From their semi-concealment among the young willow growth, scrub cattle
gazed at them or fled, with tails aloft, for more distant thickets;
cottontail rabbits and an occasional jack-rabbit, venturing forth as
the shadows grew long in the valley, flashed through the low sage and
weeds; from the purpling hillsides cock quails called cheerily to their
families to come right home. The air was still and cool, heavy with
the perfume of sage, blackberry briars, _yerba santa_, an occasional
bay tree and the pungent odor of moist earth and decaying vegetation.
There had fallen upon the land that atmosphere of serenity, of peace,
that is the peculiar property of California's foothill valleys in the
late afternoon; the world seemed very distant and not at all desirable,
and to Kay there came a sudden, keen realization of how this man beside
her must love this darkling valley with the hills above presenting
their flower-clad breasts to the long spears of light from the dying
day. . . .
Don Mike had caught the spirit of the little choristers of his hidden
valley, she heard him singing softly in rather a pleasing baritone
voice:
Pienso en ti, Teresita mia,
Cuando la luna alumbra la tierra
He sentido el fuego de tus ojos,
He sentido las penas del amor.
"What does it mean?" she demanded, imperiously.
"Oh, it's a very ordinary little sentiment, Miss Kay. The Spanish
cavalier, having settled himself under his lady's window, thrums a
preliminary chord or two, just to let her and the family know he's not
working on the sly; then he says in effect: 'I think of thee, my little
Tessie, when the moonlight is shining on the world; your bright eyes
have me going for fair, kid, and due to a queer pain in my interior, I
know I'm in love.
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