u so badly--just as
soon as you can get there."

"Do not think of me, Father. I shall not fail."

After a few more words Apolinaria left the mission, and returning to
the town, made preparations for her absence, which bade fair to be a
prolonged one. Bitter regrets were felt and expressed by the people,
some going so far as to mutter against the priest for sending her, for
"does not Apolinaria belong to us, and why should we, how can we, spare
her to go so far away for a lot of sick Indians?"

The next morning, an hour before the sun was up, Father Amestoy and the
messenger, each with a horse from which they had dismounted, stood at
Apolinaria's door. In a moment Apolinaria came out of the little adobe
house which had been her abode since leaving the Carrillos, bearing a
small bundle in her arms. Kneeling before the Father, he gave her his
blessing, and then asked her abruptly if she was ready to start.

"Yes, Father, I am quite prepared."

"Then you must be off at once," he replied. "I have given the messenger
instructions for your journey. You have swift horses. If possible, get
to San Fernando to-night; that is the longest day's ride you will have,
but if too much for you, or if you be delayed on the way, stop at some
rancho this side for the night. In that case your ride to-morrow will be
longer, for you ought to get to Mission San Juan by tomorrow night; from
there to San Diego is a short distance compared with the others. You
will change horses at San Buenaventura, and at the ranchos on the way
from there to San Fernando. Felipe knows where to stop for them. He has
letters also for the padres at the missions, and will see to everything.
And now, my daughter, may the saints protect you and keep you, and bring
you back once more to your friends here, when you shall be no longer
needed at San Diego."

When the Father had ceased speaking, he assisted Apolinaria to mount her
horse, and with a last "adios" she made off, preceded by the messenger,
who had taken her bundle and fastened it to his saddle. The priest
watched them as they hurried away in a cloud of dust, and then,
breathing a blessing for Apolinaria, returned to the mission.

It was a glorious June morning. The air was fresh and crisp; the water
was just taking on a tinge of yellow from the light of the yet unrisen
sun, and the sky above was of the intensest blue. The road, for the
first twenty miles, lay along the shore, now on the beach itself, the