le the friends and
the places we have loved, music will go whither we go, even to an end of
the world such as this.--Felipe!" he called to his organist. "Can they
sing the music I taught them for the Dixit Dominus to-night?"

"Yes, father, surely."

"Then we will have that. And, Felipe--" The Padre crossed the chancel to
the small, shabby organ. "Rise, my child, and listen. Here is something
you can learn. Why, see now if you cannot learn it from a single
hearing."

The swarthy boy of sixteen stood watching his master's fingers, delicate
and white, as they played. Thus, of his own accord, he had begun to
watch them when a child of six; and the Padre had taken the wild,
half-scared, spellbound creature and made a musician of him.

"There, Felipe!" he said now. "Can you do it? Slower, and more softly,
muchacho mio. It is about the death of a man, and it should go with our
bell."

The boy listened. "Then the father has played it a tone too low," said
he, "for our bell rings the note of sol, or something very near it, as
the father must surely know." He placed the melody in the right key--an
easy thing for him; and the Padre was delighted.

"Ah, my Felipe," he exclaimed, "what could you and I not do if we had a
better organ! Only a little better! See! above this row of keys would be
a second row, and many more stops. Then we would make such music as has
never yet been heard in California. But my people are so poor and so
few! And some day I shall have passed from them, and it will be too
late."

"Perhaps," ventured Felipe, "the Americanos--"

"They care nothing for us, Felipe. They are not of our religion--or of
any religion, from what I can hear. Don't forget my Dixit Dominus."

The Padre retired once more to the sacristy, while the horse that
brought Temptation came over the hill.

The hour of service drew near; and as the Padre waited he once again
stepped out for a look at the ocean; but the blue triangle of water lay
like a picture in its frame of land, bare as the sky. "I think, from the
color, though," said he, "that a little more wind must have begun out
there."

The bell rang a last short summons to prayer. Along the road from the
south a young rider, leading a pack-animal, ambled into the mission and
dismounted. Church was not so much in his thoughts as food and, after
due digestion, a bed; but the doors stood open, and, as everybody was
passing within them, more variety was to be gained by joining t