remember the first wife very well, a fine woman. Her
people were my good friends. Fine old man your grandfather."

Mary Lee listened attentively to all this. Anything which pertained
to her dear Miss Dolores was of the greatest importance to her.
Fortunately she remembered the conversation afterward, and it was well
that she did; on such slight threads do fortune or misfortune hang.

Carter returned later with the necessary things to doctor up the motor
car, but it was too late to start for Santa Barbara that day and as Mr.
Sanders insisted upon keeping the party for over night, they consented
to stay as it was evidently his wish. The next morning it was decided
to return home and make the trip to Santa Barbara when the flower
festival should take place, and when they could remain as long as they
felt inclined.

"Li Hung will not know what has become of us," said Mrs. Corner, "for
I told him we would be back by this evening, and to-morrow will be
Sunday, Helen, so I think we would better go back, for you know we
promised to dine with the Robertses to-morrow."

Miss Helen agreed that they must not go on, though the younger ones
begged hard not to go back.

"You will let Bessie come to see us, won't you, Mr. Sanders?" said
Jean, who had taken a fancy to the little girl.

"To be sure I will," was the reply. "And when you come this way you
must all stop as long as you can. You'll find the latch-string out,
ain't that so, mother?" He turned to his wife.

"I reckon the door'll be wide open when they come along," she said
hospitably. "I wish, Mrs. Corner, you'd let the little girls come up
and stay with Bess awhile. We'll take good care of them and Mr. Sanders
will go down for them any time."

"Oh, may we come?" cried Jean, before whose vision arose unlimited
supplies of honey, raisins for the taking, horses to ride and such
delights as only a big ranch could afford.

"We'll see about it," said Mrs. Corner. And they all went off laden
down with branches of oranges, combs of honey, and a basket of choice
fruit, although the month was December.

"It was a great trip," said Carter as the automobile dashed around the
last corner and stopped before the door of the cottage in Los Angeles.
"We'll go again, won't we? Any time any of you want to see some old
mission or get into a new bit of country, say the word and off we'll
go. I am having the time of my life with you all."

"It's just like having a big brother," said Nan delightedly, as she
watched him whirl off. "This world is so full of surprises and nice
things, isn't it, kiddy?"

    "This world is so full of such numbers of things,
    We all ought to be as happy as kings,"

quoted Jack, as they went up the steps to where Li Hung, clean and
smiling, stood ready to receive them.

                              CHAPTER IX

                            ONE SABBATH DAY

The rainy season had begun. A strong south wind coming in from the
sea brought the first heavy winter storm. Already the mountain crests
showed snowy peaks, but the valleys had for some time displayed a
lively green after the rainless summer, and since the first light
showers had given new life. Nan sat at her window looking off at the
mountains and humming a little Spanish air she had been practicing. She
strummed a noiseless accompaniment on the pane as her thoughts were
following out a line of possibilities which a talk with Mary Lee had
started.

"The señorita looks so sad," Mary Lee had remarked, "I am sure she is
thinking of how alone in the world she is. Isn't it hard that any one
so young and so lovely should have no relatives at all?"

"She might get married," Nan had replied. "Maybe Carter will fall in
love with her."

"Carter! why he is only a boy eighteen years old; he is younger than
she is."

"Oh, well, he is not so very much younger, and he would do on a pinch.
I can't think of any one else at present, Mary Lee, if you must have a
husband for her. To be sure there is Mr. St. Nick, but he is as much
too old as Carter is too young; in fact he is old enough to be her
grandfather."

"I didn't say anything about a husband; I was only thinking how we
could cheer her up."

"Well, a husband would do that if we could find the proper one. I'm
sure no one could be more cheerful than Carter."

"Oh, Nan, you are so silly; he will not do at all."

Nan laughed wickedly. "Perhaps you want to save him for yourself when
you are older."

"I think you are perfectly horrid," returned her sister. "When
I come to you for advice and sympathy you are mighty mean to be
so--so--flippant. I don't believe you care one bit for Miss Dolores."

"I care for her lots, but I'm not so silly about her as you are. I
don't go hoarding up her cast-off shoe-strings and her discarded
hairpins as you do."

"I never did save a hairpin, and you know it."

"Well, it is only because you don't happen to have found one," retorted
Nan. Then came the strumming on the pane and the humming of the
Spanish song while Mary Lee nursed her grievance. After awhile Nan
broke the silence by saying in conciliatory tones: "What is it you
want me to do? I'm sure we did all we could at Christmas, and she had
a lovely time. Wasn't it funny to have such a summery Christmas, with
flowers growing out of doors and all that? And didn't Mr. St. Nick make
a fine Santa Claus? I think he had courage to take the character when
he looks it so exactly. 'His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how
merry,'" she quoted.

"Yet," said Mary Lee thoughtfully, "I've seen him look very serious and
almost stern; you wouldn't think he could when he is so jolly and full
of fun."

"I think it is when he has been talking about his son that he looks
that way."

"I wonder he can be so merry," said Mary Lee.

"Why, but Mary Lee, that happened years ago, before our father died. I
am sure we loved our father, and yet we can laugh and carry on just the
same as if he were here."

Mary Lee acknowledged the truth of this, but the thought of it took
them back to their Virginia home, and Nan said: "Oh, Mary Lee, do you
remember how cold it was last year and how we all went over to Uplands
with the Christmas gifts? Poor old Uplands all in ruins. Daniella was
with us then. I wonder where she is now."

"Never mind about Daniella, let us talk about Miss Dolores," said Mary
Lee. "Wouldn't it be fine if she could discover something about her
father? I have thought about it so much. Do you suppose we could do it?"

"Gracious, girl, how could we when we don't even know his name. She
doesn't know it herself."

"I know that, but there might be a way; such strange things do happen.
Can't you think of some plan, Nan? You are always so clever about
puzzling out things."

Nan felt that after her teasing remarks she did not deserve this
compliment to her powers, and in return became as serious as her sister
could desire. "I'll tell you what we'll do," she said after having
given the subject grave consideration for a few minutes. "We'll tell
Mr. St. Nick about it; there's no telling what he may advise."

"When he couldn't find his own daughter-in-law I don't believe he could
do much for Miss Dolores," argued Mary Lee.

"Well, he will know better than any one else how to set about it. By
the way we are to go there for dinner on Sunday, to the Robertses, I
mean. I hope it will stop raining by then. Carter is invited, too. How
he did enjoy Christmas."

"How we all did enjoy it," said Mary Lee. "Don't you love your crêpe
kimono and those lovely fans and things they gave us?"

"I certainly do. We really never had a better Christmas, although we
were away from home. Last year mother was away and that took off the
edge from everything."

"It is a great thing to have money," remarked Mary Lee sententiously.
"Last year we were so awfully poor and were at our wits' ends to know
how we could get presents for everybody and this year all we had to do
was to buy things."

"I'm not sure but I liked the old way better," returned Nan
thoughtfully. "There was more of ourselves in the things we gave." They
lapsed into silence each wandering back into the ways of the old home
life. Nan broke the silence by saying, "There comes Carter in all the
rain. Shall we go in to see him or shall we leave him to the señorita?"
she asked mirthfully.

For answer Mary Lee stalked indignantly away but was recalled as Nan
sang after her: "Oh, Mrs. Barnwell, don't get jealous."

"I'll tell mother how you behave," said Mary Lee on the verge of tears.
"She won't like your talking that way anyhow; she'll say it is very
silly and pert and--and--you know she won't like it, Nancy Corner."

Nan well knew her mother would not like such silly speeches and as Mary
Lee moved off she called after her: "I take it all back, Mary Lee. You
needn't tell mother. Come on, let's go in and see Cart. We might play
ping-pong or something, for it is too wet to go out. Come on. Did its
old sissy tease it?" she said affectionately putting an arm around her
sister and rubbing her cheek against hers.

Mary Lee accepted the olive branch and the two went together into the
living-room where Carter was walking on his hands for Jack's benefit.
These two were great cronies, and indeed, Carter seemed to prefer
Jack's society to that of any of the others. Mrs. Roberts showed
especial favor to gentle little Jean, Nan and her Aunt Helen had always
been particular chums, Mary Lee gave no one a chance to dote on her
since she was absorbed in the señorita, and Mrs. Corner mothered them
all. After lessons Jean almost daily was seen running down street to
where Mrs. Roberts lived and Nan often followed to talk to Mr. Pinckney
who enjoyed her bright sallies and queer whimsies. The Corners had
made other acquaintances, but the Robertses and Mr. Pinckney stood
first in their affections while Carter had become almost one of the
family.

The storm was over by the next day and now could be expected a period
of sunshiny weather till the February rains began. It was a time of
much dreaming to Nan. Old Spain appealed to her so that she often lived
in its past history and looked with inward eye upon the California of
the eighteenth century, yet she was quite as much interested in the
progress of modern enterprise and took in quickly all that was told her
of newer methods and of the opening up of the country. Mary Lee, too,
had her dreams, but they were all for the señorita. What if her father
was not dead, that he could be discovered not the worthless renegade
whom every one supposed him to be, but a man whom time had made
important, who now possessed wealth and station in which his daughter
could share. She confided these dreams to Nan sometimes but never to
the señorita. Yet Nan who could ordinarily plunge into the wildest
regions of improbability was here practical.

"If she had such a father don't you suppose he would have found her
out long ago?" she would ask. "He must have known her mother's people
and it would have been easy enough to find them." So Mary Lee's hopes
for the moment would be crushed, though they would soon grow apace as
some new possibility presented itself, and she would come to Nan with
some such remark as: "Surely Miss Dolores's uncle would know about her
father."

"But he won't tell," Nan would remind her. "He promised her aunt on her
death bed as she had promised her father before her never to tell who
he was. It is like the most mysterious sort of story."

Sunday afternoon came their opportune moment to confide in Mr.
Pinckney. Jean and Jack were absorbed in a trayful of sea shells which
afforded them no end of amusement. They were playing a Sunday play,
they explained. The red deep lacquer tray was the Red Sea, the white
shells were the children of Israel who were to go over on dry land; the
colored shells were the Egyptians who should be drowned in crossing,
for Jack had a tumbler of water ready for the right moment. She assured
Nan that Mrs. Roberts had told her the water would hurt neither shells
nor tray and they expected much satisfaction in overwhelming Pharaoh
and his host.

