ereat he said once more,
with a puzzled look of pain, "I do not understand you, Senor." Then
pointing through the open doorway to where the Lively Polly peacefully
floated at anchor, he asked what ensign was that which floated at her
masthead. Lanky proudly, but with some astonishment, replied: "That's
the American flag, Senor." At this the seedy old man in uniform eagerly
said: "Americanos! Americanos! why, I saw some of those people and that
flag at Monterey." Lanky asked him if Monterey was not full of
Americans, and did not have plenty of flags. The Ancient replied that
he did not know; it was a long time since he had been there. Lanky
observed that perhaps he had never been there. "I was there in 1835,"
said the Ancient. This curious speech being interpreted to Captain
Booden, that worthy remarked that he did not believe that he had seen a
white man since.

After an ineffectual effort to explain to the company where Bolinas
was, we rose and went out for a view of the town. It was beautifully
situated on a gentle rise which swelled up from the water's edge and
fell rapidly off in the rear of the town into a deep ravine, where a
brawling mountain stream supplied a little flouring-mill with motive
power. Beyond the ravine were small fields of grain, beans and lentils
on the rolling slopes, and back of these rose the dark, dense
vegetation of low hills, while over all were the rough and ragged
ridges of mountains closing in all the scene. The town itself, as I
have said, was white and clean; the houses were low-browed, with
windows secured by wooden shutters, only a few glazed sashes being seen
anywhere. Out of these openings in the thick adobe walls of the humble
homes of the villagers flashed the curious, the abashed glances of many
a dark-eyed senorita, who fled, laughing, as we approached. The old
church was on the plaza, and in its odd-shaped turret tinkled the
little bell whose notes had sounded the morning angelus when we were
knocking about in the fog outside. High up on its quaintly arched gable
was inscribed in antique letters "1796." In reply to a sceptical remark
from Lanky, Booden declared that "the old shell looked as though it
might have been built in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, for that
matter." The worthy skipper had a misty idea that all old Spanish
buildings were built in the days of these famous sovereigns.

Hearing the names of Ferdinand and Isabella, the padre gravely and
reverentially a