and thine, friend Victor. We bring thee a
discovery; thou bringest us thy skill, thy experience, thy government
knowledge,--thy Custom House paper."*

* Grants, applications, and official notifications, under
the Spanish Government, were drawn on a stamped paper known
as custom House paper.

Manuel (breaking in drunkenly). "But for what? We are Mexicans. Are we
not fated? We shall lose. Who shall keep the Americanos off?"

Miguel. "We shall take ONE American in! Ha! seest thou? This American
comrade shall bribe his courts, his corregidores. After a little he
shall supply the men who invent the machine of steam, the mill, the
furnace, eh?"

Victor. "But who is he,--not to steal?"

Miguel. "He is that man of Ireland, a good Catholic, at Tres Pinos."

Victor and Manuel (omnes). "Roscommon?"

Miguel. "Of the same. We shall give him a share for the provisions, for
the tools, for the aguardiente. It is of the Irish that the Americanos
have great fear. It is of them that the votes are made,--that the
President is chosen. It is of him that they make the Alcalde in San
Francisco. And we are of the Church like him."

They said "Bueno" altogether, and for the moment appeared to be upheld
by a religious enthusiasm,--a joint confession of faith that meant
death, destruction, and possibly forgery, as against the men who thought
otherwise.

This spiritual harmony did away with all practical consideration and
doubt. "I have a little niece," said Victor, "whose work with the pen
is marvellous. If one says to her, 'Carmen, copy me this, or the other
one,'--even if it be copper-plate,--look you it is done, and you cannot
know of which is the original. Madre de Dios! the other day she makes me
a rubric* of the Governor, Pio Pico, the same, identical. Thou knowest
her, Miguel. She asked concerning thee yesterday."

* The Spanish "rubric" is the complicated flourish attached
to a signature, and is as individual and characteristic as
the handwriting.

With the embarrassment of an underbred man, Miguel tried to appear
unconcerned, but failed dismally. Indeed, I fear that the black eyes of
Carmen had already done their perfect and accepted work, and had partly
induced the application for Victor's aid. He, however, dissembled so far
as to ask:

"But will she not know?"

"She is a child."

"But will she not talk?"

"Not if I say nay, and if thou--eh, Miguel?"

This bit of flattery (which, by the