Mrs. Corner with Miss Helen was talking to Mrs. Roberts in a corner of
the pleasant living-room, Carter and the señorita had sauntered into
the garden and therefore Nan and Mary Lee pounced upon Mr. Pinckney as
he was taking his after dinner cigar on the veranda.

"Now, Miss Zeph," he said as the two girls settled themselves near him,
"you can just tell me a story. I feel lazy and want to be amused."

Nan looked at Mary Lee. "Let's tell him about the señorita," she said
suddenly.

Mary Lee looked approval. "It's a mighty romantic story," she remarked.

"Oh, but you have told it to me," he said. "I want something quite
fresh and new."

"We haven't told you near all," said Nan. "Did you know, for instance,
that she had an American father?"

"No." He looked surprised, then he asked: "Who was he?"

"She doesn't know."

Mr. Pinckney sat up and appeared more interested. "She doesn't know?
How is that?"

"Why, her mother married against her father's wishes and when Miss
Dolores's father and mother died she was adopted by her aunt who gave
her her own name and when she grew up wouldn't tell her who her father
was. Her aunt made Mr. Garcia promise not to tell and he won't, so Miss
Dolores can't find out anything. Her aunt used to be quite well off and
educated Miss Dolores beautifully, but now her uncle has lost almost
everything and she has no other relatives. There were only the two
sisters, her aunt and her mother. One was named Dolores and the other
Elvira."

"Elvira?" Mr Pinckney spoke the name slowly and thoughtfully.

"Yes, it isn't as pretty a name as Dolores, do you think?"

He did not answer, but sat with his head thrown back puffing at his
cigar and watching the smoke drift off among the vines.

Mary Lee took up the tale. "We think, or at least Nan says, that
probably her father was a convict or something, or maybe just a
gambler, and that her mother's family were ashamed of him."

Mr. Pinckney roused himself. "Very likely, very likely. That would
explain it of course."

"Still maybe he wasn't, and if he was maybe his family are good people
and would be nice to her. She is so lovely anybody ought to be proud as
a peacock to have her kin to the family. Now don't you think we could
find out without her knowing? Then if they turned out to be no 'count
people she need never know."

"We thought," put in Nan eagerly, "as you are traveling about 'hether
and yen' as Landy says, you might come across some sort of--of--what
do you call it?--clue, without going out of your way."

Mr. Pinckney regarded her thoughtfully. "I could do that. I should like
to learn more. Do you know her mother's maiden name?"

"Mendez, I believe, wasn't it, Mary Lee?"

"Yes, it is her other name. She is Dolores Elvira Inez Mendez de
Garcia. Inez is her saint's name, St. Agnes, you know."

"Isn't it an awfully long name?" said Nan as Mr. Pinckney carefully
wrote it down.

"The thing to do," he said, "is to find her baptismal record. If she
was the child of Elvira Mendez and an unknown American it may not
be difficult. I suppose you have no idea whether she was born in
California or in Mexico."

"I might find out," said Mary Lee. "I think it was in Mexico. I will
try to get her to tell me just where it was. That would be a help,
wouldn't it?"

"Surely it would. Well, young ladies, I will try to prove myself an
elderly fat knight errant and do service for your beautiful princess."

"Oh, thank you," they both cried. "She is such a dear," sighed Mary
Lee. "Don't you think she is lovely, Mr. St. Nick?"

"She is a very sweet young lady, but rather quiet, isn't she?"

"She can laugh real heartily," said Nan, "and she laughs just like Mrs.
Roberts."

Mr. Pinckney looked at her with a curious expression on his face. "So
she does," he said. "Strange I didn't notice that. Her laugh sounded
so familiar that I mentioned it to Miss Helen, but I couldn't place
the person whom she reminded me of. It is very curious," he added
meditatively. "If"--he began, but broke off again. "Well, never mind
about that. I'll report to you from time to time as I make progress. It
is really a very interesting quest."

"Let's not tell any one yet," said Nan. "It makes it much more
interesting to have a secret." So the compact was made, just as Miss
Dolores and Carter came up the steps.

"Heigho, Cart," sang out Nan. "Come up, you two and help us keep the
Sabbath."

"How are you keeping it?" said Carter sitting down on the long bamboo
couch by Nan's side.

"Oh, we're keeping it properly. This morning we all went to church, and
this afternoon we are doing unto others as we would have them do unto
us."

"In what way?" queried Carter.

"Giving them the benefit of our brilliant conversation."

Carter laughed. "What are the kiddies doing?"

"Drowning Pharaoh in the Red Sea. I fancy they are getting their share
of the splashing, too."

"Jack is no doubt, but I don't believe Jean has a drop on her."

"Oh, Jack will have charge of the water works, you may be bound."

They were quite right, for presently the twins came out, Jack
plastering down her locks with her wet hands and Jean right as a trivet
in her Sunday best though bearing carefully the tray of shells which
she set in the sun to dry.

"Just look at your frock, Jack," said Nan. "Why didn't you wear an
apron?"

"Forgot," said Jack, looking down at her damp frock and trying to
smooth it out.

"Don't do that," cried Nan; "you're making it worse. Fortunately it
will wash. Go out in the sun and dry it."

"I know where there is a fine sunny spot," said Carter jumping up.
"Come along and we'll find it," and he bore the moist Jack away while
Jean, bereft of her twin, solaced herself with Mr. Pinckney.

"I suppose you are going to make mummies of the Egyptians," he said. "I
see you are drying them up. Are the children of Israel there too?"

"Yes," replied Jean seriously; "all but Moses. He rolled under the
sideboard and we couldn't get him, but Mrs. Bobs says Ah Wing will find
him when he sweeps."

"So he doesn't see the Promised Land with the rest," remarked Mr.
Pinckney. "Poor Moses."

Jean slipped down from his knee.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm going after Jack. I've just thought it would be lovely to hide
a little Moses in the bulrushes and have Miriam watching. There is a
tiny pink shell on top there that will just do for a baby. It will be a
mighty fine play, nicer than the other, I think, though that was crite
nice, too." She went off to seek Jack.

    "Seven little Indians outside the door
    Three trotted off and then there were four,"

improvised Nan.

"We're not Indians, if you mean us," said Mary Lee.

Nan looked at Mr. Pinckney who laughed. "Prisms will have a spade a
spade," he said. Then he turned suddenly to Miss Dolores. "I am told
your father was an American, Miss Garcia; do you know anything at all
about him? Where he was from, what he looked like, what was his age, or
any facts at all?"

The señorita shook her head. "I know nothing except that I have his
fair skin and that his hair was lighter than mine. He died before I was
born, and that was a year after he married my mother."

"You do not know where they were married?"

"No, señor."

"But it was--pardon the question, how many years ago?"

"Twenty-three."

Mr. Pinckney sat musingly looking off into the garden where Jack and
Jean were hiding Moses in a thicket of presumable bulrushes. They were
singing:

    "To the side of the river so clear
    They carried the beautiful child,"

and their childish voices were drifted toward the listeners on the
veranda, with the scent of roses and lilies.

"Twenty-three years," repeated Mr. Pinckney, "and that is all you know."

"All. The subject was tabooed in my uncle's family, but once when some
one asked if I resembled my mother my aunt said: 'Yes, in feature and
all except hair and complexion, but even her hair is darker than her
father's.' So I learned that much."

Mr. Pinckney did not put any more questions, for the triumphant train
of maidens came bearing the infant Moses to the palace, and the twins
announced that they had decided to make Mr. St. Nick king, pressing
upon him such arduous duties that he had no time for further inquiries.
For, when a somewhat bald head wears a crown it is apt to sit more
uneasily than upon one better covered.

"You must have this serape for a robe," insisted Jack, flinging an
Indian blanket around him. "We shall have Miss Dolores for Pharaoh's
daughter. The shells are too little. I am to be Miriam and we are going
to take the little Chinese image for Moses; Mrs. Bobs said we might."

"We don't have to have the ark of bulrushes now," said Jean.

"Put Moses in Pharaoh's daughter's lap," said Jack. "I wish I knew what
her name was."

"I can tell you," said Nan; "it was Thermeutis."

Jack stared and repeated the name softly to herself. Nan's facts were
always thankfully received, and could be counted upon as being correct.

"I must confess that Moses is not a beauty," remarked Nan as she looked
at the face of the ugly, fat little image staring from the folds of a
white towel, "and you were just singing 'To the side of the river so
clear they carried the _beautiful_ child.'"

"We'll just have to pretend he is beautiful."

"He looks as if he had a bad case of mumps," Nan went on. "I think he
needs a doctor, myself."

"Oh, Nan," said Jean reproachfully, "you're spoiling the play. We are
just pretending everything. I don't think Mr. St. Nick looks like the
pictures of Pharaoh, but he has to do, for there isn't any one else."

"He makes a very good king, I think," remarked Jack busying herself
with her long train. "Carter has to be Aaron, you know."

"Do you think I resemble my brother, Nan?" inquired Carter in an
anxious tone.

Nan laughed. "You're not so mumpy and dumpy and lumpy looking as Moses."

"Here's your rod that budded," said Jack bringing a branch of flowering
almond to him.

"It's budding far too soon," said Nan, "that didn't happen till much
later."

"I am afraid this play is rather too full of anachronisms for me," said
Carter.

"What's nackrynisms?" Jack pricked up her ears at the new word.

"It is making things happen at the wrong time," Carter told her; "as
if I should write a story and make you my grandmother."

"Oh!" Jack understood but dimly, and turned her attention to Mr.
Pinckney. "Here's your sceptre," she said, handing him a stick, then,
after informing him that he could be as wicked as he pleased, she went
on with the play till the hour came for supper.

                               CHAPTER X

                        THE TOURNAMENT OF ROSES

It was after supper when Carter had been in close conversation with
Mrs. Roberts that he suddenly exclaimed, "Who wants to join me at the
Tournament of Roses on New Year's day? Don't all speak at once."

"I do! I do!" clamored the twins, and the other girls were not far
behind in echoing the cry.

"Tell us about it," said Jack leaving Mr. Pinckney and coming to
Carter's side.

"Tell me," said Jean going over to Mrs. Roberts.

"It is the flower festival at Pasadena that always takes place on New
Year's Day. Every go-cart and wheelbarrow in the place dresses up in
flowers and parades the streets. I thought it would be rather fun to be
in the parade with my motor car," Carter told Jack.

