Comfort and plenty reign at Lagunitas. With
his wife by his side, Miguel cons his occasional despatches. He
promises the Seflora that the spring shall see a chapel erected.
When he makes the official visit to the Annual Council, he will
bring a padre, at once friend, spiritual father, and physician. It
is the first sign of a higher life--the little chapel of Mariposa.
Winter winds sway the giant pines of the forests. Rains of heaven
swell the San Joaquin. The summer golden brown gives way to the
velvety green of early spring.
Juanita meekly tells her beads. With her women she waits the day
when the bell shall call to prayer in Mariposa.
Wandering by Lagunitas, the wife strays in fancy to far lands
beyond the ocean. The books of her girlhood have given her only a
misty idea of Europe. The awe with which she has listened to the
Padres throws a glamour of magic around these recitals of that
fairy world beyond the seas.
Her life is bounded by the social horizon of her family circle; she
is only the chatelaine. Her domain is princely, but no hope clings
in her breast of aught beside a faded middle age. Her beauty hides
itself under the simple robe of the Californian matron. Visitors
are rare in this lovely wilderness.
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