Once upon a time there lived in a little cane hut on the borders of a hacienda, a poor old Mexican woman and her grandchild.

The parents of the little one were both dead, and the old woman maintained herself and the child by spinning, sewing, and washing for the rich Spaniards, to whom all the fine houses and cultivated lands of the country belonged.

The mother of the child had been a beautiful seÑorita of good family. She foolishly loved and married the poor but light-hearted Mexican, who would have given his life for her, but could not shield her from the misfortunes which poverty and sickness brought upon them.

After the birth of her little daughter, she died, and very soon the father was lost in a fearful storm at sea; so the child was left alone in the world, with none to care for her but the silver-haired grandmother, and no home but the little cane hut.

For some years every thing went pleasantly with the child; she had never known luxury, her necessities were supplied, she returned the fond devotion of the old grandmother, with the ardor of her Southern nature; and, all day long, her innocent voice, full of childish happiness, woke cheerful echoes around the little hut.

One night, when she was about ten years old, the old woman fell sick. She felt the dim shadows creeping over her spirit, and her strength growing less; and calling the child to her side, she said, feebly: "I have nothing but a well-worn distaff and the poor hut to give you. The Holy Virgin pity and protect you; you have been a good child to your old grandmother." Then she kissed her, and blessing her, bade her good-night, adding: "Never forget to say your prayers before you go to sleep. God bless you, my poor, poor child."

The grandmother turned her face to the wall, and folded her thin hands as if in prayer, and Zaletta crept softly into bed beside her, feeling very sad; but soon her innocent heart was happy, roaming through the pleasant land of dreams. In the morning, Zaletta slept till the sun rose above the hills, and cast its glowing warmth down into the shaded valleys, then woke full of life and joyousness.

There lay the grandmother just as she had last seen her the night before. "She sleeps long this morning, the dear old grandmother," said she to herself, as she moved round quietly, preparing the scanty breakfast.

When it was all ready, she became impatient, and laid her little warm hand upon the old woman's arm. Cold, very cold, the poor child found her, and motionless. She would never move again.

Zaletta called her, sobbing and weeping, but there was no reply. The heart so ready to sympathize with all her childish sorrows was at rest. The old grandmother had died, praying for the little lonely child, who had been dearer than all the world to her.

The next day the people from the hacienda came and buried the old woman. After the last sod was cast upon the grave, the innkeeper's wife took the child by the hand, saying: "Poor little thing, she can not stay here alone, I will take her home with me;" and she smoothed the tangled hair of the helpless orphan with her hand, and in her harder heart she thought, "By and by this girl may be made of great service to me, and even now I'll see that she earns all that she eats and wears."

She was very careful to take to the inn with her, all the poor little hut contained. "'Tis but little," she said, "but I'll take it for the child." All the neighbors said it was kind in the innkeeper's wife, and the rich seÑor, to whom the whole hacienda belonged, gave her a shining gold-piece, saying: "'Tis for your charity."

The cold-hearted woman went home, leading by the hand a little weeping child, very desolate and sorrowful.

The innkeeper was naturally a kind man, but he had become too indolent and corpulent to resist the strong will of his termagant wife. "When he saw the sad-eyed little one that she had brought home, he brushed away a tear with his big brown hand, and determined to save the unfortunate from all trouble, as much as he could; but when he thought of his wife's cruel disposition, he earnestly wished her in other hands.

"Poor little thing! poor little thing!" he said, pityingly, and calling his own little boy and girl to him, he placed her trembling hands in theirs, adding: "Here is a sister for you, be kind to her, my children."

The daughter drew her hand away, and curled her lip in scorn. She was like her mother, proud and cold in her nature, and, looking at the coarse clothes of the child, she said: "Ah, no, papa, she is only fit for a servant. Sister, indeed!" and she shook the skirts of her pretty muslin dress, and ran away.

The boy felt the manhood dawning in his heart, as he saw the tears glistening in the pretty dark eyes of the silent child, and the little red lips quivered with suppressed emotion.

"She shall be my sister, papa," said he, softly, as he took her by the hand, and led her out in the clear sunshine. Children understand each other best, thought the old man, as he sat watching them, while they walked up and down the garden together, talking pleasantly.

Soon the mother's sharp eye detected them, and with a harsh voice she bade the little girl haste to the kitchen, and see if she could not help the cook prepare the supper.

