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 of Padre Ignacio in all the years he had been tramping the long road between San Diego and Monterey before coming to his rest at San Fernando, where the little river came down out of the hills. There was only gentleness left in his breast, and the missions were not built by gentleness, nor regard for the labors and sufferings of impressed savages, while it was plain that Padre Ignacio put this first in all his thoughts of men. He stood there, the slant sun of evening on his face, one bony brown hand closed on the wheat he had taken from Juan's threshing, the other lifted in what seemed an appeal, rather than a command, for peace. The sleeve of his coarse rough gown had fallen to the bend of his arm, which was sinewy and brown from his labor among his beloved vines.

"Juan has been giving us an exemplification of a tool, an ancient weapon applied by the men of many nations to the arts of peace. You see, Don Geronimo, the grain he has beaten out with a few deft strokes—he was not half an hour about it, I am certain. The advantages of this mode are apparent to me; I see more and more in favor of it as I reflect and consider."

"We can have no more of this change and innovation at San Fernando," Don Geronimo said. "This meddling with the old, time-established order is demoralizing; it advances nothing but discontent and laziness."

"It cannot be said of the flail, then, Don Geronimo, that it would encourage a lazy disposition in