"Oh, wouldn't it?" said Jack. "Take me, Carter?"

"We'll see. The honor of being in it is to be accorded to the one who
will suggest the most appropriate scheme of decorations for my car.
That is what Mrs. Bobs and I decided on. Those who are not _in_lookers
can be onlookers from some point of vantage. Notice my vocabulary, Miss
Helen. We shall have high jinks, ending up with a swell dinner and
fireworks when we get home."

"I speak to furnish the dinner," said Mr. Pinckney.

"Now, I say," began Carter, "you're trying to steal my thunder."

"I think you might give an old fellow a chance when there is one,"
returned Mr. Pinckney in an aggrieved tone.

"Do humor the child, Carter," said Mrs. Roberts. "You know he will pout
and fret and spoil everything if you don't."

Mr. Pinckney threatened his daughter with his fist. "But I don't
believe in boys having all the fun. Here he's going to dress up and
take the youngsters in the parade, and then wants to furnish dinner and
fireworks both; it's not fair."

"You can go in the parade if you are lucky enough to suggest a
dazzlingly attractive form of decoration," said Carter; "that's the
bill."

"Oh, don't let him go," shrilled out Jack; "he'll take up two seats."

"Now hear that," said Mr. Pinckney. "Every one's against me."

"Poor dear," said his daughter consolingly; "they shan't tease my dear
old dad."

"I've a mind to get up a rival car," said Mr. Pinckney, "and outdo that
boy."

"Boy yourself," retorted Carter, and Mr. Pinckney's "ha-ha!" roared out
so infectiously that every one joined in.

New Year's day was so near at hand that it required some cudgeling of
brains to bring forth ideas to suit the occasion.

"I think pink is prettiest," decided Jack. "All pink roses would be
lovely."

"Oh, but that's so common," objected Jean. "I like blue better; there
aren't near so many blue flowers as pink ones."

"How would it do to have flowers of every color?" remarked Carter.

"If it didn't look like a crazy quilt or a rag carpet," put in Nan.

"Nuf said," replied Carter; "we'll strike that out."

"Shades of violet might be lovely," remarked Mrs. Corner thoughtfully.

"Not original enough," Miss Helen decided, "though if it comes to
that, I suppose everything from the stars and stripes in red white and
blue, to a portrait of the president done in flesh color will be on
exhibition. What we want is something not too conspicuous, yet refined
and artistic."

"Chaste and elegant fills the bill," returned Carter.

"How would it do to dress up the four Corners as North, South, East and
West?" suggested Mr. Pinckney. "Dress North in fur and cover her with
snowballs; South could have magnolias; East could have,--could have----"

"Could have----" repeated Carter. "Go on, Mr. St. Nick."

"I'm stuck," he confessed. "I don't believe my ingenuity could devise
sufficiently distinctive costumes. We shall have to give that up.
Why haven't we heard from you, Mary Lee? I see the shadow of thought
resting upon your brow."

"I'm just thinking that we might use the Spanish colors," she said,
"and we could wear Spanish dresses." It was plain to be seen what
influenced her suggestion.

"Oh, there'll be hosts of those," Mrs. Roberts told her. "The Spanish
element will come out very strong, as you will see." And Mary Lee
retired to the background.

"We might take the colors of the University of Virginia," said Nan.
"Cart is a University man and he might fly the college colors, yellow
and blue; we could each carry a little pennant."

"Not bad," said Carter, interested at once. "We'll think that over,
Nan. I'd like right well to back up the old University and give her a
chance. So far nothing better has been suggested. What is your scheme,
Mrs. Bobs? We haven't heard from you yet."

"I was thinking of proposing white flowers with a very little green
decoration. Green and white is always so fresh looking and is very
effective if used right."

Carter looked dubious. "Very effective for a wedding, maybe, but it
doesn't appeal to me as striking enough."

"Red and black, then."

"The devil's colors; oh, no, we are all too young and innocent,"
laughed Carter. "We'll let Nan's resolution lie on the table till
to-morrow and in the meantime somebody else may come forward with a new
suggestion." So time went on until at last Miss Helen proposed that the
white car be decked in yellow to represent the golden west and that
its occupants wear white and yellow. This suggestion was unanimously
approved but Miss Helen waived her right to a seat in the car and
handed it over to Nan who was ecstatic. Her own scheme of using the
colors of the University of Virginia had come second in favor so that
it was considered proper that she should take Miss Helen's place.

"Nan is so slim there is plenty of room for another," said Jack
wistfully.

"So there is, kid," said Carter comfortingly. "There's plenty of room
for you and the other _trin_ on the back seat with Mary Lee, and Nan
can sit by me on the front seat if she doesn't object."

Nobody objected, Nan least of all, so this beautiful arrangement was
carried out, and yellow and gold filled their minds for the next few
days. The car was not to be entirely massed in flowers, but was to be
bordered by the yellow blossoms, these outlining the top, sides and
wheels, while the front was to be a solid yellow shield. Each lassie
was to carry a big bunch of yellow flowers and to wear white with a
yellow sash. They were to have, too, crowns of yellow, and Carter in
speckless white would have a yellow necktie and wear a yellow flower in
his buttonhole.

"We ought certainly to take the prize," said Nan. "I don't believe
there will be any prettier fix than ours."

"Oh, you country gal," cried Carter, "a fix, indeed. What a way to
speak of my beautiful white car."

"Do we start from here, or do we go to Pasadena first and get things
in order?" asked Mary Lee.

"You girls would better start from here," said Mrs. Roberts; "you will
have a better chance to adorn yourselves, and Carter can meet you at
the hotel."

But Carter would none of this; he would not consent to starting on
ahead. "Nine miles is nothing for an automobile," he said, "and I'll
let her go slow so the decorations will be in no danger of whizzing
off. Besides, we'll have a much better chance to get the car looking
all right and note the effect."

Mr. Pinckney threw himself heart and soul into the fun. He posted off
to Pasadena early to engage the "place of vantage" where the onlooking
elders could be posted to see the parade, and where he could engage
a table for their dinner. It was all vastly exciting, the children
thought. Jean rocked herself back and forth with delight as she sat on
the veranda floor watching Nan and Mary Lee make the crowns. "Did you
ever think we'd have such lovely story-book times," she said. "I could
screal, I'm so happy."

"I wouldn't," returned Nan. "Screaling is for scralid scraws, and
scrirming screaky pigs with crirky tails, and not for little girls of
craulity."

"Oh, Nan," protested Jean, "you make such fun of me; do be criet."

"So I will, if you will promise not to criver so with excitement,"
Nan replied. "Hand me those scissors, please. 'She wore a wreath of
roses,'" she sang, deftly tossing the crown of yellow flowers on Jean's
head. "There, you look crite like a little creen."

In the pride of her coronet Jean forgot to notice the teasing and ran
off to show herself to her mother.

The yellow crowns were vastly becoming, to Nan especially so, and
Carter had nothing but approving looks to cast on his party of little
girls as they mounted his flower-decked car, and they returned the
compliment. "You certainly do look nice, Carter," said Jack.

"That white suit and yellow tie are very becoming to your style of
beauty," said Nan, "but I wish you were a caballero."

"A caballero in an automobile? What an anachronism," said Carter. "I'd
have to ride a horse and stow my car away in a garage, then where would
you be?"

"Sure enough, where? Looking at you on your curvetting steed instead of
being looked at with you. I take it all back, Carter; I don't wish you
were a caballero at all."

"Well, my ladies, I'm perfectly satisfied with your appearance,
individually and collectively. Those little yellow coronets are just
too sweet," he added in a finicking voice.

"So is your tootsy-wootsy buttonhole bouquet," retorted Nan. "Come,
let's get in. Dispose your sashes, children, so they will show a little
bit. That's it. Now, I'll seat myself. See if I'm all right, Carter.
Oh, I am so proud."

Indeed, so were they all. Never had there been a more excited set of
children. To be part and parcel of a big parade, and such parade, was
no common affair. It was a wonderful thing to share the plaudits of a
great assemblage with gaily dressed ladies on coaches, with dashing
caballeros and brilliantly bedecked wheelmen. Jack could scarcely sit
still, and was constantly reprimanded by Mary Lee, who felt that the
dignity of the party must be kept up by her.

Their elders had gone on ahead and were comfortably placed in the seats
Mr. Pinckney had procured for them. The whole town was gay with flags
and banners; festoons of flowers graced the fronts of the houses;
arches of the same spanned the streets; all the shops and schools were
closed; tiers of seats held expectant spectators; Spanish cavaliers,
the descendants of the old residents of California, fell into line,
their big sombreros garlanded with poppies or roses, their velvet
jackets showing brass buttons, silken cords and white puffs at elbows,
their white trousers displaying bright color beneath the slashes. They
were the observed of all observers. Many of them wore sashes of flowers
and the bridles of their horses were entwined with ribbons of the
same shade. A caballero mounted on a high-stepping black horse whose
decorations were yellow, made a fine showing, while the glossy white
steed which followed contrasted well with the brilliant red geraniums
which adorned his master, and the horse himself seemed proud of his
scarlet ribbons as he tossed his flowing mane and arched his neck.

Those at the windows and balconies noticed the happy faced party
of little girls in their yellow and white, but in that mass of
gorgeousness their car was not specially unique, but they did not
care, and scarcely one of them thought of the prize offered for the
most attractive decoration. Then there were automobiles a mass of
roses, coaches of violets, whose occupants wore gowns of the same
hue, victorias of lilies, every conceivable conceit wrought into the
moving pageant. Bicyclists in satin costumes of the picturesque period
of Louis XV rode in solid line, their wheels adorned in harmony with
their dress. Every sort of thing on wheels was pressed into service.
Dignity, grotesqueness, grace, beauty, all were represented.

"There they are!" cried Jack as their car passed the hotel windows at
which sat their party. "See, there's mother waving her handkerchief.
She knows us and Mr. St. Nick has a flag. See him, he is getting red in
the face with waving it so hard."

"I feel as if I were part of a triumphal procession," said Nan to
Carter, "as if ahead of us might be some great king whom we are
escorting to his palace, and that we girls were the ladies in waiting
to attend his queen. This might be the bridal procession and we might
be going from the church after the ceremony. He is a Spanish king, of
course, because those are his courtiers on horseback."

