down
to that,--just one more sight of her. Ever so civilized, he could hardly
have worshipped a woman better. The mass seemed to him endlessly long.
Until near the last, he forgot to sing; then, in the closing of the
final hymn, he suddenly remembered, and the clear deep-toned voice
pealed out, as before, like the undertone of a great sea-wave, sweeping
along.

Ramona heard the first note, and felt again the same thrill. She was as
much a musician born as Alessandro himself. As she rose from her knees,
she whispered to Felipe: "Felipe, do find out which one of the Indians
it is has that superb voice. I never heard anything like it."

"Oh, that is Alessandro," replied Felipe, "old Pablo's son. He is a
splendid fellow. Don't you recollect his singing two years ago?"

"I was not here," replied Ramona; "you forget."

"Ah, yes, so you were away; I had forgotten," said Felipe. "Well, he
was here. They made him captain of the shearing-band, though he was only
twenty, and he managed the men splendidly. They saved nearly all their
money to carry home, and I never knew them do such a thing before.
Father Salvierderra was here, which might have had something to do with
it; but I think it was quite as much Alessandro. He plays the violin
beautifully. I hope he has brought it along. He plays the old San Luis
Rey music. His father was band-master there."

Ramona's eyes kindled with pleasure. "Does your mother like it, to have
him play?" she asked.

Felipe nodded. "We'll have him up on the veranda tonight," he said.

While this whispered colloquy was going on, the chapel had emptied,
the Indians and Mexicans all hurrying out to set about the day's work.
Alessandro lingered at the doorway as long as he dared, till he was
sharply called by Juan Canito, looking back: "What are you gaping at
there, you Alessandro! Hurry, now, and get your men to work. After
waiting till near midsummer for this shearing, we'll make as quick work
of it as we can. Have you got your best shearers here?"

"Ay, that I have," answered Alessandro; "not a man of them but can shear
his hundred in a day, There is not such a band as ours in all San Diego
County; and we don't turn out the sheep all bleeding, either; you'll see
scarce a scratch on their sides."

"Humph." retorted Juan Can. "'Tis a poor shearer, indeed, that draws
blood to speak of. I've sheared many a thousand sheep in my day, and
never a red stain on the shears. But the Mexicans have always