ound it under a cottonwood. So I took it home with
me. They are papers. Important---- Is it not so?"

"Yes. I have been looking everywhere for them. You did right to bring
them back to me."

"Perhaps they may help you win the land. Eh, _Dona_?"

"Perhaps. You know I offered a reward of twenty-five dollars for the
box. It is yours. Buy some furniture with it when you and Juanita go to
housekeeping."

"That is all past, alas, _Senorita_. Juanita looks down her nose when I
am near. She does not speak to me."

"Foolish boy! That is a sign she thinks much of you. Tell her you did
wrong to accuse her. Beg her to forgive you. Do not sulk, but love her
and she will smile on you."

"But--this _Senor_ Gordon?"

"All nonsense, Pablo. I have talked with Juanita. It is you she loves.
Go to her and be good to her. She is back there in the milkhouse
churning. But remember she is only a girl--so young, and motherless,
too. It is the part of a man to be kind and generous and forbearing to a
woman. He must be gentle--always gentle, if he would hold her love. Can
you do that, Pablo? Or are you only a hot-headed, selfish, foolish boy?"

"I will try, _Dona_," he answered humbly. "For always have I love' her
since she was such a little _muchacha_."

"Then go. Don't tell her I sent you. She must feel you have come because
you could no longer stay away."

Pablo flashed his teeth in a smile of understanding and took the path
that led round the house. He followed it to the sunken cellar that had
been built for a milkhouse. Noiselessly he tiptoed down the steps and
into the dark room. The plop-plop of a churn dasher told him Juanita was
here even before his eyes could make her out in the darkness.

Presently he saw more clearly the slender figure bent a little wearily
over the churn. Softly he trod forward. His hand went out and closed on
the handle above hers. In startled surprise she turned.

"You--Pablo!" she cried faintly.

"I have so longed to see you--to come to you and tell you I was wrong,
_nina_---- Oh, you don't know how I have wanted to come. But my
pride--my hard, foolish pride--it held me back. But no longer, heart of
my heart, can I wait. Tell me that you forgive--that you will love me
again--in spite of what I said and have done. I cannot get along without
my little Juanita," he cried in the soft Spanish that was native to them
both.

She was in his arms, crying softly, nestling close to him so that his
love might