Just at this juncture the band struck up Dixie. Carter was on his feet
in an instant waving his hat and shouting, "Three cheers for the old
Dominion!" The girls shrilled out their cheers and bystanders smiled at
the enthusiastic four whose example was followed by so many as to prove
that the land of Dixie had many representatives in that crowd.

Up and down the parade passed in review, but at last it came to an
end and the girls sought their friends at the hotel. "Wasn't it the
grandest thing you ever saw?" cried Jack throwing herself on Mr.
Pinckney, thus knocking to one side her coronet which was already awry.

"Yes," he assured her, "it was about as fine as anything I ever saw."

"Aren't you sorry you weren't in it?" asked Jean.

"Well, no, to tell you the truth I am not, for I think we all saw much
more than you did."

"It wasn't so much the seeing as the being," remarked Nan.

"And did you hear us cheer when they played Dixie?" asked Jack.

"Hear you?" said Mr. Pinckney laughing. "I heard a mighty shout but I
didn't know it was you making all the noise."

"Pasadena is such a beautiful place I don't know why we didn't come
here to live," said Jean.

"Sh!" reproved Mary Lee. "You know we stayed in Los Angeles because
we wanted to be near Mrs. Roberts and Mr. St. Nick, and I am sure it
couldn't be lovelier anywhere than where we live."

"Who is ready for the New Year's dinner?" asked Mr. Pinckney. "Aren't
you all nearly starved?"

"Oh, I forgot about its being New Year," said Nan. "It certainly isn't
a bit like any New Year we ever knew, but it is one I shall never
forget."

"Shall we wear our crowns to dinner?" asked Jack.

"If you like," Mr. Pinckney told her.

But the coronets being rather limp from wear, were taken off and the
party went down to the dining-room in the rest of their festal array.
While a delicious dinner was served them they made merry over the
favors provided by Mr. Pinckney whose ingenuity in this direction
brought a great clapping of hands. For Carter there was a tiny
automobile, for Nan a little piano, for the señorita a guitar, for Mary
Lee a glass box of great California prunes, the many sided box top
showing the prismatic colors. Jack received a little toy kid, Jean an
astronomical globe with the sign of the Gemini prominent. Before Mrs.
Corner's place was a five-sided box of candy to represent the five
Corners. Miss Helen had a book called "A Little Corner in the World";
for Mrs. Roberts was a bobbing Chinese figure and for Mr. Roberts a toy
bob-sled.

"Father has had the best sort of time getting these, I know," said Mrs.
Roberts. "I can just see him prowling around the shops. It is the way
he used to about our Christmas gifts when we were children."

"I came near getting a nanny-goat for Miss Zeph," said Mr. Pinckney,
"but I didn't want to destroy the effect of the kid."

"But you ought to have had a Santa Claus," said Jack regretfully. "What
are you doing, Carter?"

"Just wait a minute," he said, keeping busily on with the manipulation
of an orange. Every one's eyes were upon him as he deftly cut away the
skin, made eyes of raisins, a nose of a candied cherry, daubed the
cheeks with currant jelly, and smeared the chin with the same, then
leaning over he took the jeweler's cotton from the box containing Mrs.
Roberts' Chinese figure, made a beard and hair of it, stuck the orange
on top of a larger one by means of matches, made arms of flower stalks,
and legs of orange twigs, a tiny pipe was improvised and stuck in the
mouth of the figure, then with a flourish Carter presented it to Mr.
Pinckney who received it amid shouts of laughter.

"Such a clever, clever boy," said Miss Helen approvingly.

"A second Michael Angelo," laughed Mrs. Roberts.

"But," cried Jack, "Mr. St. Nick's nose isn't a bit red."

"But it says 'nose like a cherry,' in the Night before Christmas," Jean
reminded her.

"Yes, but there are white cherries," objected Jack. She felt that
perhaps Carter might be making fun of her dear old friend and she eyed
the latter gentleman closely to see if his feelings were hurt by this
effigy. On the contrary he chuckled each time he looked at the figure
which he declared he would treasure as long as it lasted.

Through the arched and flower-decked streets they took their way home
to finish the day by setting off the fireworks Carter had provided.
Then they sang songs; so sandwiching songs with fireworks they passed
the evening and when the odor of gunpowder had died away came the scent
of orange-blossoms and roses to gladden their senses as they strolled
home.

                              CHAPTER XI

                            THE TOMALE MAN

The Chinaman with his one horse cart had just been making his daily
round. Nan had been watching Li Hung chaffering with his countryman
for some of the fresh fruits and vegetables, and now that the bargain
was closed and the cart had bobbed off down the street she had gone
to their own little orange grove and was standing contemplatively
regarding some white orange-blossoms above her head. She was still
dreaming of a husband for the señorita. "It would be so handy to get
orange blossoms for a bride," she told herself, "easier," she continued
with a little chuckle, "than to get a husband. It is a great pity
that Carter is so young and Mr. Pinckney is so old," she thought.
She looked down between the rows of trees to the mountains rising in
solemn dignity beyond. "I wonder how the people who used to live here
feel about it," she went on to herself. "I should have hated to give
it up. I shall feel sorry when we have to." Then her thoughts flew to
another garden in old Virginia, mountain girt, too, but now lying white
under winter snows and showing no sign of life except when a Molly
Cottontail leaped to cover leaving small footprints behind her. Place
o' Pines, her favorite haunt, seemed childish and small. All of her
previous life was dwarfed beside the larger experience of her present.
There was much to miss yet she missed nothing. California had cast
its spell upon her. To her youth's eagerness for the new it unfolded
a constantly expanding growth. Even the crowds in the streets seemed
larger each day than the day before. To her romantic love of the old
the ancient missions, the remains of the Spanish settlements appealed
strongly. They filled her with a delight such as the old countries
alone can afford the lover of poetry, history and art. She sighed
because the days were passing all too quickly, because but a little
time remained of their stay in Los Angeles. "We must move on like the
Indians," said Nan regretfully, "and I don't half like it."

In the midst of her reveries, she suddenly remembered that she had not
seen Jack for some time. She wondered where the child was. She had an
indistinct recollection of hearing Jack announce that she meant to
go find the tomale man. They had discovered him the last time they
had been down town with Carter, and they had enjoyed the hot Mexican
preparation so much that Jack declared she meant to go buy some
herself some day. Could she have chosen to-day for the expedition into
the town?

Nan made for the house. "Where is Jack?" she asked. No one knew. Mary
Lee had seen her talking to Li Hung. Jean had heard her say she was
going somewhere and did not want any company. She would not tell where
she was going. The señorita had seen her counting over her store of
nickels. Taking her clues from all this Nan started forth. "It would
never do to let her go down town by herself," she said. "She might get
lost, but don't worry mother about it; I'll find her."

"Suppose you telephone over to Mrs. Roberts," suggested Miss Helen;
"she may have gone there."

Nan called up, but no Jack had been there that morning. Garden, orchard
and the surrounding streets were searched and all finally arrived at
Nan's conclusion, so she started for the centre of the town where
they had come across the tomale man. There he was with his corn husk
packages neatly tied and filled with the delectable preparation so
dear to the hearts of the Mexican. There was no Jack in sight as
Nan came up. She wandered up and down trying to discover her sister
and suddenly found herself in the midst of a queer street where she
seemed to be transported to the other side of the globe. Here were
shops innumerable displaying such strange wares that Nan stood still
to wonder before she turned to flee. She was not timid, but to be
surrounded by plodding Chinamen stubbing along in their queer shoes
made her feel uncomfortable. One or two turned slanting eyes upon her
but most passed her unconcernedly. Before a shop gay with banners and
painted signs Nan paused, but in the masses of unknown objects which
she could see by peering inside there was nothing that she recognized,
and she went on passing all sorts of establishments, before which were
set forth such wares as platters of fish, bunches of herbs and tubs of
vegetables the like of which she had never seen before.

She would like to have penetrated further, to have stopped to look in
at the Chinamen eating with chop sticks, and the Chinese women with
such curiously arranged hair, but she scarcely dared, and satisfied
that Jack had not strayed this way she retraced her steps and was once
again out of China and in America. The tomale man still hawked his
wares and the crowds were still hurrying to and fro, an interesting
crowd, Nan thought, for so many nationalities were represented, but
among them was no little bright-eyed girl answering to the name of Jack
Corner.

"I might as well hunt for a needle in a hay-stack," thought Nan. "I'd
better go back home for probably she is there by this time. Some day I
shall get Carter or Mr. St. Nick to bring us to Chinatown where we can
nose around and see everything we want."

She was so busy thinking of what she had seen that she reached the
corner nearest home before she realized it, and was obliged to turn
back a little. In doing this she caught sight of two figures down the
street a little way; one was a small girl standing at bay before a
boy about her own age who danced and pranced and flourished his fists
shouting: "Ya! ya! ya! I've got you now."

Nan set out on a quick run. Surely this was Jack. She came up just in
time to see the boy tweak off Jack's hat and throw it on the ground,
but she also saw why he did not advance further, for whichever way he
turned the steely point of a long sharp hat pin confronted him. Jack
had chosen her own weapon and never had ventured from home without it
since the day of her battle with the boy. _The Boy_ she called him in
her own mind. She had felt that this hour might come some day, but it
never kept her within the limits of security. One might think that
it would have been a small thing for a little boy to worst a girl
of his own size, and so it might if fists were all that were to be
considered; hat pins put a different face upon the affair. So though
Jack was merely on the defensive, defend herself she could, and very
ably.

"Jack Corner," cried Nan, "what are you up to?"

Jack was off her guard for a second, but the boy seeing that
reinforcements had arrived, did not dare to make further attack. "Pick
up my hat, won't you, Nan?" said Jack coolly, "and won't you get the
tomales from behind me? I'm afraid I'll step on them. You'd better go
home, boy," she remarked with a mocking laugh.

"Yes, you'd better go," said Nan. "What do you mean by teasing my
little sister?"

"Ain't she done enough to make me tease her?" said the boy sullenly.
"Ain't she nearly beat the life out of me?"

