On the 25th day of May, of '74, Elvira and Mercedes found themselves again under the paternal roof of their California home, in the Alamar rancho. They could have arrived ten days sooner had they left New York on the first of the month, as was first intended. This they were not allowed to do, because when Mrs. L. Mechlin heard that Mercedes' birthday would be on the 5th of May, she immediately said she could not and would not think of allowing Mercedes to spend her eighteenth birthday in the cars. Consequently, invitations would be issued the following day (which was the 22d of April) for “A fÊte in celebration of Miss Alamar's birthday, on the 5th day of May.”

The invitations were issued thus early to prevent friends of Mrs. Mechlin's from going into the country for the summer, as many of them did every year, in May. All, however, accepted, and waited most graciously.

The season was already too far advanced, and the nights were getting too warm to enjoy dancing, so Mrs. Mechlin thought it would be better to have an excursion to West Point; to charter a river steamer, and thus pass the day on the water; to take breakfast on board on the way to the Point; visit the Post; see the cadets drill and review; and re-embark; take dinner on board, and then the young people dance on deck, as there would be a full band to give them music.

This was the programme—which though decided upon hurriedly, on their return from Baltimore, where they had been visiting—was carried out successfully. All their pleasure excursions had been equally delightful. They had visited Boston first, then they went to Philadelphia, intending to remain only three or four days, but when they were there, Mrs. Mechlin's relatives in Baltimore sent urgent invitations to visit them, so there was nothing else to do but accept. Thus the jaunt to Philadelphia was extended to Baltimore, and might have been prolonged, had not Elvira refused to be separated from George one day more. This young gentleman, on his part, seemed to have thought, too, that Elvira had been away long enough. For as the party were waiting for the train to move out of the depot who should come aboard but this same young gentleman, George Mechlin.

“The darling,” said Elvira, perfectly overjoyed at the sight of that beloved apparition, throwing her arms about his neck.

“Precious,” said he, clasping her to his heart.

And now Elvira and Mercedes, surrounded by their beloved family, were relating this episode and many other occurrences of their eastern visit, all sitting in their favorite front veranda.

The Holman girls were there, too. They had made several visits to Carlota and Rosario within the last ten months, but this time they came to see Elvira and Mercedes. Mr. Holman himself had accompanied them, that being a good pretext to question George closely regarding Texas Pacific matters. Mr. Holman had invested all his ready money in San Diego, placing implicit faith in the fact that the building of the Texas Pacific was a measure of national importance so manifest that Congress would never have the hardihood to deny it assistance, nor would be so lacking in sense of honor, sense of justice, as to deprive millions of American people of a railway so much needed. These had been the reasons, he alleged, for plunging headlong into real estate speculations, followed closely by his friends, Don Mariano and Mr. James Mechlin.

These three gentlemen now sat at the eastern end of the veranda, listening to what George said that he and his uncle had learned in Washington regarding the prospect of that unlucky railroad; while the ladies were equally entertained, listening to Elvira and Mercedes, on the western end of the same veranda.

“But what has become of the handsome Clarence? Why is he not here?” Corina inquired, seeing Everett and Victoriano riding up with Gabriel towards the house.

Elvira informed her that on their arrival at San Francisco, Clarence found it necessary to visit his farm, and thence to go to Arizona on business, but would return about the first of July.

“We heard that his mine is in bonanza,” Amelia said.

“That it has been in bonanza ever since he bought it—hasn't he told you that?” Corina added.

“No; he only said that the ore was very rich,” Elvira replied.

Victoriano and Everett now came in and took seats near the ladies. Gabriel joined the gentlemen, and soon was deeply interested in their conversation, it of course being upon that subject—the railroad—which filled the minds and hearts of all the San Diego people, absorbing all their faculties and all their money.

“How are all the ladies of your family? Well?” Amelia asked of Everett.

“Yes, thank you. They are all well, and I think they will be up this evening—at least, some of them will. I heard words to that effect,” Everett replied.

“I hope all will come,” Elvira said.

“What? Mr. Darrell, senior, also?” Corina asked.

“Certainly. Why not?” Mercedes answered.

“We were speaking of the ladies—but if Mr. Darrell should call, we will be happy to receive him with sincere cordiality,” Elvira added.

“All of which would be thrown away upon the stiffest neck in San Diego County,” Victoriano observed.

Everett laughed.

“Why, Tano! What makes you talk like that?” Mercedes exclaimed, reddening with evident annoyance.

“Because his ‘butt-headedness’ is like that of a vicious old mule, which no one began to break until he was ten years old, and loves to kick from pure cussedness,” Victoriano explained, with free use of slang.