Then she called the young Guilerme to her, saying: "I hope to make a rich seÑor of you, my son, though your father is only an innkeeper. We are making money, and every year increases our gains. There is good blood in my veins, and I am determined to raise my children above my present condition. For this I save every thing. Every thing! For we must have money; but remember, my son, I would not have you notice that miserable girl I have brought here for a servant; by and by she may do for your sister's maid; now she is the kitchen scullion."

Thus began the days of servitude and sorrow for the young Zaletta.

The inn was a spacious adobe house, with an open court in the center, and surrounded on all sides by a broad piazza. The kitchen and store-rooms were upon one side, while the receiving and sleeping rooms were on the other sides of the square.

The hacienda was in the southern part of California, where though the warmth of the days produces many kinds of tropical fruits, the evenings are often quite chilly, and the excessive heat of the noon-day renders all very susceptible to cold. In the large receiving-room (with the bar at one side), on such nights, a cheerful fire always burned, and there all the guests of the house assembled, and talked over the news of the day. Sometimes 'twas of the discovery of a rich gold mine, but often 'twas of a fearful robbery in the wood.

After all the work was done in the kitchen, Zaletta would steal silently into the receiving-room, listening to the conversation, and warming her chilled feet and hands before going to her miserable bed in the out-house.

This did not please the seÑora. It did not look respectable to have the miserable child about, she would say; but in this the innkeeper was resolute. "The little one should warm herself before going to bed." So Zaletta came in at evenings, but very quietly.

Guilerme was always kind to her; indeed never a day passed but something nice found its way to the hiding-place in the out-house, so that the child was never hungry.

He brought her the ripest bananas, and the sweetest oranges, and when she would look up to him, with her soft eyes dewy with love and thanks, he would kiss her brown cheek, and say: "Never mind, little one, you shall be seÑora one of these days." Then they would laugh and be happy, till the mother's sharp voice would ring through the house, calling the unfortunate to some new task.

The sister was changeful in her treatment to Zaletta. Sometimes she would call her pleasantly to come and play with her, but very soon she would become angry and strike her, calling her "only a pitiful servant." Then the mother would whip Zaletta for making her little mistress angry. The father and Guilerme always took her part, making the mother more displeased than ever.

One day, when Guilerme was about fourteen years old, and the girls were twelve, the mother called the boy to her, telling him in two weeks a vessel would sail from the nearest sea-port for the Atlantic States, and that, he must be ready to take passage in her, for she had determined to send him to New York to school. "Your father is now rich," she said, "and you must be educated like other rich men's sons."

Poor little Zaletta! What a blow it was to her. Her best friend going away so far over the waters. When he told her the morning before he sailed what his mother had said, her pretty dark eyes filled with tears, and she sobbed bitterly.

"Listen to me," said the boy, soothingly; "I have something to tell you, and must be quick, or mamma will call me before I can finish. You know I am going away to be educated like a gentleman, and shall want a lady for my wife; so you must study hard to become one, for I am determined to marry you as soon as I come back. I have taught you to read, and you will find all my books in the hiding-place, where I have left them for you, and you must study hard and see how beautiful you can grow while I am gone, for I shall make you the greatest lady in the hacienda;" and he took the little eager face between his hands and kissed it with much affection. Just then the mother called, "Guilerme! Guilerme!" so he kissed her again, and said, "remember, my little wife," and was off in a moment.

That night Zaletta wept herself to sleep, and many succeeding nights; but she did not forget to study very hard, and though she labored under great difficulties, her progress was wonderful. She was working for the approval of the only one that loved her since the dear silver-haired grandmother died. After Guilerme went away the seÑora took Zaletta into the house as maid for her young daughter, who every day was growing more proud and selfish.

For some years the innkeeper had been greatly prospered. The family had used economy in all things until they had amassed considerable wealth.

"Now," said the seÑora, "the children are growing up, and we must not spare the money—they must have position." She engaged a governess to teach her daughter, and a master to give her lessons on the harp and guitar.

Zaletta always sat in the room with the young seÑorita, and listened eagerly to every word the teachers uttered, though her hands were busy with her needle.

Every day she grew in knowledge and beauty. Her dark eyes were soft as a fawn's, and her pure olive cheek glowed with a clear rose-tint, while her form and features were cast in beauty's most exquisite mold. Both mother and daughter were often cruelly unkind to her, more especially when they saw that her beauty, and innocent sweetness of manner, attracted more attention than all the young seÑorita's fine clothes and accomplishments. The seÑorita was pretty and full of airs and graces, but Zaletta, in her coarse dress, was far more lovely. Every day increased the envy of the mother and daughter, and new and harder tasks were invented for the weary little hands to perform.