"So you're the boy, are you?" Nan looked at him interestedly. "Well, I
can tell you that it won't be good for you to stay around here. There
are too many of us to look after this little girl. Our Chinaman keeps
a tub of scalding water ready for you if he catches you, and if you
try to run away Mr. Barnwell has his automobile always on hand, and if
that isn't enough I can easily call up a policeman. I won't answer for
what the Chinaman will do if he once gets hold of you. They can do
horrible things, you know. He may be on the lookout now." Nan peeped
over the hedge as if to discover the lurking Li Hung. Her threats and
suggestions of dark things had their effect, for the boy backed off,
keeping his eye on the hat pin which Jack still pointed at him, and
when at a safe distance he turned and fled.

"The next time, Jack," said Nan, "he'll not come alone, I can promise
you that. Now, young lady, why did you abscond this way without leave?
You know mother doesn't allow it."

"That's why I went," said Jack. "I was afraid she wouldn't let me go if
I asked her, and I wasn't disobeying if she didn't say I couldn't, was
I?"

"Well, in a way you weren't. Give an account of yourself. Where have
you been?"

"To get some tomales from the Chili wagon. I brought you one, Nan, and
one to the señorita."

"How do you know we'll like them?"

"Oh, you're sure to. If you don't care for yours you can give it to
Mary Lee; she'll eat it whether she likes it or not because it is
Spanish and because the señorita likes it. They have all sorts of
things in them, funny things, the man told me; chicken and olives, and
ever so many queer names I can't remember. He could speak English, and
he was very nice and polite."

"That may be, but you ought to have been at home playing quietly like a
nice well-behaved little girl. I went all the way down town to look for
you. I thought you might have gone off somewhere by yourself."

"What made you think so?"

"I heard you say you were going after tomales some day. I should think
you would have been scared, Jack, to wander off by yourself."

"I didn't wander; I went straight down to where we saw the Chili wagon.
I wasn't scared, because it is easy to ask the way, and the cars take
you right where you want to go. I don't see why people get so fussy
over a little thing like that when everybody goes back and forth on the
cars all day long. I must have come back just ahead of you, and it is a
wonder I didn't see you."

"Probably I was just behind you all the way along. I went all around
and I even got into Chinatown. It was tremendously interesting and I
should like to have prowled around there longer, but I had you on my
mind. We must get Carter or Mr. St. Nick to take us there some day.
You feel as if you were really in a foreign country. I saw lots of
beautiful things I wanted to buy, and lots of awful, queer-looking
eatables I wanted to get away from. I don't see how they can eat such
messes."

"Maybe they think that way about the things we eat."

"Probably they do, though I shouldn't think they would, for it is
because there are such swarms of them in their own country that they
can't get enough decent food and have to fall back on anything they can
get whether it is good or not."

"I'm glad I'm not a Chinaman," said Jack reflectively.

"So am I," said Nan. "Tell me, where did you meet that boy?"

"Right here where I got off the car. I believe he saw me go in town by
myself and waited around till I came back."

"I think it is very likely, and I shouldn't wonder if he tried again to
do something mean."

"I'm not afraid."

"I don't suppose you are, but there may be no Carter or Nan next time
and you may come off worse than you have these two times. You may thank
your stars that I came along when I did."

"Oh, I don't know," returned Jack nonchalantly; "I had my hat pin, you
know. I bought the longest, sharpest one I could find."

"Do you always carry it?"

"I do ever since that first day. I would have jabbed him good if he had
come too near."

"But he might have kept you there for hours."

"Oh, no, for I would have called the first person that came along and
would have made whoever it was send him off. I think next time I go
out of the garden I'll carry a bottle of ammonia, and if he comes I'll
throw it all over him."

"You might put his eyes out, and that would be horrible. No, don't do
any such desperate thing. Make up your mind to stay where you belong
and don't go off on these wild excursions by yourself."

"But I like to go. It's more fun to go by yourself, for then you can
stop and look in at all the shop windows you want to, and if you want
to ask questions of any one, there's nobody by to hurry you along and
say you mustn't."

"Oh, Jack, Jack," said Nan, "there's no doing anything with you. Come
along now and tell mother where you have been; you know that is what
you will have to do."

There was no use in trying to squirm out of this duty as Jack well
knew, so she went in and made her confession, received her lecture
placidly and took her punishment stolidly. She was to stay at home from
the next outing, wherever that might be. She was a nervous excitable
child under some circumstances, but the expected never ruffled her; it
was only the unexpected which did.

The expedition from which she was excluded was one which Jean was not
allowed to undertake, either, as Mrs. Corner decided that they were too
young for so hard a trip. Miss Helen, Mary Lee, and Nan were the only
ones who would go in company of Carter and a guide. The girls could
both sit a horse well and were fearless riders, so the journey to the
mountains was not an enterprise which they dreaded in the least. Their
own mountains might be less formidable but they were wild enough and
had been the scene of more than one hardy experience. The trip would be
extended to San Bernardino, although the mountain ride would begin from
some point along the route.

"I am just wild to get on one of those little burros," announced Mary
Lee.

Carter laughed. "Don't be too wild; you may regret it before your
journey is over," and sure enough his prophecy came true, for not long
after the mountain climb began around huge boulders, up the trail with
great trees towering above them, Mary Lee began to feel uneasy, and
to lose confidence in her mount. The leaping river, singing, surging,
roaring, a hundred toned stream, had to be forded many times, the
guide told them, and it was during one of these fordings that Mary Lee
realized that she was right in not trusting her burro.

"I believe he is going to lie down," she cried out.

Carter turned his head. "Oh, no, not the dear little burro that you
were so wild to ride."

"Stop teasing her," said Nan; "it is bad enough as it is."

"That was mean," Carter acknowledged; "I'll turn back and encourage
her." This he did, but Mary Lee would have none of him when she had
safely reached dry land, and dismissed him so curtly that he rode on
without a word.

When at last a precipitous trail lay before them Mary Lee had lost
all faith in the dear little burro, for he had displayed too many
peculiarities along the way, and she declared she would not go a step
further.

[Illustration: MARY LEE HAD LOST ALL FAITH IN THE BURRO.]

"But you must, Mary Lee," said Nan. "We aren't near the end yet. We all
want to go to the top."

"Well go," said Mary Lee. "I'll wait here."

"By yourself?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, you mustn't; it wouldn't be safe."

"Nothing will hurt me, will it, Mr. O'Neill?" She appealed to the
guide.

"Less'n you're skeered of Jack-rabbits and squirls and sich varmints,"
he replied.

"I'm not scared," maintained Mary Lee stoutly, "not in daylight."

"But you should not stay alone," warned her aunt. "I should not be
satisfied to have you."

"I'll have the burro with me," answered Mary Lee half smiling.

"Great company, indeed," scoffed Nan. "You might see a rattlesnake or a
tarantula."

"I might just the same if I were not by myself. I'd rather see them
than ride another mile up the mountain on that stubborn little beast.
I don't know what minute his heels might fly up and I be pitched
clean over his head, or suppose he should take a notion to sit down
on that fearsome trail, I'd die of fright. I'd as soon be bitten by a
rattlesnake as to be tossed to eternity down the side of a cañon. No,
sirree, I don't go up that mountain with Mars Burro. It will be as much
as I can do to make the journey home from here. You all travel as far
as you want to go and I'll wait for you. I'd much rather than not."

Miss Helen turned to the guide. "Do you think it is safe?"

"I don't see why not," he answered. "There ain't no creeturs likely to
come around in daylight, nothin' that ought to skeer her, and we
won't be gone more'n an hour or so."

"I'll change burros with you," said Carter, but to this Mary Lee would
not listen. She was determined to go no further and further she would
not go, so at last, after much parleying and the offer of one after
another to stay with her, all departed and she was left sitting on a
fallen log to feast her eyes upon the wonders of the forest. Here were
great white-trunked sycamores draped with mistletoe, glossy-leaved live
oaks, great alders and willows by the brawling stream and a flowery
wilderness of blossoms in the open, alfiliria, bluish pink; golden
poppies, lavender lilies, violets, tulips, a paradise for the wandering
bees.

It was when the voices of her friends came only faintly from afar and
she was watching the brown bees booming among the blossoms that Mary
Lee first detected the monotonous strokes of an axe cleaving some huge
tree. She was not the only human being in the wilderness then. At first
she decided not to venture from her place, but after half an hour had
passed she became a little lonely and the idea of human companionship
seemed rather pleasant to contemplate. The bees, in their busy
gathering of honey, droned so sleepily that they offered no excitement,
although at first it had been interesting to watch them. Mary Lee
loved all animals and would have tried to make friends with any who
might have appeared, but beyond the friskings of an agile squirrel once
in a while she had not seen any.

After some hesitation, as the steady chopping kept on, she arose from
her seat and cautiously made her way toward the spot from whence the
noise came. After a time she saw a man who was bringing his axe down
with mighty strokes and who was too intent upon his work to notice the
little figure so near till a voice by his side said: "That's a mighty
big tree you're cutting down."

"Great fathers!" cried the man dropping his axe and looking at the
little girl. "Where under the sun did you come from?"

"From just over yonder," replied Mary Lee. "The others have gone
further up the mountain, but I wanted to rest and so I am waiting for
them to come back. They will be here presently. I hoped I would see a
Douglas squirrel, but I didn't. Did you ever see a water ousel? I have
read about them and I would give anything to see one."

The man smiled. "Well, yes," he answered, "they're plenty around the
streams and as to Douglas squirrels they've been capering about here
all morning. They're about the liveliest creeturs ever I did see. You
keep still a minute and maybe you'll get to see one. Aha, I thought
so," for presently to Mary Lee's delight she saw the quick motions that
indicated a presence in a tree just beyond where she was standing.

"Most folks out here call him a Pine squirrel," said the man. "This
one's been a barkin' at me on and off all the morning. Hear him now:
Pee-ah! Pee-ah! that's him."

Mary Lee listened and presently the little creature came nearer and
nearer, this time angry at seeing a new intruder whose language he did
not know, and as he made a sudden dash at the two humans, Mary Lee
could see him distinctly.

"He is a lively one," the man remarked again. "Now, if you want to see
one of them water thrushes I guess we can find one if you don't mind a
rough little walk."

Mary Lee had no misgivings as she followed her guide and he, in return
for her confidence, entertained her to the best of his ability. "How
did you happen to know about these critturs?" he asked. "You ain't from
these mountain parts, I know."

"No," returned Mary Lee, "I am from the East, from Virginia, but my
aunt has been reading to us about the birds and beasts of California
and those two I have been very anxious to see. We have been looking for
them, and I am glad I shall have seen them first."

