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 any man," Padre Ignacio returned, in smiling good humor. "Look at Juan, see how the sweat pours out of him from threshing this little heap of wheat. A man would earn his salt at a day's work with the flail, you may be certain."

"I cannot permit this interference in my fields, this distraction among my workmen," Don Geronimo said sharply.

"Don Geronimo!" Padre Ignacio chided.

Juan was standing by, his jacket thrown aside, his shirt wet on his muscular back, the flail in his hand. He was far more resentful of Don Geronimo's insolent declaration of authority than Padre Ignacio, whom the mayordomo made so bold as to push aside as a man of no consequence in the affairs and administration of the Mission San Fernando.

"Let this spy of a despicable, upstart nation keep to the mill in future. I tell you, Padre Ignacio, I will have no more of his interference and silly contrivances."

"It will be enough, Don Geronimo," Padre Ignacio said sternly, the gentleness of his face yielding to an expression of dignified command. "Where this son of San Fernando chooses to walk within our limits, there he shall walk without the interference of any man."

"A weak prejudice for him, growing in your heart for his supposed services to you, blinds your eyes to his true guise." Don Geronimo charged. He leaned toward Padre Ignacio as he spoke, his