Meanwhile the good-natured and loquaciously-inclined driver had turned his head and was subjecting the man cantering alongside of his stage to a rigid inspection. With his knowledge of the various types of men in California at that time, he had no difficulty in placing the status of this straight-limbed, broad-shouldered, young fellow as a native Californian. Moreover, it made no difference to him whether his passenger had met an old acquaintance or not; it was sufficient for him to observe that the lady, as well as himself--for the expression on her face could by no means be described as bored or scornful--liked the stranger’s appearance; and so the better to take in all the points of the magnificent horse which the young Californian was riding, not to mention a commendable desire to give his only passenger a bit of pleasant diversion on the long journey, he slowed his horse down to a walk. “But where do you live? You have a rancho near here?” the Girl was now asking. “My father has--I live with him.” “Any sisters?” “No,--no sisters or brothers. My mother was an American; she died a few years ago.” And so saying, his glance sought and obtained an answering one full of sympathy. “I’m downright sorry for you,” said the Girl with feeling; and then in the next breath she added: “But I’m pleased you’re--you’re half American.” “And you, Señorita?” “I’m an orphan--my family are all dead,” replied the Girl in a low voice. “But I have my boys,” she went on more cheerfully, “an’ what more do I need?” And then before he had time to ask her to explain what she meant by the boys, she cried out: “Oh, jest look at them wonderful berries over yonder! La, how I wish I could pick ’em!” “Perhaps you may,” the stranger hastened to say, and instantly with his free hand he made a movement to assist her to alight, while with the other he checked his horse; then, with his eyes resting appealingly upon the driver, he inquired: “It is possible, is it not, Señor?”