and fro in the shadows, and seemed to slip a little
lower toward the sleeping child. Comale started. He sprang forward
with a cry, and caught the swaying thing. But it was no living
creature that Comale brought with him to the floor. It was only a
long, thin strip of bamboo with which Comale's father had intended
to bind cinnamon bark! The strip had been hung up out of the way,
and had swung a little in the current of air between the top of the
wall and the roof. As the bamboo strip swayed, it had gradually
slipped lower and lower toward the sleeping little boy below.

Comale's outcry had aroused the household; and without reserve the
penitent lad told to the family the story of his misdeed. His
dark-faced father smiled slightly and showed his teeth through his beard.
He understood now the mistakes Comale had made in the cinnamon work
the previous day.

"A wrong heart makes corundoo peeling go ill, Comale," he said
gravely.

"Corundoo" is the native word for cinnamon.

"A wrong heart makes rice-cooking go ill, too," softly confessed
Pidura. "I am sorry for yesterday's rice! It was I who made Comale's
heart angry."

The father looked from one child to the other.

"Little children, love one another," he said.

AT THE PANADERIA.

The door of the "panaderia" opened. Americans would have called the
place a bakery, but the sign said "Panaderia," which might be
interpreted "breadery" or bake-house. All California does not read
English, and it behooves shop-keepers sometimes to word their signs
for the customers desired. In like manner the "Restaurante
Mexicana," across the street, on a sign advertised "comidas," or
meals, at twenty-five and fifty cents.

Through the panaderia doorway came a girl and a boy. They walked
along by the "zanja," or irrigation ditch, that here bordered the
road. The fern-leaved pepper trees beside the zanja were dotted with
clusters of small, bright red berries.

"Rosa," said the boy, when the two had walked a little way, "I saw
in that big yard many purple and green grapes, spread out drying for
raisins."

Rosa did not answer. She trudged on, carrying her basket of bread.
The brother carried a loaf in brown paper. He and she lived at the
panaderia, and had set forth to carry the bread to the two regular
customers.

"Rosa," stated the boy again, after a pause, "all the little oranges
on the trees over there are green."

Rosa did not even look toward the oranges.

"Rosa,"