Señor Mendoza, as if commanding in battle, directed his workmen. Trees and shrubs were piled high. Fire, made hotter by kegs of turpentine, soon brought all to ash-heaps. Great pits were dug into which the stones of the hacienda building were placed, also the ashes from the bonfires. "Now," commanded Mendoza, "fill in these trenches." It was done. "Señors," he said at nightfall, when all was over, "thus I bury the past. Henceforth, remember, I pray you, that I am Señor Mendoza, the Californian, that, and that only." The rains of the following winter made the site of the once-beautiful castle and grounds again a part of the rolling, grassy lands overlooking the valley. Señor Mendoza devoted himself faithfully to the interests of his rancho and the welfare of California. He built another home five miles from where the first had been, and altogether out of sight of it; a house of California style, the buildings forming three sides of a square, with a wall making the fourth side of the courtyard within. In middle life the wish had come to found a family to succeed him in his possessions. He married the daughter of a neighbor, a maiden of Castilian blood, but of California birth. A child was born to them, a daughter, and in that hour his wife died. Never was parent kinder or gentler than Señor Mendoza to the Doña Carmelita, his pride and joy. The authorities in Mexico City thought it right to deprive the Franciscan friars of a part of the lands they held in Alta California, this act of the secularization of the missions causing comment of both approval and disapproval. The leaders in the capital city chose Señor Mendoza to administer the claims of church and state in the valley of Santa Clara. Thus he became administrator of the Mission of San José, where the opening of this story found him, a man of strength and of honesty, a statesman and a courtly gentleman. CHAPTER IV A STRANGER VISITS SEÑOR MENDOZA "Papacito mine, I'm all ready for the party this evening. My maids have just finished with me. What do you think of me?" The Señorita Carmelita pirouetted into her father's sitting room, stood on one foot, then on the other, finally turning completely around. "Papacito, what do you think of me?" she asked again. The father knit his brows in pretended deep consideration. "Hurry! Hurry, papacito! Really I can't wait any longer, I'm so anxious to know." "My child, you make me think of a very pretty, very dainty wild flower." "Just a flower, papacito?" in mock disappointment. "Well, a flower with laughing eyes, splendid hair, and white plumage," pointing to her dress.