of Los Angeles lay, a dot of whitened walls and greenery of trees in the great plain spread between mountains and sea. Don Abrahan's most direct way home passed to the westward of the town. A matter of business, incidental in his life of large affairs, but one that gave him satisfaction to contemplate, far out of proportion to its importance, called him to deflect from the direct road and visit the alcalde, or mayor, of the place.
There was certain information to be placed before this official, a certain request appended to it. As he pondered this thing, riding lightly as a cushion, that quickening of laughter, which yet was not laughter, but more a reflection of inward satisfaction, as the comfort of a fire is suggested but not felt by one who watches from without its dancing glimmer upon the walls; that quickening of light grew again in his eyes, spreading to his face, softening it with a kindly gleam. It is a trait of some men to appear benevolent only when satisfied.
Between the harbor and the pueblo, a distance of twenty-five miles, there were few habitations, two or three large estates holding jurisdiction over that immense sweep of land. Such houses as there were by the roadside were only the huts and small adobe dwellings of the servitors on these estates. Freedom from imperial Spain had not meant freedom for all men, any more than it had assured equality.
Grazing lands these were, mainly through which Don Abrahan rode that day, patched by small culti-