One sultry afternoon all three sat upon the piazza of the inner court. A ship had arrived from New York, with letters from Guilerme, and a large box, filled with beautiful fabrics for dresses, shawls, and ornaments, for the mother and daughter; but Zaletta received nothing, not even a word of kind remembrance.

All the long night before she had wept. Guilerme, the gentleman, had forgotten the poor maid; but she, alas! remembered him too well.

The mother and daughter sat looking over their treasures with great delight, and for the time she was unnoticed. Stitching away upon a beautiful organdie muslin, at last overcome by fatigue, loss of sleep, and the excessive heat, she fell asleep, and in her dreams she called out in a piteous tone, "Guilerme! Guilerme!" and the tears ran down her pale cheeks.

"What is she saying?" said the mother. She rose and looked at her, and again she called, "Guilerme! Guilerme!"

"Hear her, mamma," exclaimed the enraged daughter, "I'll give her a lesson for her impertinence," and she raised her hand to strike the sleeping girl.

"Stop, daughter," said the mother, softly, with a malicious smile, "we can do better. The foolish Guilerme has sent her a letter and presents of books. The letter I have burned. The books you can do as you like with, but I have a present for la seÑorita, she will not like, perhaps."

She shook the young girl roughly by the arm, saying, "What, sleeping over your work. Wake, and hear what Guilerme says. He sends you this!"

The seÑora held out to the young girl a coarse apron, such as the lower servants wore. "He hopes his sister will train you to be a good servant for you must know he is in love with a rich and beautiful seÑorita, and though they are both young now, it is thought best for them to be married before his return, which will be in about two years."

"Mamma, what is the matter with her? How pale she looks!" cried the affrighted daughter, as Zaletta with closed eyes sank fainting upon the floor.

"She has fainted, the miserable beggar. To try to creep into my family, and to think that foolish boy should talk of love to her. I'll fix them both," and in her anger the seÑora and her daughter left Zaletta lying cold and pale upon the floor.

Evening came on, with the calm, silver light of the stars, before Zaletta recovered. At first she could not remember what had happened, and then it all rushed upon her, a mighty flood of sorrow.

"Guilerme has forgotten me! I remember now: this apron for the servant of his bride. Ah! Guilerme! Guilerme!" Wrapping the apron about her neck, she rushed out into the night. "I cannot stay in this house another night. It will kill me!" she said, and she hurried on as though she could fly from her great sorrow.

At last she came to a deep wood, and, after wandering about till her wearied limbs refused to carry her any further, she saw a light glimmering through the trees, and pressing on she came to a little cottage.

Looking in at the window she saw an old woman at her distaff spinning. The faggots upon the hearth burned brightly, and lighted up the little room, but especially the face of the old woman shone with the glow of a kind heart. Timidly she knocked at the door, but there was no reply. Then she knocked again louder, and the old woman called out in a cracked voice: "Who knocks at my door so late in the night!"

"Only a poor maiden, who has no home, no friend on earth. I pray you, good woman, let me in. The night is cold, and the starlight chills me. I am so tired! so tired! Good mother, let me in!"

The old woman opened the door and led her in. She sat down in the corner, gazing silently into the fire and wondering why the good Lord in pity did not let her die; and big tears ran down her pale cheeks.

The old woman baked a fresh tortilla and gave it to her with a cup of milk.

"Eat, child," she said gently, "you are hungry," and she laid her hand on the bowed head, saying again: "There! there! eat, child! and sleep away the sorrow of youth which is fleeting as the dew of morning."

Then she turned away and commenced spinning and singing in a low, monotonous tone, which was strangely soothing, while Zaletta ate her supper, and soon the sad, weary maiden fell asleep by the warm, pleasant fireside.

For some time the old woman went on spinning and singing, till another knock came at the door, and again she said: "Who knocks at my door so late in the night?" "'Tis I, mother," replied a thick, rough voice. She opened the door to a most curious looking dwarf. He was round shouldered and thick set, with heavy, black hair covering his forehead, and shaggy brows meeting over his eyes.

"How fared thee, to-day, son?"

"I haven't struck the lode yet, mother," said the dwarf, cheerfully, "but I am sure the mine is rich. See what I have picked up among the loose rocks!"

He handed her a small nugget of gold, almost pure, and turned to the corner to put down his pick and shovel. "But who have we here? A young girl, and very pretty," he added, looking admiringly upon the sleeping maiden.

"Only a poor friendless child, who came to the door a little while ago, weeping and asking shelter," answered the woman.

"Treat her kindly, mother; she will be company for you, and by-and-by I may marry her, but I have no time to think of women now."

