"I suggest that we all take a little siesta," said Aunt Mary after dinner. "We shall feel much better for the rest of the day if we do."

The children looked at each other. Siestas had not entered into their plans at all.

"We don't have to, do we, mother?" asked Walter. "You know Nellie and I never do such a dreadful thing at home."

"What do you purpose doing?" inquired their father.

"Oh, we didn't know," said Walter. "We thought of going down to the springs again and watching the people bathe."

"They don't bathe in the pools from which they drink, surely," said Aunt Mary in disgust. "Don't tell me they do that, Walter."

"I thought there was another pool," said Walter. "I'm certain I heard them say something about washing down there this morning."

"Oh, that man was speaking of the laundry where the women wash the clothes," said Mr. Page. "He said it was quite interesting to watch them."

"Bother!" said Walter. "I thought there was a pool for bathing, and that we might paddle about in it, just as we used to do at Ti Juana. But, anyhow, Nellie and I don't want to take any siesta, do we, Nellie?"

His sister shook her head. "Just let's go out and ramble around," she said. "We'll find something to amuse us."

"There is something already," said Mr. Page, as the clear note of a bird broke upon the midday stillness. Soft and sweet it trilled, then loud and shrill, then quivered down to a melancholy note, and again gradually ascended, terminating in one long, beautiful, slowly-dying tremolo.

"What can that be?" cried Mrs. Page. "It seems almost like an angel's song. I have never heard anything like it."

"It is only me—Francisco," said a boyish voice on the outside, while a pair of bright eyes peered in between the interstices of the sylvan dining-room.

"Come in, come in!" cried Walter, hurrying from his place. "I want mother to see you."

"Mother," he continued, as the boy entered slowly, cap in hand, "this is Francisco, our friend whom we met near the church this morning. Is there anything he can do?"

Mrs. Page extended her slim white hand. The boy took it and said: "I can work very well. I could fetch water."

"I do not believe there is anything you could do," replied Mrs. Page. "We have a man who does all we require. We shall not need any carrying of water, I think. I see there are hydrants not far away."

"Oh, but that is not to drink—that water. It is not so very good," said Francisco. "But farther up, about half a mile, or maybe a little more, there is a beautiful spring. That is nice and cold and good to drink. Some carry it in buckets, but I would fetch it on a little wagon, in a barrel. And I can give you another barrel in which to keep it. Out there under the largest pepper tree it would be very good."

"Do you hear, Charlie?" asked Mr. Page. "Francisco tells us he can bring very good drinking water. It will be an excellent plan, I think, so let him do it."

"Yes," replied Charlie, appearing from the other end of the room. "I was going to ask what we should do about drinking water. That which comes through the pipe just above here is very warm. The hill being so bare is always sunny. I've seen people bringing that other water right along."

Mr. Page turned to Francisco. "You have a horse, then?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; we have two horses. Shall I get my wagon? Will you like the water? I can bring the barrel along for you."

"Very well; go and fetch it," said Mr. Page.

"Oh, father, may I go with him?" pleaded Walter.

"To the spring? Yes; if he is willing to take you," replied his father.

"Yes, I meant to ask. And the little girl maybe, too, if she will," said Francisco.

"Yes, papa; yes, mamma, let me go," Nellie begged.

"Very well," both replied, but Aunt Mary said:

"Don't you think it rather tomboyish, to use a mild word, to go about that way with two boys?"

"One of them is her brother, Aunt Mary," hastily interjected Walter. "Nellie has always played with boys."

"It won't harm the child a bit," said Mr. Page.

Francisco smiled and said:

"The horse is very slow. He cannot hurt. He is an old one, mine. Once he was turned out to die, and I begged for him. So my uncle gave him. And he helps earn me my living now. When you see him I think you will laugh; but he is very good, as I said, my Rosinante."

"Where did you hear that name?" inquired Aunt Mary.

"A gentleman told me to call that name to my horse. He said there was a story about it—in Spanish."

"Don Quixote," said Aunt Mary pleasantly. "Did you ever hear about it?"

"Only that the bones of a horse were once coming through the skin," replied Francisco. "And so it was with mine. But now he is not so bad. I will go quickly and bring the cart."

Walter looked at his father.

"Yes, go along," said Mr. Page. "Nellie will wait until you come back."

"But about the money—I was forgetting," said Francisco. "Is it too much for every barrel to pay twenty-five cents?"

"Not at all. It is quite reasonable," said Mr. Page.

