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Rh her; and she was as afraid, at sight of him, as a cat is at a dog. Many a time I have laughed to see it.”

“Know you the priest at San Diego?” asked Ramona.

“Not well,” replied Alessandro. “He came seldom to Temecula when I was there; but he is a friend of Indians. I know he came with the men from San Diego at the time when there was fighting, and the whites were in great terror; and they said, except for Father Gaspara's words, there would not have been a white man left alive in Pala. My father had sent all his people away before that fight began. He knew it was coming, but he would have nothing to do with it. He said the Indians were all crazy. It was no use. They would only be killed themselves. That is the worst thing, my Majella. The stupid Indians fight and kill, and then what can we do? The white men think we are all the same. Father Gaspara has never been to Pala, I heard, since that time. There goes there now the San Juan Capistrano priest. He is a bad man. He takes money from the starving poor.”

“A priest!” ejaculated Ramona, horror-stricken.

“Ay! a priest!” replied Alessandro. “They are not all good,—not like Father Salvierderra.”

“Oh, if we could but have gone to Father Salvierderra!” exclaimed Ramona, involuntarily.

Alessandro looked distressed. “It would have been much more danger, Majella,” he said, “and I had no knowledge of work I could do there.”

His look made Ramona remorseful at once. How cruel to lay one feather-weight of additional burden on this loving man. “Oh, this is much better, really,” she said. “I did not mean what I said. It is only because I have always loved Father Salvierderra so. And the Señora will tell him what is not true. Could we not send him a letter, Alessandro?”