"Them squirrels is the out-beatingest critturs for not scaring," the
man told her, "and they cut up more didos. I've spent many an hour
watching 'em, and their tricks would make a horse laugh. As for your
water thrush, he's a good fellow, too. Don't mind how cold the water
is, nor how lonely the place, just give him a waterfall and he's happy.
He'll sing, too, winter or summer, just as pleasant as can be; you just
can't freeze him out."

"Have you always lived in the mountains?" asked Mary Lee as she
followed along the rough way.

"No, I ain't, though I come mighty near to being a mountaineer. I was
brought up on the coast and I figgered around this region up and down
since I was a boy. Sometimes it ain't been healthy for me to stay in
one place and I've lit out to another."

"Why, doesn't the climate of California agree with everybody?" asked
Mary Lee guilelessly.

The man laughed and shook his head. "Depends on what your complaint is.
Now my complaint always happened to be somebody else's complaint and
that's what made it bad for my health at times."

Mary Lee pondered some time upon this unintelligible speech, indeed
until the waterfall was reached where the glad presence of the water
ousel put all else out of her thoughts. There he was to be sure,
flitting, diving, whirling in the eddying pools, poising like a
humming-bird above the cascade, and singing, ever singing. Oh, the
joy of it! Mary Lee stood enraptured. Once she turned a beamingly
appreciative face upon the rough man at her side.

"Like him, do ye?" he said.

"I love him; I adore him," returned Mary Lee bending a little forward
to see the better. Only a small bluish-gray bird with a touch of brown
upon him, but he was the very spirit of the waterfall, a sprite--a
water-baby. "Do you suppose he will still be here when the others get
back?" asked Mary Lee. "I'd so love them to see him."

"He may be," returned the man, then in an undertone, "but I won't."

"I certainly am obliged to you for showing me the two things I wanted
most to see," said Mary Lee as they wended their way back to the
wood-chopper's tree. "I should think your children would be very glad
to have a father who could show them so many woodsy creatures. Have you
any little girls?"

The man was silent for a moment. "I don't know whether I have or not,"
he said presently.

"Oh!" Mary Lee looked surprised. "Why not?"

"Well, you see the way of it was this. It's twenty-odd year since I
married my wife. She was a Mexican girl, pretty as a picture. Her folks
didn't cotton to me and circumstances was against me so I lit out not
long after we was married, and next thing I hear my girl is dead, and
the message I got from her father didn't make it look wise for me to
go back and claim the baby. Besides, what would I do with a youngster,
living wild like I had to? She was better off, I figgered it out, than
she would be with her father, so I left her be, and though I ain't
forgot her, I don't ever mean she shall know she has a daddy. I ain't
nothin' to be proud of, missy, though once I was a right likely sort
of buck. Well, so long. I guess we must part here. I hear your folks
hollerin' to you. There's your road right straight ahead." And before
Mary Lee could say a word he plunged into the woods and was lost to
sight.

                              CHAPTER XII

                               JO POKER

"Mary Lee! Mary Lee! Where are you?" came the calls from one and
another as the riders arrived at the spot where they had left the
little girl.

At the same moment she appeared running along the path which led into
the deeper woods. "Here I am all right," she assured them.

"We were so scared when we didn't see anything of you," said Nan. "Were
you very lonely, Mary Lee? Did the time seem long?"

"Lonely? I should think not. I have had the loveliest time you can
imagine. I have seen a Douglas squirrel and a water ousel and I don't
know what all."

"Why, Mary Lee!" Miss Helen and Nan both looked astonished. "You have
done more than we," said Miss Helen.

"It's like the old adage that says he who stays at home sees more than
he who goes to Rome," said Nan. "We had an awful ride. Such precipices,
such narrow, narrow paths! I didn't dare to look down and in some
places I felt just as if I couldn't stand it. I wanted to scream but
all I could do was to shut my eyes and trust to my burro to get me back
all right. I don't want to do it again."

"Do tell us how you came to see the Douglas squirrel and the water
ousel," said Miss Helen. "Perhaps we can find them in the same place."

"Well," said Mary Lee, "I heard somebody chopping and I went to see who
it was, for I was getting tired of sitting still, and there was a man.
He was very kind and took me to see the dearest little waterfall where
there was that darling bird. He showed me the squirrel, too, and told
me the names of lots of trees and things, he was such a nice man. I
wish he had stayed till you all came back, but he wouldn't."

O'Neill, the guide, was listening attentively. "Tall man, was he, with
a scar over his left eye, lightish hair, warm-colored, not red exactly,
but light colored? I reckon it was Jo Poker."

"Jo Poker? What a funny name," said Nan.

"That isn't his real name and I reckon nobody does know just what that
is. He's a kind of shady character. There's several stories about
him; some say he cheated at cards and that's why he goes by the name
of poker, a sort of jeer at him, you see. Some says he killed a man
and that he's an escaped convict. Others says it's only because he's
always poking about and looking around at wild critturs and things that
makes folks call him Jo Poker. Nobody knows just the right of it. He's
a peaceable sort of chap, and is a right good worker when he wants to
be. Sometimes he hires out for a while but most of the time he lives in
a little hut here in these mountains. He don't seem to care much for
humans and always lights out if he sees anybody coming. You must 'a'
come on him suddent, sissy." He turned to Mary Lee.

"I did," she told him. "He looked so surprised when he saw me, but he
certainly was good and kind."

"You struck him all right," said O'Neill. "There ain't nobody could
tell you more about beastes than him, and when he knew you liked 'em,
you got on the right side of him at oncet."

"He must be rather an interesting character," said Miss Helen. "How
does he make his living?"

"Oh, he cuts a few shingles now and then and sells 'em, and sometimes
he'll hire out for a while, but he's particular who he works for. He
don't require much and it's easy to get."

"I wish we could see him," said Nan reflectively. "He seems like some
sort of hermit. I don't believe he ever killed any one. He wouldn't be
so kind to animals if he was wicked."

O'Neill gave a little amused laugh. "Bless you, miss, there's lots
of men do things in a fit of rage. That don't prevent 'em from bein'
soft-hearted as a woman when things goes easy."

"Could we go to the waterfall?" asked Miss Helen. "Is it too far?"

"It's about half a mile I should judge," said the guide, "but I
wouldn't advise your starting now, late as it is, for it's a rough
path. I wouldn't wonder if we couldn't see one of them birds on our
way back. There's sure to be one 'round a mountain stream, specially
if it's falling water. We'll look out for him as we go along. I guess,
sissy, you'd better mount now. This here young man wants to swop burros
with you and I guess you'd better let him," he turned to Mary Lee.

Carter had already mounted Mary Lee's self-willed little burro,
protesting that he wanted the fun of managing him, so Mary Lee, seated
on a surer animal, joined the cavalcade which started down the homeward
way.

The water ousel was discovered where a dancing stream cascaded down
to meet a singing rill, but, disturbed in his feeding ground, he did
not stop to gladden his discoverers but flew off down stream to a more
sequestered place, though notes of his joyous song came back to the
listeners.

"We did see him," said Nan in a satisfied manner, "but I would like to
have heard more of his song."

The Douglas squirrel, for some reason, kept out of sight, so that all
the glory of meeting him that day was Mary Lee's own.

She was very thoughtful during the homeward ride, and indeed in the
presence of the mighty trees which towered above them, and in the
company of the myriad flowers which carpeted the wayside one felt that
the solemnity of a sanctuary forbade too much levity.

However their spirits were gay enough when they stopped on the roadside
for supper. O'Neill built a rousing fire, produced his stores, made
coffee and set forth a very fair meal for which their ride gave them a
keen appetite.

"Talk about being hungry as a hunter," remarked Carter; "I am as hungry
as two hunters."

"That sounds like the conundrum: What makes more noise than a pig under
a gate?" said Nan.

"Are you casting any insinuations?" asked Carter.

"Well, no," laughed Nan.

"I don't like to have pigs mentioned when I am eating my sixth
biscuit," said Carter. "Just leave them out of the conversation, will
you? till to-morrow."

"I promise," said Nan, "because when you put it that way I have a
fellow feeling myself. Oh, but I was hungry."

"I am still," said Carter, reaching for a sandwich. "I believe I was
hollow all the way down to my boots. Are you shocked, Miss Helen?"

"Not a bit of it. Don't you suppose I know how young things eat?"

"Young things!" scoffed Carter. "Is thy servant a colt or a calf?"

"I must be a robin," declared Nan, "I forget how many times its own
weight a young robin can eat in the course of twenty-four hours."

"Let's just eat and not talk about it," said Mary Lee.

"Good!" cried Carter. "That's the most sensible remark yet. I second
the motion. Tell us some more about Jo Poker, Mary Lee."

"I've told you everything, I believe. He doesn't seem to be an ignorant
man, for he knows about all sorts of things and tells you of them in
such an interesting way."

"No, he ain't no common man," said O'Neill. "I reckon he's got a
history, like a good many out this way. I never had much speech with
him myself, but they say he'll talk about most anything but his own
affairs, when he takes a fancy to any one. I reckon missy here got more
outen him than most. Now then if you're all filled up we'll move on. I
want to make the Three Brothers before night."

"What is Three Brothers? a town?" asked Nan.

"A little sort of hotel, kep' first by three men name o' Stallings.
There ain't but one now, but he keeps the name just the same. It's a
decent sort of place for ladies, right quiet and middlin' clean."

"Middling clean will have to suffice, I suppose," said Miss Helen in an
aside to Nan. "We shall be tired enough not to care much, I fancy, by
the time we get there."

"We shall sleep like tops," replied Nan, "after this mountain ride.
I'll not quarrel with the place so long as it gives us beds we can
sleep in, and I'll not ask for electric lights nor a private bath
either."

The shadows fell around them before they reached their destination
a weary, but cheerful party who made no complaints of the lodgings
assigned them.

It was that night at the modest hotel which was their stopping place
that Mary Lee unfolded to her sister the thoughts which had been hers
on the way back. "Do you know, Nan," she said, "I have been thinking
that Jo Poker might possibly be Miss Dolores' father."

Nan stared. "You are crazy," she replied. "Her father is dead."

"She doesn't know for certain. They made her think so, I know, but
maybe that was because they didn't want him to get hold of her. Don't
you see how it might be? He told me that he married a Mexican whose
family didn't like him and that he had never seen his little baby. It
was a girl, too."

