"We have oranges," he began, enumerating each course
of the forthcoming meal on his tobacco-stained fingers. "Then there is
flour in my possession for biscuits, and, two weeks ago, I robbed a
bee-tree; so we have honey. Our coffee is not of the best, but it is
coffee. And we have eggs."
"Any butter, sugar, and cream?"
"Alas, no, Don Miguel!"
"Saddle a horse at once, go down to the mission, and borrow some from
Father Dominic. If he has none, ride over to the Gonzales rancho and
get it. Bacon, also, if they have it. Tell Carolina I will have
breakfast for five at half after eight."
"But this Japanese cook of _Senor_ Parker's, Don Miguel?"
"I am not in a mood to be troubled by trifles tonight, Pablo."
"I understand, Don Miguel. The matter may safely be entrusted to me."
He picked up the tray. "Sweet rest to you, sir, and may our Saviour
grant a quick healing to your bruised heart. Good-night."
"Good-night, Pablo." Farrel rose and laid his hand on the old
retainer's shoulder. "I never bothered to tell you this before, Pablo,
but I want you to know that I do appreciate you and Carolina
tremendously. You've stuck to me and mine, and you'll always have a
home with me."
"Child," Pablo queried, huskily, "must we leave the rancho?"
"I'm afraid we must, Pablo. I shall know more about our plans after I
have talked with Senor Parker."
X
That night, Miguel Farrel did not sleep in the great bed of his
ancestors.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110