“Mother couldn’t come,” cried Grace, as she jumped from her horse and flung the bridle to a Mexican groom. “She’s putting up fruit with Tia Teresa, and I think she really believes everything would go wrong if she didn’t superintend.” Munson, as he led the girls through the arched gateway, was inclined to bless both the fruit and the fallacy. Sing Ling came across the patio with a welcoming smile. “Dinnel all leady,” he announced in tinkling syllables. “And we’re all ready, too, Sing Ling,” laughed Merle, as she went up and shook the Chinaman’s hand. “Me vely glad to see you again, missie.” “I didn’t know you were old friends,” exclaimed Munson, in some surprise. “Oh, didn’t you? Sing Ling has been Mr. Robles’ cook off and on for nearly twenty years. When Mr. Robles is abroad of course he works elsewhere. That’s why you found him at San Antonio Rancho.” “But Dick told me he was his cook—had been for several years.” “With Mr. Robles’ tacit consent, then,” replied Merle. The Chinaman was grinning in a vacuous sort of way, as if all the conversation was so much Greek to him. “Sing Ling, you scamp,” cried Munson, “I begin to understand now how Mr. Robles comes to know so much about Dick and myself. You’ve been telling tales out of school.” “Oh, no; me cookee allee time; me no go school,” replied the Celestial, in guileless incomprehension. After the dainty luncheon, Merle proposed that they should visit the watch tower. There they found the Mexican lad on duty. He had been strumming a guitar to pass the time, but at the sound of voices had sprung erect and alert. Munson noticed at a glance that the big telescope was ready trained on San Antonio Rancho. “Como estas, Francisco?” asked Merle, addressing the boy in Spanish. “Bien, gracias, senorita,” he replied, with a deferential bow. But he averted his glance instantly, and gazed out on the landscape. Merle turned to Munson: “We are not allowed to converse with the servants here,” she explained. “Just a word of greeting—that is all.” “I’m under similar orders,” replied Munson. “Not that it much matters in my case, for I haven’t your accomplishment of knowing the Spanish language.” “Oh, Grace and I speak Spanish almost as well as English. You see, Mr. Robles, who has always been interested in us two girls, insisted that we should be taught his native tongue.” “And we’ve been all over Spain, too,” interposed Grace. “Lived there a whole year. That’s where I fell in love with the violin and took my first lessons.” “An inspiring country obviously,” remarked Munson with a flattering gesture. “Thank you for the subtle compliment,” laughed Grace, tossing the vagrant, wind-blown curls from her face. “I never come here but I love to gaze at the view,” observed Merle. “Is it not glorious—this valley of Tehachapi?”