The charming old Estrada mansion could not be entirely seen from the high road; one must enter through a lofty gate before all the gray buildings came in sight, though they and the garden were visible from the side where one of the little narrow byways led off into the mountain. A low fence surrounded this side of the garden, which overlooked a green vale and the mounting reaches of the mountains themselves. Entering the main gateway, one saw first the house itself, with its stone patio, where countless pigeons cooed and pattered about. Above were stone balconies and deep set windows, over which were the sculptured arms of the house of Estrada. From a stone-paved hallway, into which one must first enter, opened dining-room, kitchen, pantries and servants’ quarters, while above stairs were the salon and the bedchambers, all spacious rooms, looking out upon the garden in one direction and the mountains in another. The furniture was old, but the rooms were comfortable and there were so many as well might accommodate a larger family. Beyond the house stood the little chapel, a covered way leading to it from the second storey. Further away were the stables and out-buildings. Fresh paint, where it was needed, gave an air of cleanliness to the place, though the fine old rafters, oaken floors and doors were left as they should be. In the garden, palms and apple trees, figs and oranges, roses and geraniums as high as your head, grew side by side, and this latter part of June there was a blaze of color. Word had gone forth that Don Juan invited the villagers to a _fiesta_ in honor of his home-coming and of his name day, and as he had throughout the countryside a reputation for performing wonderful cures, for great charity, and for true kindness of heart, far and near, the people prepared for the occasion. Robert Lisle promised to be on hand and the evening before the day of San Juan appeared just as all were starting out for a walk. “Come with us,” said Doña Martina. “We are going to follow the custom of St. John’s Eve. This is the _vespera_, as they call it.” “And what is that?” he asked, taking from her hand the basket she carried. “We are going to deck the streams and springs. Those are rose leaves in that basket and those flowering branches which Juan and Tomás carry are for the same purpose. Come with us and help. It is such a pretty custom and I want the girls to see how it is done.” They pursued their way along a little stream which ran through the village. Here was the washing place where daily was seen a group of women beating out garments on the rocks or rinsing them in the clear mountain water. Further along was a bridge and further yet another, the latter in a quiet spot where the gurgle of the water and the whisper of the new leaves made a pleasant murmuring song. Here the party paused to strew their rose leaves and daisy petals.