The waters fell almost as rapidly as they had risen, and by sunrise on Christmas Day, the river had returned between its banks, though still flowing fast and frothy.

Mists lay in strata along the hills showing the green grass between in long, even stripes. Up from the high mesas sprang the larks ready to greet the day, or perching for a moment on some sturdy manzanita they spread their broad tails, with two white feathers, balancing and chirping cheerily.

A little valley through which an arroyo flowed, scantily bordered by low growing willows, formed the scene; on one side was a stubble-field with many cattle grazing on the new grass; there were a few dark oaks and then on the first risings, yellow patches of vineyards with red, ploughed ground dotted with manzanitas. The high hills which formed the background were rough and black.

In the hollow at the foot of the mesa was a newly formed pond on which floated branches of trees, bits of wood and some broken pieces of household furniture; about the grass was strewn the same sort of drift and the grass itself was torn and bent and there were yellow-white bits of foam upon it. At one side wedged between two encina trees lay the roof of a house, on the edge of which a little child was sitting beside the body of a man, who lying with one arm hung listlessly over the side seemed asleep or dead. The pond was fast lowering, leaving its burden of debris scattered about.

This was the scene which met the searching eyes of Jovita of Tulucay Rancho as, mounted on her horse, she came around the knoll which hid the house and buildings of the rancho from the meadow.

Jovita quickly alighted, took up the child in her arms, and seeing that he was unhurt but simply dazed at his situation, placed him upon her horse and gave her attention to the man who lay there, to all appearances dead.

"Unfortunate man," she said aloud, unable to repress her tears, "his wife has probably been lost and he has saved their child."

She took his hand in hers and felt that his pulse was yet beating; a bruise on the temple seemed to be the only wound and was caused by the blow which had stunned him.

As Jovita chafed his hands and smoothed his forehead, he opened his eyes, and then looking about astonished at his surroundings, asked, "Where is the Christchild? Surely I have saved him."

The little one from the back of the horse began in his strange tones to sing the "Song of the Hemlock" in answer to Crescimir's enquiry.

"I hardly know where we are, for in the darkness and swift whirl of last night I lost my way," he said, sitting up. "I remember now that something struck me when the raft stopped. I thank God that the Christchild was not lost, dear little fellow."

"Christchild?" exclaimed Jovita, looking at him in surprise, "Have you given your boy that name?"

"I do not know, SeÑorita, who the child is, but he came to my door last night, Christmas Eve, and brought me some of the merriest hours I have had since I left old Illyria, and had not the flood carried away everything, I would have marked yesterday as one of the happiest in my life. He is a strange little fellow and will not, or else cannot speak, yet he sings beautifully in his own odd way as you hear him now. I called him Christchild as I knew no better name. Are you not the SeÑorita of El Tulucay? I know that horse which you have and have often seen him with a lady on his back flying over all the fields about here."

"Yes, I am Jovita of the Tulucay, and I know you now; you are called Crescimir the Illyrian, and I have been often to your cabin and sat beneath the great laurel while you were in the fields or at your work. I have often left flowers there at your door just for the pleasure of imagining the surprise when you should find them, and I always took the vegetables I found there, for I knew that they were for me. However, I never saw your face before this morning. You see I am little like our Californians, but my mother is from the States and believes in more freedom; she could not be better or kinder though she were a real Californian. If you are able we had better go up to the hacienda now, and after breakfast we will look about to see if assistance is needed along the river, for the flood was sudden and unlooked for."

Crescimir was not hurt and was able to walk slowly to the house. Jovita walked by his side, leading her horse, while the Christchild sat quietly in the saddle, nodding his head and winking like any sleepy child of this mortal world.

Both Crescimir and Jovita were silent during the walk, but their eyes often met, and Jovita would blush as she thought of her strange freak with the flowers and finding that the receiver was by no means the old man she had imagined him to be.

Crescimir was happy to think that he had not left his gifts unappreciated and only regretted that he had not put whole pumpkins there instead of onions.

"So you have no idea to whom the child belongs?" asked Jovita, as they neared the house. "He is strangely dressed and the frock is of an unfamiliar texture; he does not seem cold either, although he is so lightly clad. We must try to find his parents who, doubtless, are now anxiously searching for him or believing him drowned in last night's awful flood."

The strange little creature seemed now entirely to lose his sleepiness and broke into a merry laugh, sliding down from the saddle he capered madly around the two astonished spectators like a little elf blown about by the wind, his golden hair floating around him and the pink, little feet scarcely seeming to touch the grass.

"There has been a number of campers passing through the valley to settle north on the Caymus ranchos, this little sprite must be one of their children who has strayed away," said Jovita.

"Come little one, let us go into the house and have our breakfast."

The Christchild did not seem to understand her, for he continued his capering and wild antics.

"Stop, stop," exclaimed Crescimir in his native tongue, "stop and listen to what the beautiful SeÑorita says to thee. Come now into the house."

He ceased his play immediately and went before them up to the door, with tears in his eyes on account of Crescimir's rebuke. As they reached the veranda Crescimir caught the little elf up in his arms and kissed his rosy lips; the moment the child's feet touched the ground when Crescimir put him down, he put his hand over his mouth as if to keep the kiss warm and running to Jovita, she lifted him in her arms, as he signed her to do, when suddenly withdrawing his hand, he kissed her, looking back significantly and laughing.

Both Jovita and Crescimir knew what the child had intended to express and both blushed consciously, yet could but marvel at the acuteness of the little creature who so soon was able to read their hearts, even before they had perfectly known them themselves.

The mother of Jovita now came to the door and inviting them into the living room, the events of the past night were related and all that was known of the little waif.

Crescimir spent the day by the river searching for what might have been left on the banks by the flood. He learned that his raft had been carried out of the stream through a break in the bank, and much of the wreckage of his own house with it. Returning to the hacienda he discovered in a clump of bushes, over which the water had run when at its highest mark, the bodies of a man and woman entangled in the canvas cover of a camp wagon. It was evident to Crescimir from their dress that they were German emigrants.

With the help of some of the rancheros the bodies were carried to the house.

"They may be the parents of the little one," said Jovita's mother. "We will bring him here and see if he recognizes them; it seems cruel but it is the only way."

They brought the Christchild to the room where the bodies lay. When the little fellow saw them, he clung to Crescimir and uttering a moaning sound, yet seeming half like a laugh, he hid his eyes and would not look again.

"Are these thy parents little one?" asked Crescimir tenderly; the Christchild shook his head negatively and broke into hysterical sobs.

Though the Christchild had denied that these were the bodies of his parents, both Jovita, her mother and Crescimir felt certain that they were.

Crescimir remained that night at the Tulucay hacienda and early next morning the bodies were taken to the village and given burial in consecrated ground, as the cross which the woman wore and a medal of silver which the man carried showed them to be of the true church.

After the burial Crescimir returned to the rancheria. "I will be thy father now, little Christchild," said he as they stood at the well with Jovita, who had been filling the little olla for her mother's night drink.

The child looked up with a pleased smile and then turning to Jovita, asked with his bright eyes a question which words could not better have expressed.

Jovita replied softly as she looked down at the strange, wistful face, and felt the touch of Crescimir's hand on her own, "And I thy mother."

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