"There will be perhaps two every week."

"That will be all right."

"Very good," said Francisco.

The two boys left the tent, beginning a lively race with each other at once. Francisco soon outdistanced Walter, but magnanimously refusing to presume on his superior skill, waited for him under an oak tree which stood, beautiful and solitary, in the middle of the road.

"You are a fine runner, Francisco," said Walter, when he arrived.

"I was best at the Mission," the boy replied. "At the Fiestas we always run, and, of the boys, Juan Palos and me—we most always get the prize."

"When do you have the Fiesta?"

"Oh, in October, on the third—the Feast of San Francisco. It is his church, you see. But this year there will not be any, for the people will need to save their money if they must go away to some other place."

"It is too bad that they have to go," said Walter.

"You think it is true, then? there is no hope? What thinks your father?"

"He says they will have to leave. But the government will find them some other place."

"It will be hard," said the boy, "and it is not just. But, if it must be, it must."

"I wish I could see a Fiesta. What do they have?"

"Oh, first Mass and Benediction; and the people are married, and the children get baptized. Afterward they have games, and they dance. Once, for three years the priest did not come, because they would not give up the gambling."

"Do Indians gamble?" asked Walter, in surprise.

"Oh, yes, they do, and very much. They lose a great deal of money that way. But from the whites they have learned it, I believe."

Walter did not know what reply to make to this assertion, doubtless a true one. They walked at a quick pace till they reached the ruined adobe, Francisco's home, behind which stood the wagon—three or four long, unplaned boards set on four wheels. The horse was grazing some distance away.

"I will catch Rosinante," said Francisco, taking an armful of hay from a pile.

"If you are thirsty there is, inside, a clean cup, and there at the other end, by the tree, an otla with water."

Walter felt quite thirsty. Moreover, he was somewhat curious to see the inside of a genuine Indian dwelling. It seemed very dark to him, coming out of the hot, bright sunshine. There was a window facing the door, but every pane of glass was gone. The sill was so wide as to form a very comfortable seat. The thick walls and smooth earthen floor made the place feel very cool. The room contained very little furniture—two cots, one at either end; in the middle a table, with clean plates, cups and saucers; also a couple of boxes and a pair of broken chairs. The house was almost roofless, save for the withered boughs which had been laid across the broad, irregular openings. Nothing could have been more humble; yet everything was clean and orderly.

Francisco came with Rosinante as Walter was replacing the cup.

"That is very good water," he said.

"The same as you will have to drink," replied Francisco. "See, here is your barrel. I thought it better to take but one. I can change twice a week. Now I will harness Rosinante."

This was soon done; the barrel was placed on the wagon and fastened with a couple of thongs. Walter took his place beside Francisco, and they rattled away, down the hill. Nellie was on the watch; when they reached the tent Francisco and Walter got off and told her to take their place, saying they would drive her up the hill, but that she would have to walk down. "The full barrel of water is quite enough for Rosinante, Francisco says," explained Walter. "Besides, if the thongs that tie the barrel to the wagon should break, it might fall over on you and kill you."

The whole family stood at the door of the large tent to see them off, Nellie gaily waving her hand to them.

"Is there not some danger that they may fall into the boiling spring?" asked Aunt Mary, anxiously, as they passed out of sight.

Aunt Mary was the widow of Mr. Page's uncle. He could not help smiling, occasionally, at her causeless fears.

"I'm afraid you will not enjoy your trip unless you try to be less fearful of accidents," he said. "They are not going in the direction of the hot springs. However, they would not be injured if they did fall in. They could clamber out at once. You must come down with me after a while to see the springs."

"I think I shall wait until Martha is able to go," said Aunt Mary; "perhaps to-morrow. If the odor when one is near is any worse, or even as bad, as the whiffs we get of it here, I should not think people could either drink the water or bathe in it."

"One gets to like it after a while," said Mr. Page. "I have heard that after a sojourn here people can not bear to drink cold water for some time."

"I am already longing for a cool drink," said his wife.

"The children will not be gone very long, I think," rejoined her husband.

The trio were enjoying themselves very much at that moment. Francisco was hailed by several persons with the reminder that their water-barrels were almost empty, and to each demand he replied courteously that he would attend to it. Turning off from the road, they crossed the path which led to the pools, and were soon on a rough, uneven highway, stony and bleak. A few moments brought them to a sharp divide, which they skirted for some distance till they came to a place where the steep sides were worn away by wagon wheels. On the other side of this caÑon everything was green and luxuriant, in remarkable contrast to the ground they had just left. A well-worn trail wound in and out among the trees, which grew closer together as they ascended the verdant slope. A tiny stream, seemingly not broader than a silver ribbon, trickled along to meet them.

