n of faith and for all its
faults and imperfections, I think you will find, tucked away in it
somewhere, a modicum of merit. I have tried to limn something, however
vague, of the beauty of the land we saw through boyish eyes before the
real estate agent had profaned it.

You were born with a great love, a great reverence for beauty. That
must be because you were born in Sonoma County in the light of God's
smile. Each spring in California the dogwood blossoms are, for you, a
creamier white, the buckeye blossoms more numerous and fragrant, the
hills a trifle greener and the old order, the old places, the old
friends a little dearer.

Wherefore, with much appreciation of your aid in its creation and of
your unfaltering friendship and affection, I dedicate "The Pride of
Palomar" to you.

Faithfully,

PETER B. KYNE.

SAN FRANCISCO

JUNE 9, 1921.

_Acknowledgment is made of the indebtedness of the author for much of
the material used in this book to Mr. Montaville Flowers, author of
"The Japanese Conquest of American Opinion."_

P. B. K.

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

LOI
The Man--Don Miguel Farrel . . . . _Frontispiece_

Here amidst the golden romance of the old mission,
the girl suddenly understood Don Mike

The Girl--Kay Parker
ELOI

THE PRIDE of PALOMAR

I

For the first time in sixty years, Pablo Artelan, the majordomo of the
Rancho Palomar, was troubled of soul at the approach of winter. Old
Don Miguel Farrel had observed signs of mental travail in Pablo for a
month past, and was at a loss to account for them. He knew Pablo
possessed one extra pair of overalls, brand-new, two pairs of boots
which young Don Miguel had bequeathed him when the Great White Father
at Washington had summoned the boy to the war in April of 1917, three
chambray shirts in an excellent state of repair, half of a fat steer
jerked, a full bag of Bayo beans, and a string of red chilli-peppers
pendant from the rafters of an adobe shack which Pablo and his wife,
Carolina, occupied rent free. Certainly (thought old Don Miguel) life
could hold no problems for one of Pablo's race thus pleasantly situated.

Coming upon Pablo this morning, as the latter sat in his favorite seat
under the catalpa tree just outside the wall of the ancient adobe
compound, where he could command a view of the white wagon-road winding
down the valley of the San Gregorio, Don Miguel decided to question his
ancient retainer.

"My goo