n lights in the
grove. A party of young men, passing near the place, heard groans and
lamentations. An unfortunate lover, in order to make an impression on
the disdainful object of his affections, promised to spend a night
under the tree and to bring her a branch from its trunk, but on the
next day he was taken ill with a quick fever and died.

Before many months had passed, a youth came to the town one day. He
was apparently a Spanish mestizo, declared himself the son of the
dead stranger, and established himself in that far-off corner of the
world. He began to farm the land and devoted himself especially to
the cultivation of indigo. Don Saturnino was a taciturn young man,
violent and sometimes cruel, but very active and industrious. He
built a wall around his father's grave and, from time to time, went
all alone to visit it. A few years later he married a young girl from
Manila who bore him a son, Rafael, the father of Crisostomo.

Don Rafael, from his earliest youth, was fond of farming. Under his
care, the agriculture which had been started and fostered by his father
was rapidly developed. New inhabitants flocked to the vicinity, and
among them were a great many Chinese. The village grew very fast and
was soon supporting a native priest. After it had become a pueblo,
the native priest died and Father Damaso took his place.

Still the grave and the adjoining lands were respected. At times,
children, armed with sticks and stones, ventured to wander about,
exploring the surrounding country and gathering guayabas, papays,
lomboy and other native fruits. Then, all of a sudden, while they were
busily engaged collecting the fruits, some one would catch a glimpse of
the old rope hanging from the baliti tree, and stones would be heard to
fall. Then some one would cry, "The old man!" "The old man!" Dropping
fruit, sticks and stones, and leaping from the trees, the boys would
flee in all directions through the thickets and between the rocks,
not stopping until they emerged from the grove, pale and panting,
some laughing, some crying.

You could not say that Don Rafael, while alive, was the most
influential man in San Diego, although it is true that he was the
richest, owned the most land, and had put almost everybody else
under obligations to him. He was modest and always belittled his
own deeds. He never tried to form a party of his own, and, as we
have already seen, no one came to his aid when his fortune seemed to
fai