"Come! Come! Come, Come!" the bell kept saying. "Come, to the nuptials of the Señorita Carmelita Mendoza and the Señor Alfredo Morando." Mission San José lay nestling in verdure. The vineyards pointed their budding tendrils low, their gentler tints soft against the darker leaves of the olive groves. Orange orchards rioted in magnificence on the sunny slopes. The tree foliage, shot through with the waxy petals of next year's promise, half hid the golden balls of this year's harvest still awaiting the gathering hand. Almond trees, as yet showing never a leaf, were beclouded by their snowy flowerings into vast pillars. Gentle breezes rose and fell. Soft blossom-showers whitened the ground, eddied around parent tree-trunk, or crept to modest hiding place amidst the grass-blades. Everywhere the odor of growing things loaded the air with sweet messages. Myriad flower-breaths floated through open doors and windows, dropping fragrant tribute in hacienda house and cloistered corridor. People in throngs, eager with expectancy, held the street fronting on the Mendoza hacienda house. Masters of ceremony opened a wide lane from mansion to church. The Spanish gentry fringed either side; detachments of soldiers, in serried rank, stood next; back of them, overflowing to the very limits of the village, crowded other residents of the valley. The deep-throated organ within the church began to voice its monologue. The conversation of hidalgos fell to whisper; the chatter of peons and peonas hushed. The great gate of the courtyard swung open wide. Through the archway, on a palfrey white as milk, came the daughter of the de la Mendoza. Her mount, true to the strain of his forebears in far-away Arabia, caracoled to and fro, and ambled forward slowly, step by step, as if to show the perfection that California could breed in priceless horseflesh. His mane flowed into the trappings on his breast; his streaming tail almost touched the ground. Carmelita, gowned in white, rode stately, as became the princess that she well might be. The wreath of orange bloom clinging above her forehead would have made a fitting diadem. The folds of her bridal robe fell entrancingly about her. With eyes cast down, cheeks aglow, she passed along, the fairest bride Santa Clara Valley ever saw; no small claim, indeed, for hers was a time and she of a race wherefrom beautiful women sprang in plenty. Here bridesmaids followed in double file, their horses white, every one; their apparel, the delicate pink of the first flush of dawn, the result of skillful needlewomen through many a day. Lolita Hernandez, pretty and piquant, was side by side with Lucinda Higuera, demure and handsome. Alfreda Castro, with raven hair showing beneath her satin head-covering, moved along with Tula Laynez, gray-eyed, blonde-cheeked, and saucy as a sparrow. Palmita Peralta, with cherry lips ever smiling, was paired with Leopolda Estudillo, of the starry eyes.