“If Mr. Darrell has said or done anything to vex you, the best thing is not to go to his house, but it is not very courteous to speak as you have in the presence of his son,” DoÑa Josefa said.

“I forgive him,” Everett said, patting Tano on the back.

“Not go to his house!” Tano exclaimed. “That is exactly what the old pirate wants. It would be nuts for the old Turk if I stayed away. Not much—I won't stay away. I'll go when he is at the colony with his sweetly-scented pets.”

“Where is the colony?” Mercedes asked.

“That is the new name for the large room next to the dining-room, which Clarence said he built for a ‘growlery.’ Alice called it the ‘squattery,’ because father always receives the settlers there; but mother changed the name to ‘colony’ to make it less offensive, and because the talk there is always about locating, or surveying, or fencing land—always land—as it would be in a new colony,” Everett explained.

“Whether he be at the colony or not, you should not go if he does not wish you to visit his house,” DoÑa Josefa said to Tano.

“But we all wish it—my mother and every one of her children. Father doesn't say anything about Tano's coming or not, but he is cross to all of us, and don't have the politeness to be more amiable in Tano's presence—which, of course, is very disagreeable,” Everett replied.

“I think Mrs. Darrell ought to put her foot down, and have it out with the old filibuster,” Tano asserted.

“We will see what he will do when Clarence comes,” Everett said.

Everett thought as all the family did—that Clarence, being the favorite child of the old man, and having naturally a winning manner and great amiability, combined with persuasiveness, would influence his father, and dispel his bad humor. But if the family had known what was boiling and seething in the cauldron of their father's mind, they would have perceived that, for once, neither Clarence's influence, nor yet the more powerful one wielded by Mrs. Darrell, would at present be as effective as they heretofore had been.

Time alone must be the agent to operate on that hard skull. Time and circumstances which, fortunately, no one as yet was misanthrophic enough to foresee. The fact was, that no one of his family had understood William Darrell. It can hardly be said that he understood himself, for he sincerely believed that he had forever renounced his “squatting” propensities, and honestly promised his wife that he would not take up land claimed by any one else. But no sooner was he surrounded by men who, though his inferiors, talked loudly in assertion of their “rights under the law;” and no sooner had he thousands of broad acres before his eyes—acres which, by obeying the laws of Congress, he could make his own—than he again felt within him the old squatter of Sonoma and Napa valleys. That mischievous squatter had not lain dead therein; he had been slumbering only, and unconsciously dreaming of the advantages that the law really gave to settlers. Alongside the sleeping squatter had also slumbered Darrell's vanity, and this was, as it is generally in every man, the strongest quality of his mind, the chief commanding trait, before which everything must give way.

Mrs. Darrell had heretofore been the only will that had dared stand before it, but Mrs. Darrell, being a wise little woman, not always made direct assaults upon the strong citadel—oftener she made flank movements and laid sieges. This time, however, all tactics had thus far failed, and Mrs. Darrell withdrew all her forces, and waited, in “masterly inactivity,” reinforcements when Clarence returned.

What exasperated Darrell the most, and had ended by putting him in a bad humor, was a lurking self-reproach he could not silence, a consciousness that having promised Don Mariano to pay for his land whenever the title was considered settled, that it was fair to suppose he ought to pay now. But on the other hand, he had also promised the settlers to stand by them, and was determined to do so. Thus he stood in his own mind self-accused, unhappy and unrepentant, but resolutely upholding a lost cause. He avoided the society of his family with absurd persistency. After meals he would fill his pipe, and march himself off to the farther end of his grain fields; resting his elbows on the fence boards, and turning his back upon the house which contained his dissenting family, would puff his smoke in high dudgeon, like an overturned locomotive which had run off its track, and became hopelessly ditched. In that frame of mind, he thought himself ready to do battle against all his family, but he knew he dreaded Clarence's return.

However, that event had at last arrived, and there was Clarence now on the porch—just come from Arizona—kissing all the ladies of the family and hugging all the males, not omitting the old man, who was literally as well as figuratively taken off his feet by the strong arms of the dreaded Clarence.

“Clary is so much in love, father, that he comes courting you, too,” Everett said, laughing, as they all went into the parlor.

“I suppose so,” Darrell answered, not looking at any one's face, excepting that of the clock on the chimney mantel.

Mrs. Darrel's eyes, however, were not in the least evasive—they met those of Clarence, and he read in them a volume of what was troubling his father's mind. He longed to have a talk with that true-hearted and clear-headed, well-beloved mother, but he must wait—for now came Tisha to announce that luncheon was on the table. She was grinning with delight to see her favorite Massa Clary again, and Clarence jumped up and ran to throw his arms around her, making that faithful heart throb with unalloyed happiness, for she loved him from his babyhood, just if he had been her own child.

