"Still the padres were not hard taskmasters," insisted the stranger. "The work lasted only from four to six hours a day and the evenings were devoted to games and dancing. All were required to attend religious services, however, and at the sound of the Angelus, they gathered within these walls. There was no sleeping through long prayers in those days," he added with an amused smile, "for a swarthy disciple paced the aisles and with a long pointed stick aroused the nodding ones, or quieted the too hilarious spirits of the small boys." "A good example for some of our modern churches," remarked my companion, as we followed our guide to the altar at the end of the chapel. The light streaming through the mullioned window fell full upon the carved figure of a tonsured monk clad in a loose robe girdled with a cord. "It is our father, St. Francis," explained the old man. "It was in accordance with his direct wish that this Mission was founded." "Yes?" questioned the skeptic. "When Father Junípero Serra received orders from Galvez for the establishment of the missions in Alta California, and found that there was none for St. Francis, he ex-claimed: 'And is the founder of our order, St. Francis, to have no mission?' Thereupon the Visitador replied: 'If St. Francis desires a mission, let him show us his port,' and the Saint did!" the old face with its fringe of soft white hair was transformed with religious enthusiasm. "He blinded the eyes of Portolá and his men so that they did not recognize Monterey and led them on to his own undiscovered bay. And in spite of the fact that the Mission has been stripped of its lands, we know that it is still under the special protection of St. Francis, for it was not ten years ago that the second miracle was performed." "The second miracle!" we wonderingly repeated. "Yes, it was at the time of the fire of 1906. The heart of San Francisco was a raging furnace. The fireproof buildings melted under the tremendous heat and collapsed as if they had been constructed of lead; the devouring flames swept over the Potrero; they fell upon the brick building next door and crept close to the walls of this old adobe, when suddenly, as if in the presence of a sacred relic, the fire crouched and died at its very doors." We passed the altar and the old man crossed himself, while in our hearts we, too, gave thanks for the preservation of this monument of the past.