Nan became more interested. "That's so. It might really be, Mary Lee,
but who would want her to have such a father?"

"I don't think he is so dreadful."

"He must be or his wife's family wouldn't have objected to him. I am
afraid, Mary Lee, he really must have been very bad."

"But that was so long ago. Maybe he isn't now."

"That wouldn't help it any. You wouldn't like the señorita to go
up there and live in a little hut on the mountains away off from
everybody."

"No, of course not. He said he should never make himself known to his
daughter even if he knew where she was."

"Then that proves he isn't a decent somebody, and that he is ashamed of
what he is. He knows he wouldn't be any credit to her."

Mary Lee felt the force of this argument and was silent before it for a
moment, but she soon returned to battle for her theory. "Well, suppose
he wasn't very nice once, maybe he has a nice family who would be glad
to take Miss Dolores."

"It seems to me you're mighty eager to get rid of her," said Nan slyly.

"Oh, Nan!" There was indignant protest in Mary Lee's tones. "You know
I'm not anxious to do that. It is only for her sake I want to find some
real blood kin for her."

"They might turn out to be people she would loathe," said Nan.

"Oh, but we wouldn't tell her unless they were very nice."

"You couldn't help her knowing if they knew first. I don't think I'd
like to have Jo Poker for my father, no matter what his family happened
to be. Did he talk like a gentleman, Mary Lee?"

Mary Lee was obliged to confess that he did not, though she insisted
that he spoke much better than O'Neill. "He may have been a gentleman
once," she said, "for he was very polite and helped me over the hard
places. He has lived so long among rough people perhaps he has
forgotten how to speak correctly."

"Well," returned Nan, "I don't see what we can do about it anyway. We
can't go off alone and search him out and put the question to him point
blank."

"All we can do is to tell Mr. St. Nick."

"Yes, we can do that, and he will advise us. Come, do let's get in bed.
I am tired all over. Our mountain rides at home are nothing to the one
we have had to-day." And though Mary Lee tried to resume the subject
after they were in bed Nan was sound asleep almost as soon as her head
touched the pillow, and was dreaming of a water ousel which insisted
upon talking about the señorita's father.

Yet, while she pretended to laugh at Mary Lee's idea of claiming Jo
Poker's possible relationship for the señorita she was not at all sure
that he might not prove to be that undesirable parent, and it worried
her not a little, so that she was anxious to take the matter to Mr.
Pinckney as soon as they should reach home.

Therefore they had scarcely unburdened themselves of their first
enthusiasm over the trip before they left Miss Helen to tell their
mother the details and were off to Mrs. Roberts'. They found Mr.
Pinckney in his favorite chair on the veranda. "Don't get up," they
cried as he attempted to rise. "We came over to tell you about our
trip. It was perfectly glorious. We saw acres and acres of flowers,
such great thistles you never saw. Carter measured one that was two
feet around and an alder bush was a real tree. We saw a water ousel,
too."

"And a Douglas squirrel," Mary Lee put in, "at least I did."

"And the mountains are wonderful, the cañons so dark and deep
sometimes, but I was afraid I would fall when we came down those
narrow, narrow mountain paths," Nan was the speaker.

"And once," Mary Lee added, "I got off and waited for the rest, because
my burro behaved so badly I was afraid he would do something dreadful.
Carter rode him home and I took his, which was not near so mean."

"Oh, there was lots to see," Nan went on, "so much besides the
mountains and the towns and the orange groves. There are ever so many
springs up that way, all kinds; some one told us there were a thousand
hot springs in that part of California. We went to one of them. Aunt
Helen would like to have gone to the Pala Mission where there are so
many Indians but she thought she'd make another trip there in a less
roundabout way. I hope she'll take us."

"Well, it was a great experience, wasn't it?" said Mr. Pinckney. "But
I'm glad to see your cheerful countenances again, although the twinnies
have kept us from being too lonely. Bless me! what shall we do when you
are gone altogether? It isn't so hard to do without a thing when you
haven't had it, you see."

The girls looked at each other. "We would like so much to get a
granddaughter for you," said Nan, "and if we were not all so fond of
one another you could have one of us, but we would be wicked to leave
mother."

"I don't see anything but to keep you out here," replied Mr. Pinckney.
"If the climate helps your mother why shouldn't you stay?"

"Oh, we'd like it," said Nan, "but I don't believe mother and Aunt
Helen would want to stay forever."

"It's hard to suit everybody, isn't it?" said Mr. Pinckney. "I suppose
the day will come when I shall want to go East again myself. Well, we
won't bother about it yet awhile."

"We could keep the señorita if we stayed here," said Mary Lee
thoughtfully. "She would rather not go East if she can get a good
position out here."

"So there's a heavy balance on that side," said Mr. Pinckney. "I know
which way you would vote."

"Speaking of the señorita, we want to tell you something," said Nan.
"Mary Lee met a queer man up in the mountains and we think he may
possibly be the señorita's father."

"Why, I thought her father was not living."

"So did we, but I'll tell you why we think maybe he is alive." And Nan
disclosed the theory which she and Mary Lee had worked up, Mr. Pinckney
an interested listener. "Now what do you think of it?" asked Nan in
conclusion.

"It is possible, of course, but we must be sure first that her father
is really dead. I've been meaning to take a trip to Mexico, but you all
are so fascinating that I can't make up my mind to leave such charming
society. When I do go I shall see Mr. Garcia and get what information I
can. In the meantime, however, I can make some inquiries about this Jo
Poker, as you call him, and we'll see if there is any use in following
out that clue."

"I knew it was just the right thing to tell you at once," said Nan.
"You always know just what to do."

"Better than two youngsters like you, I should hope. However, you are a
big help in unwinding the snarl. Now, run in and hear what Mrs. Roberts
has to tell you. I know young folks like the kind of frolic she is
planning."

Thus advised, the girls ran indoors to hunt up their friend. "Where
are you, Mrs. Bobs?" they called.

"Up here," came the answer.

"She's in the morning room," said Mary Lee. "I'm glad of that. I always
like to go in there." No wonder she did, for it was the prettiest room
in the house, all rose-embowered and bright where the sun shone in at
the broad windows.

"So my girlies are back," said Mrs. Roberts as she greeted them. "It
made a big hole in our circle when you all went. Did you have a good
time?"

"The finest sort of time; wild and woodsy," returned Nan. "I'm glad you
missed us, Mrs. Bobs. What is it you have to tell us? We are crazy to
hear it. Mr. St. Nick said you were planning something."

"So I am. I want your mother and aunt to meet some of my friends, and
so I am going to give a tea. I want my four little lasses to help in
the dining-room if they will, and I hope I can persuade the señorita to
pour the tea."

"Oh, lovely!" Nan clasped her hands. "To think, Mary Lee, that we are
going to a real grown-up tea, and be one of it, too. I never did go to
one, even a little one. Some of the schoolgirls have little afternoon
somethings, but they are not really dress-up affairs. Won't the
twinnies be delighted? I hope Jack will keep her hair ribbon tied and
that she won't spill anything. Don't give her anything wet to pass
around, Mrs. Bobs, she'll be sure to waste it on some one's best gown."

Mrs. Roberts laughed. "I will tell her she is to take charge of the
salted nuts only; they can't hurt anything if they happen to be
overturned. I am glad you like my plan."

"And when is it to be?" asked Mary Lee.

"Not for a couple of weeks."

"Oh, then there will be plenty of time," remarked Mary Lee.

"Time for what?" asked Nan.

"Oh," Mary Lee looked confused. "I was just thinking of frocks."

Nan gave her an inquiring look. "We shall not need new ones," she said.
"We have those lovely embroidered ones grandmother gave us for Betty
Wise's party. We haven't outgrown them, and there are our white China
silks we had for Christmas, too."

"Yes, I know," said Mary Lee weakly.

"Then I don't know what you are talking about," said Nan. "Mrs. Bobs,
you are a dear to want us to have such good times, and to put us into
those you have for the grown folks. I just wish we could always have
you this near to us. But dear me, Mary Lee, we must go. We told mother
we wouldn't stay long, and it is most dinner time. No, Mrs. Bobs, we
really can't stay this time, thank you. Does mother know about the tea?"

"Yes, but I asked her to let me have the pleasure of telling you about
it. You accept my invitation, don't you?"

Nan laughed gleefully. "Accept! I should think so. We'll be the
faithfullest waitresses you ever saw."

"I don't want you to be too energetic, for I want you to have a good
time as well as the rest of us. Must you go? Well, good-bye for a
while."

"What did you mean about the frocks, Mary Lee?" asked Nan, as soon as
the two were out the gate.

"I didn't mean ours; I was thinking of the señorita. I don't believe
she has a blessed thing to wear."

"She must have had some nice things before her aunt died and they lost
all their money," said Nan. "I wonder if everything is worn out."

"I am afraid so, all except some laces. Her aunt dressed very plainly,
she told me, and she herself never had real frisky clothes, because she
was at a convent school and wore plain things."

"Well, she's got to go," said Nan decidedly. "We'll have to do
something about it, at least mother and Aunt Helen will have to. We'll
talk to them when we get a chance. Aren't you excited at being asked
to a real grown-up thing like that? Won't it be lovely to see mother
dressed up, too? You know she would never go to anything dressy because
she couldn't afford it. I hope she'll have that gray crêpe made up; she
promised that she would some day. We've never seen her in anything but
black and white, and I know she'll look too sweet for words in gray."

"There's been so much else to think about out here that I've hardly
thought of clothes, but it is rather fun to put our minds on them when
we can have nice ones," said Mary Lee.

Nan agreed with this, and with their thoughts on pleasure bent they
returned home.

                             CHAPTER XIII

                              THE SECRET

It was necessary to use the utmost delicacy in order that the señorita
should be provided with a proper costume for the tea. She was very
proud and very dignified, so that the subject had to be approached
gingerly. Mrs. Corner made the first advance by asking if she meant to
accept Mrs. Roberts' invitation.

"I shall decline, madame," replied the señorita gravely.

"Oh, but----" Mary Lee began, then stopped. "Can't you go, Miss
Dolores? I shan't enjoy it half so much if you don't."

Miss Dolores smiled at her half sadly. "I think I best not go," she
said. "I am not used to such societies as teas and merry-makes. I have
lived very quietly, you know."

