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and mustached, epitomizing the true Castilian who ruled not only wisely, but well, over California prior and even subsequent to the Mexican war of 1845.
    With characteristic Castillian courtesy, he attended the feminine member of the party—his beautiful, patrician wife, the Doña Luz,—meanwhile the other gentleman stood at respectful attention.
    All three were properly, if somewhat overly-attired, in the dress of the period. Doña Luz’s gown was of silk, with short sleeves and loose waist. From beneath the hem of her skirt peeped the tips of her diminutive red slippers. In her ears were jet-black pendants. Her black, gray-streaked hair was done high on top of her head and surmounted by a great mother-of-pearl comb. Over her head was drawn a large, greenish-colored mantilla of filmy lace.
    Doña Luz looked toward her husband expectantly, for this meeting was in the nature of a conference bearing on no less a topic than her son’s conduct.
    Because of the occasion, Don Fernando had dressed elaborately, and his guest was hardly less resplendent. Each was attired in a fine linen shirt, rich with a profusion of lace and embroidery. The Señor Gutierrez’s heavy silk jacket of deepest maroon, amply decorated with “frogs” and buttons, was unbuttoned, a compromise with the weather. His guest wore a jacket also, of lustrous brown equally well decorated. Their pantaloons of black velvet, decorated with rows of vermilion buttons, harmonizing well with the green sash about the waist, left a lot to be desired on this torrid day. Under the pantaloons, and visible through the knee-length slit, were boots of untanned deer-skin.
    Satisfied as to the comfort of his wife, Don Fernando waved his guest to a chair, and then seated himself. Without turning, he called in husky tones, “José!” Almost immediately a Mexican mozo , or houseboy, appeared in the areaway.
    â€œ Aguardiente —brandy,” commanded the don briefly.
    â€œ Si, señor ,” came the soft reply, and the boy disappeared across the patio.
    This patio was a rectangular court surrounded on three sides by verandas upon which opened the various rooms that composed the casa. Across the southern end stretched a high wall. In the center of it was an arched door-way through which one passed from the don’s patio to that of the servants.
    This patio was a veritable garden of beautiful flowers and plants,—roses, geraniums, oleanders and flowering cactus. An acacia tree, in full bloom, adorned one corner, while in another was an arbor of bougainvilla. Caressing each pillar that supported the tile-roofed veranda were vines of one description or another. In the center of the patio was a well, fully fifteen feet in diameter, which supplied the house with water.
    Several minutes passed before the servant returned with the brandy. Meanwhile, the three sat silent, gazing out across the garden patio and to the servants’ patio beyond.
    Worry wreathed the face of the Señor Gutierrez. Nervously, he gnawed the ends of his bristling gray mustache. Doña Luz frowned as she saw her lord’s perturbation. Well enough she knew that he would not speak until it so pleased him. Her son’s delayed arrival also wore on her. Turning away, she sent her eyes across the fields to where the Santa Cruz mountains lay basking in the sun. For all their brown, barren, forbidding appearance, she loved them. Raised, as she had been, in more urban surroundings than rural California could boast, this queenly woman had missed those niceties of life which would have been hers in a more sheltered land. Long since, she had turned to her flowers and those distant, friendly hills; and found that California could win her smiles as well as ancient Seville.
    José soon reappeared with goblets, brandy and cigars—huge, cylindrical, black. He served with the sureness and precision of a trained servant, and disappeared.
    The don and his