ed the fact that it had passed
its romantic age and lost its quickening spirit. Closed were the homes
of the old Spanish families; gone were the _caballeros_ and the
bright-eyed _senoritas_; grass-grown was the highway to the mines; the
flagstaff alone remained flushed with its old-time dignity and
importance. In subdued mood, I stepped into the parlor until our names
should be registered. When my husband returned, I said,

"The carpet on this floor, the chairs in this room, and the pictures on
these walls were in place in grandma's home when I left her--perhaps
she is no longer living."

He left me again to make inquiry concerning those whom we had come to
see, and ascertained that the Brunners had remarried for the purpose of
facilitating the readjustment of their property rights, and of rescuing
them from the hands of a scheming manager, who, with his family, was
now living on the estate, and caring for grandma, but would not permit
grandpa to enter the house.

After sending a messenger to find grandpa, I led the way to the open
door of the old home, then slipped aside to let my husband seek
admission. He rapped.

[Illustration: GENERAL VALLEJO'S CARRIAGE, BUILT IN ENGLAND IN 1832]

[Illustration: GENERAL VALLEJO'S OLD JAIL]

I heard a side door open, uneven footsteps in the hall, and him saying
quietly, "I think the old lady herself is coming, and you had better
meet her alone." I crossed the threshold, opened my arms, and uttered
the one word, "Grandma!"

She came and rested her head against my bosom and I folded my arms
about her just as she had enfolded me when I went to her a lonely child
yearning for love. She stirred, then drew back, looked up into my face
and asked, "Who be you?"

Touched by her wistful gaze, I exclaimed, "Grandma, don't you know me?"

"Be you Eliza?" she asked, and when I had given answer, she turned from
me in deepest emotion, murmuring, "No, no, it can't be my little
Eliza!" She would have tottered away had I not supported her to a seat
in the well-remembered living room and caressed her until she looked up
through her tears, saying, "When you smile, you be my little Eliza, but
when you look serious, I don't know you."

She inquired about Georgia, and how I came to be there without her.
Then she bade me call my husband, and thanked him for bringing me to
her. Forgetting all the faults and shortcomings that once had troubled
her sorely, she spoke of my busy childhood and the pla