A solitary Mexican
gallops by, with gayly decorated saddle and heavily laden saddle-bags
hanging from it; perhaps he is taking home provisions to his wife and
dark-eyed babies who live up in a little dimple of the mountain side,
almost hidden from sight by the olive-trees. And then a patient,
hardy little mustang lopes along the street, bearing on his back
three laughing boys, one behind the other, on a morning ride into
town from the mesa.
The mist had floated away from the old mission now, the sun has
climbed a little higher, and Bell has come away from the window in a
gentle mood.
'Oh, Polly, I don't see how anybody can be wicked in such a
beautiful, beautiful world.'
'Humph!' said Polly, dipping her curly head deep into the water-bowl,
and coming up looking like a little drowned kitten. 'When you want
to be hateful, you don't stop to think whether you're looking at a
cactus or a rosebush, do you?'
'Very true,' sighed Bell, quite silenced by this practical
illustration. 'Now I'll try the effect of the landscape on my temper
by dressing Dicky, while he dances about the room and plays with his
tan terrier.'
But it happened that Dicky was on his very best behaviour, and stood
as still as a signpost while being dressed. It is true he ate a
couple of matches and tumbled down-stairs twice before breakfast, so
that after that hurried meal Bell tied him to one of the verandah
posts, that he might not commit any act vicious enough to keep them
at home.
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