"Now we are there," said Francisco, at length, pausing under the shade of a magnificent oak tree.

"Isn't it lovely!" cried Nellie, springing from the wagon.

To the left, from a granite boulder, a living stream of water was trickling, forming a miniature pool. Francisco, with great dexterity, steered his wagon beneath the stream in such a position that the water would flow into the upright barrel.

"Let us go now a little while the water is filling, and look about," he said to the children. "It is very pretty here." And so it was.

They climbed up the bank, pushing the fragrant bushes aside, and came suddenly upon a broad plateau of many acres, dotted at intervals with splendid forest trees. In the distance the rugged, blue mountains stretched along the horizon. All was radiant, still, and incomparably lovely.

The children ran about for a time, then seated themselves under one of the massive trees. Presently they heard a crashing noise in the bushes, and a red head appeared. In a moment they saw that it belonged to a boy about Walter's age, a most ungainly and unattractive-looking person. His eyes were small and close together, his teeth uneven and protruding.

"Hello!" he cried as he saw Walter and Nellie; then, catching sight of Francisco, he made a horrible face.

The Indian boy looked at him calmly, but said nothing.

"Hello!" he repeated, throwing himself on the ground beside Walter.

"Hello!" responded Walter, coolly. He did not like the aspect of the newcomer any more than he did his attitude toward Francisco.

"When did you get here?" inquired the red-haired boy, "and how long are you going to stay?"

"We came this morning, and we may stay all summer," replied Walter.

The boy edged nearer him. Francisco got up and walked away, followed by Nellie.

"Isn't he horrid?" she said when they got out of hearing-distance.

"Never mind. I will tell you after," said Francisco, "when he is gone. I do not care what he will say about me. If you like, I will make you a staff. It is easier to walk up and down these hills with one."

"I'd rather you would make one for mamma," said Nellie.

"I will make for her one, too."

"I will make for her one-two," said a mocking voice behind them. "You can't speak English—you can't. Why don't you talk Indian?"

Francisco turned sharply around. Walter and the unwelcome visitor were just behind them, Walter evidently bent on quitting him.

"If I talked Indian you could not understand me," said Francisco, pausing squarely in front of the red-haired tormentor; "but if I knock you down Indian, then perhaps you will understand."

"Oh, boys, don't fight," began Nellie, in alarm. "Papa will never let us come out here again if you do. Please, boys."

"He dasn't fight. He's afraid. He had to promise he wouldn't. His priest won't let him, he won't. He's an old Catholic, he is."

"So are we Catholics," cried Walter, pausing and setting his feet squarely apart. "We all are Catholics."

"Like that Indian?" scornfully inquired the other, pointing to Francisco, who now came, with flashing eyes, closer to Walter.

"Yes, like that Indian," Walter replied, unabashed. "Who's meddling with you? Get off here this minute, or I'll make you."

"Boys, boys," pleaded Nellie again, "please don't fight. Let him go."

"I've got as good a right here as any of you old Catholics," sneered their antagonist; but it was noticeable that he gradually backed away as he spoke.

Once more he made a repulsive face; then he began to sing, in a nasal voice:

He did not finish the stanza. Francisco sprang forward, seized him about the waist, and rolled him down the bank.

"There! Finish your song where no one can hear it but yourself," said the Indian, calmly returning to his companions. Shouts of anger, followed by whimpers of pain, came up from below.

"Oh, Francisco," exclaimed Nellie, "if you haven't hurt him very much, I think I am glad."

"Hurt him!" echoed Walter. "That wouldn't hurt a fly—such an easy setting-down as he got."

"I did not hurt him, and I would not. I was not so angry with him, as that he makes me tired. I do not like to see him where I am. He might have followed us for a long time else."

"But maybe he'll be waiting for us down there to fight," said Nellie.

"No, he will not," answered the Indian boy. "He is a coward. He will go off home as quickly as he can. And then, maybe, some day when I am passing where I can not see him, he will throw a stone. Oh, I know him very well. What did he say to you, Walter, when we walked away?"

"He said: 'Do you play with Indians?'"

"And what did you say?"

"'Go away—no one asked you to come here,' I said. Then I got up and he followed me."