“I love them all, missis—all your dear children,” she would say to Mrs. Darrell; “and they are all good children; but Massa Clary I love the best of all. Next comes Miss Alice. But Massa Clary took my heart when he was six months old, and had the measles. He was the best, sweetest baby I ever saw, and so beautiful.” Thus Tisha would run on, if you let her follow the bent of her inclination, for Clarence was a theme she never tired of.

All sorts of questions now showered upon Clarence about New York, about Washington, about San Francisco, and about Arizona—all of which he answered most amiably.

“And are the Mechlins very grand? As rich as one might suppose? hearing the Holman and Alamar girls talk of the parties and excursions that Mr. Lawrence Mechlin gave in honor of Elvira?” Jane asked.

“The excursion to West Point was to celebrate Mercedes' birthday,” Alice observed.

“Yes, the Mechlins must be rich, to judge by their style of living. Their social position is certainly very high,” Clarence replied.

“You had a delightful time, Clary?” Everett said.

“Yes, indeed; most delightful,” was the answer.

“We, too, have had lots of fun, with old Mathews on the rampage, like an old hen who got wet and lost her only chicken,” said Willie, at the top of his voice.

“Willie!” Mrs. Darrell said, to impose silence, but as Clarence and Everett laughed, and his father did not seem particularly displeased, Willie added:

“And the old man gets so mad, that he perspires, and smoke comes out of his back, as if his clothes were on fire.”

“Oh, Willie! how you exaggerate,” Lucy exclaimed.

“I don't. He snorts and clucks and growls and snarls. Romeo says he miauls like a disappointed hyena.”

“That will do. You must not repeat such unkind criticisms. Romeo is always ridiculing Mr. Mathews,” Mrs. Darrell said.

“Old Mathews is in worse humor since the Don began to send his cattle away,” Webster said.

“Why so?” Clarence asked.

“Because they made nice targets for his rifle,” Everett replied.

“Scandalous!” Clarence exclaimed.

“He threatens to shoot George Mechlin, Tom Hughes says,” Webster added.

“Why?” Clarence asked.

“Because he got the appeal dismissed,” answered Webster.

“He is foolish to suppose that if George hadn't had it dismissed that no one else would,” Clarence said.

“I met the old man this morning. He stopped his wagon to ask me if father knew that Congress had passed the appropriation for money to survey lands in California. I told him I hadn't heard, and he went off whipping his horses, and swearing at Don Mariano and George Mechlin,” Everett said.

“I thought there would be a better feeling when the Don's cattle should be sent off, as they were the principal cause of irritation,” Clarence observed.

“And it is so. Only those boys—Romeo, Tom and Jack Miller—are always ridiculing or teasing Mathews,” Darrell said.

“Why, father!” Everett exclaimed; “the fathers of those boys are as bad as Mathews, and old Gasbang is worse yet!”

“Gasbang was always dishonest, but he is worse now, at Peter Roper's instigation,” Darrell said.

“Gasbang says that he and Roper will send the Don to the poor-house,” Everett said.

“Not while I live,” Clarence replied; adding, “and how is everybody at the Alamar house—all well?”

Up started Willie and Clementine, eager to be the first to tell Clarence the great news.

“They had two arrivals,” Mrs. Darrell said.

“Oh, Clary! you never saw prettier babies in all your life! Both have the loveliest blue eyes,” Clementine exclaimed, joining her hands, as if in prayer, as Tisha always did when speaking of Clarence's babyhood.

“The boy has gray eyes,” Willie interposed, with authority not to be controverted. “He hasn't no blue eyes.”

“How do you know? You haven't seen them, but I have,” Clementine asserted; “and the little girl is exactly the image of Miss Mercedes. She has Miss Mercedes' blue eyes, exactly, with long, curling lashes, the little thing.”

“The girl looks like Don Gabriel, as she ought to,” Willie stated in a peremptory manner, not to be contradicted, and whilst he discussed with Clementine the looks of the babies, Clarence was informed by his mother and sisters that Elvira was the happy mother of a big, handsome boy, and Lizzie rejoiced in the possession of a beautiful little girl, which weighed nearly as much as her boy cousin. That DoÑa Josefa and Mrs. Beatrice Mechlin were nearly crazy with happiness, but that the craziest of all was Mr. James Mechlin, who made more “fuss” over those two babies than either Gabriel or George, and went from one house to the other all day long, watching each baby, and talking about them by the hour.