"Yes, but you are too young to keep on living very quietly," said Miss
Helen. "You should be young and happy while you may. Mrs. Roberts wants
you very much, and so do all of us."

"You are most kind," returned the señorita. "I will be frank as you are
kind. I cannot go for I have not the costume."

"Ah, but"--Miss Helen paused. She would wait her opportunity of trying
to overcome this obstacle. "Never mind," she said, "perhaps we can
persuade you before the time comes."

"I wonder why the señorita feels that she cannot afford a new gown,"
she said to Mrs. Corner after the young lady had left the room. "I
am sure we do not pay her a meagre salary and I imagine she has only
herself to provide for."

"I have no doubt Mary Lee could tell you why," returned Mrs. Corner
with a smile. "She seems to know all the señorita's secrets."

True enough, Mary Lee had learned the reason of her teacher's poverty.
"I can tell you what I think," she said; "she is trying to pay back
her uncle for the money spent on her education. He was very kind and
generous to her while her aunt lived and she feels that she had no
claim on him even then, and now that he needs the money she is trying
to pay it. I don't know for sure, but that is what I think because she
said once that her uncle had been very generous while he could be,
and another time she said that her education had cost more than her
aunt could afford, but that she was reaping the benefit of her uncle's
kindness while he was very poor."

"Love makes us wise," said Mrs. Corner smiling as she turned to her
sister. "I think probably Mary Lee has arrived at the truth."

Miss Helen slipped away to find the señorita who had just given Nan her
music-lesson and was on her way to her room. "Come out on the veranda,
my dear," said Miss Helen. "You need plenty of sunshine after those
monotonous scales. How is Nan getting along, by the way?"

"She is a marvel, Miss Corner. She has a true ear and is much in love
with her music. She should make fine musician some day."

"I hope she will," returned Miss Helen. "It is a great thing, señorita,
to have you at hand to help her. We feel that we owe you much."

"Not so much as I owe you," said the señorita shaking her head. "I am
grateful, believe me, Miss Corner."

Miss Helen waved away the statement. "We are your friends, my dear
girl, and I wish that you would feel that we are. I wish you would
consent to join us at Mrs. Roberts' tea. You say that you have not the
proper costume. I wish--now please do not be offended;--consider me
your aunt and let me supply what you may need. You don't know what a
pleasure it would be to me, and it shall be our secret."

The color flashed into the señorita's cheeks. "No, no," she said, "I
am not offended, Miss Corner, but please say no more of it. I could not
accept. No, no."

She was so decided in her refusal and was evidently so distressed at
the suggestion that Miss Helen did not press it. "I am sorry," was all
that she said. "I should like to have had you with us."

"I believe you, and I should like to go," returned the señorita, "but
I am not prepared. I cannot. I will make my excuses myself to Mrs.
Roberts."

This she did with much dignity, but Mrs. Roberts would not take the
decision as final. "You shall be allowed to change your mind," she
said. "I shall look for you even at the eleventh hour, my dear Miss
Dolores, but if you really find that you cannot come I shall know it
is because something has detained you, though I shall be none the less
disappointed."

The señorita gave a little sigh as she walked slowly down the pleasant
street. She was young and she had at one time looked forward to having
the good times which all girls enjoy when the opportunity comes to
them. Now life seemed rather gray, a level stretch of workaday life
before her. "I will go and see my good padre," she at last checked her
thoughts by saying. "I will tell him I am a discontent and he will
show me how to be thankful for what I have. Ah, these good friends,
what should I do without them?"

"And won't she go at all?" said Mary Lee quite aghast when she was told
of the señorita's decision.

"No," Nan told her. "Aunt Helen says she absolutely refuses and I know
she wouldn't hear of Aunt Helen's helping her in any way."

"Oh, dear, then I don't want to go either," declared Mary Lee. "I shall
stay at home and keep her company."

"That would be treating Mrs. Bobs rather shabbily," returned Nan,
"for she is getting up all this for our pleasure as much as for the
grown-ups, and I think it would be doing her pretty mean to stay away
unless we were ill. You will just have to go, Mary Lee, whether you
want to or not."

"I'll think about it," returned Mary Lee not willing to commit herself.
"Maybe we can think of some plan ourselves. You think and I'll think,
Nan. I know the reason she won't go is on account of having no proper
frock. It seems perfectly dreadful, doesn't it?"

"Yes, when I think of how awfully we felt when we thought we couldn't
go to Betty Wise's party because we had no frocks, I can sympathize
with her."

"So can I. But that came out all right and perhaps this will."

"We'll try to make it, if there is any ingenuity in us. You don't think
we'd better consult any one, Mary Lee?"

"No, I think whatever we do we'd better keep it to ourselves, for it
might leak out if we tell and perhaps spoil everything. It is that way
often. Whenever you have an idea you tell me and whenever I have one
I'll tell you and we'll meet here to talk it all over."

"All right," agreed Nan.

And therefore it happened that where Miss Helen failed, two younger
persons succeeded, and a few days after Miss Dolores had refused to
accept the proffered gown, a dark head and a fair one were close
together in a sequestered corner of the garden and a conversation which
began in whispers ended in words loud enough for the little birds to
hear.

"We could do it perfectly well," said Nan. "How much have you, Mary
Lee?"

"I have all my Christmas money; ten dollars, I think."

"And I have nearly as much. Of course that will be enough, for we
needn't get anything very expensive. Listen, I'll tell you what we can
do; we can go to the Chinese shops where they have lovely things. I
think a white China crêpe would be perfectly lovely, don't you?"

"Perfectly lovely," echoed Mary Lee.

"Well, now I'll tell you how we'll manage; we'll go down town by
ourselves; we can do some other shopping, buy postal cards or
something, and then we'll slip around the corner to the shops. I saw
the very place the other day when we went with Carter."

"But how shall we get it to her without her knowing?"

"We'll get a messenger boy to take it," said Nan after some thought.
"Then we'll go to Mrs. Roberts' on our way home and not let any one
know we've been down town at all."

"Perfect!" cried Mary Lee clasping her hands. "Oh, Nan, you can
contrive things so well. I should never have thought of the messenger
boy. Of course she couldn't send it back because she will not have an
idea where it comes from. But how about the making, Nan?"

"Oh, that can be managed some way. Mother is so clever about cutting
and fitting and the señorita sews beautifully, then she has lovely lace
so it will not need much trimming. I am sure it can be made here at
home. We'll risk it anyway."

It did not take them long to carry out their plan. They started out in
great excitement that same afternoon. "We may not be back to supper,"
they called as they left the veranda. "If Mrs. Roberts asks us to stay
we shall, if you don't mind, mother. You'll know where we are."

"Very well," she returned, "but don't stay too late."

"That was managed beautifully," said Mary Lee, giving Nan's arm a
squeeze. "Miss Dolores will never suspect. Now we must go down street
and take the car at the next corner; in that way we can put them off
the track."

"Not the cars, I hope," returned Nan flippantly.

"No, silly, the family. Nan, a dreadful thought has taken possession of
me. Mother will wonder what we have done with our money. Shall we tell
her?"

"Not till after the tea; we can then. Our Christmas money is ours to do
exactly what we please with and she will not care. Mother can keep a
secret better than anybody in the world and of course she will have to
know. I should want her to."

"So should I, but it will be better not at first."

There was much picking and choosing of the proper fabric, much
smothered laughter at the Chinese shopkeeper's pigeon English, much
satisfaction as the parcel was borne away. It was first carried to
another shop where a sheet of clean white paper was purchased; in this
it was wrapped, and the address written by the accommodating clerk, so
that not the slightest clue should be given to the place where it was
originally bought. Then it was given into the hands of a messenger and
the two girls in a happy frame of mind took their way to Mrs. Roberts'.

"I'd give anything to see her when she gets it," said Nan. "I wonder if
she will be mad, Mary Lee?"

"I hope not. She will be mystified allee samee."

"She will that. She won't know whom to suspect and I'll bet she will
pounce on Aunt Helen."

This was precisely what the señorita did. She was not in the house
when the package was delivered and Li Hung laid it on the hall table
where it was discovered by Miss Dolores later on. As the soft crêpy
folds slipped through her fingers she had a girl's natural longing for
the silken stuff, but this was but momentary, and was swept away by
her stronger feeling of indignant pride. She marched into Miss Helen's
presence, her head held high, the package in her hand.

"I will not accept," she said passionately. "I have said this to you
and you still have disregard my wish. I am----" She flung the parcel on
a chair and sat down bursting into a flood of tears.

"Why, my dear child!" Miss Helen looked amazed. "What is the matter?
You will not accept what? I do not understand."

"You did not send me thees?" Miss Dolores pointed tragically to the
offending bundle.

"I sent nothing. Please explain."

"Some one has sent me mater-rial--stoff--which I cannot buy. It is an
insult." The señorita grew more and more excited.

"But it was not I, Miss Garcia," said Miss Helen.

"It was then Mrs. Corner?"

"I am sure it was not. She is aware of your wishes and would not have
done this."

"Then who? Who? I beg your pardon, Señorita Helen. I am sorree. I
should not have suspected and charged you."

"Oh, never mind, so long as I am not the guilty one," said Miss Helen
smiling. "How did it come?"

"I know not. I found it upon the table addressed in a strange writing,
no card, no name of shop, no anything."

"Then it is a mystery. I don't see anything for you to do but to keep
it. You can't send it back when you don't know where it came from."

"I cannot, but I will find the giver and I will spur-r-n it!"

Miss Helen smiled, though the señorita did not see. Her pride was so
touched that she could not understand that any one should think her
heroics a little exaggerated. "It could not be Mrs. R-R-ob-erts," she
presently rolled out. "She would not dar-r-e."

"No, indeed, I am sure it was not."

"Nor--Mr. Pinckney?"

"It is more like the kind of thing he likes to do, but still I do not
think we can suspect him in this case, for you know, my dear, no one
but your own family, here in the house, knows the reason you had for
declining Mrs. Roberts' invitation. She does not even know yet that you
think of positively declining it. There would be absolutely no excuse
for Mr. Pinckney to send it, you see."

The señorita sighed. Her little rage was passing away since there was
no one to accuse. She shook her head. "Then I know not who. Could it
be my uncle?" she said suddenly, her face lighting up. "Perhaps he
has thought to do this knowing I am sending his family more----" She