The dwarf sat down to the hot supper the mother had prepared for him, and ate heartily, for he was very hungry. Then he drew his chair near the fire, and sat for sometime looking dreamily into its glowing embers.

"I must strike the lode soon," he mused. "Oh, my rich gold mine; it must come at last." Then he rose, saying, kindly, "Good night, mother," and climbed up into the little loft, where in a few minutes he was sleeping soundly.

The old woman woke Zaletta, and they retired for the night, sleeping in the same bed.

In the morning Zaletta was awakened by a kind voice calling, "Get up now, daughter, and help me to prepare my son's breakfast, he has been at work for an hour, and will soon come in very hungry."

Zaletta rose quickly and helped to prepare a breakfast of fresh tortillas nicely browned, fried plantain, and venison, which, with plenty of ripe fruit and goat's milk, made a repast fit for a prince.

Soon the dwarf came in, so smiling and cheerful, that though Zaletta thought him the ugliest looking person she ever saw, she felt sure his heart was in the right place. "You are welcome, my pretty girl," he said, "but don't mind me; I've no time to compliment women, though by-and-by, when I strike a rich lode, I may marry you."

Zaletta's face flushed a deep crimson, and she looked as though that would be any thing but desirable; but she made no reply, and in a moment the dwarf seemed to have forgotten her presence, and she became more comfortable.

Two years passed by and Zaletta remained at the cottage, helping the old mother, who was very fond of her, and reading books with which the dwarf kept her constantly supplied. All this time he was working hard in his mine, but could not "strike the rich lode." Sometimes he grew quite disheartened, then he would be joyous and hopeful, and would say to Zaletta: "Though I have no time to think of women now, by-and-by, when I am rich, I will marry you." She soon got used to this, and only laughed, for he was always very kind to her, and she learned to look upon him as a brother.

One dark night in the rainy season she and the mother sat by the fire waiting for the dwarf to come in to his supper. The old woman was spinning, and Zaletta reading a pleasant book of travels.

"My poor boy," sighed the old mother. "How it rains; he will be wet through. Oh, dear! I fear he will never be able to strike the rich lode." Just then a loud knock came at the door. "Who knocks at my door so late in the night," said the old woman.

A voice, young, strong, and pure, answered, sending all the warm blood from Zaletta's heart to her face: "A stranger, belated and lost in the wood, begs for shelter from the storm."

The old woman opened the door, and Guilerme—dear, handsome Guilerme, dripping with rain, and very cold, entered.

Zaletta's book dropped upon the floor, and her tongue refused her heart utterance, but Guilerme's eyes rested upon the beautiful girl with delighted surprise.

"Found at last, my own Zaletta." His arms opened, and the trembling, lonely heart of the maiden found its true resting-place.

They sat down side by side, hand clasping hand, and explained all the past to each other, how Guilerme had written and received no answer, and at last returned to find her gone, and his heart desolate.

Zaletta told him all she had suffered, and of the kindness she had received at the cottage. Then Guilerme took the old woman's hands and thanked her with a voice trembling with emotion.

The mother rejoiced with them, but there mingled a sorrow for her son with the joy. "Poor son," she thought, "He is very fond of the child."

Soon another knock came, and again the old woman asked, "Who knocks at my door so late in the night," and the dwarf answered:—

"Mother! mother! I've struck the lode at last."

She opened the door, and he threw his arms round her neck and kissed her, then he came in, and saw Guilerme; and they both told their stories.

"So," said the dwarf, when Guilerme had finished: "You have come to take my pretty maid away? Well, if she loves you, 'tis all right, I have had no time to think of women; but, somehow, I have grown fond of her," and he sighed heavily. "I have struck the lode at last. I am a rich man, but I must find some one to share my good fortune with me, some pure, good little girl like our Zaletta."

In the morning, when Guilerme and the dwarf went to the mine together, they found it even richer than the dwarf had thought it, the night before. Guilerme offered to furnish the money to build a mill to crush the ore, for one-half the mine; and so they became partners.

Soon after this, Guilerme and Zaletta were married at the cottage in the wood, and in time the good dwarf was united to a pretty Mexican lass, who made him very happy.

After a time, Guilerme built a fine house for his wife, and, when they had two little children, he took his family home to the old hacienda.

The mother and sister did not recognize their old servant in Guilerme's brilliant seÑora, but the old father (God bless him) knew her, when she placed her little soft hand in his, and kissed him; and very dearly he learned to love his dutiful daughter.

So they were all rich and happy, as long as it pleased God to spare their lives.