“Ugh!” grunted Pedro, with satisfaction, and taking the metal again in his hand bowed low and gravely presented it to his mistress.
She received it without enthusiasm, wondering what significance could attach to a bit of stone that might have been picked up anywhere. Her husband had believed that everything valuable 71 would, sooner or later, be unearthed from the mountains of the State he so loyally loved, but her own interest in the subject was slight. However, she must say something grateful or again offend the dignity of her venerable servitor.
“Thank you, Pedro. It is very pretty. I will add it to the case of minerals that your master arranged yonder.”
The shepherd cast one contemptuous glance toward the shelves she indicated, and straightened himself indignantly. He had loved and revered her, ever since she came a bride to Sobrante, and had tended him through a scourge of smallpox, unafraid and unscathed. Though she was a woman, the sex of whose intelligence he had small opinion, he had regarded her as an exception, and his disappointment was great.
“Is it but a ‘thank you,’ si? Does not the senorita know what this gift means?”
“I confess that I do not, Pedro. Please explain.”
“Were the old padres wise, mistress?”
“So I have always understood.”
“Listen. From them it came; from the last who left the mission here for another––to me, his son and friend. Into the heart of the world we went, and he showed me. Down low, so low none dream of it, lies that will make you rich. Will there be anybody anywhere so rich as the senorita and her little ones? No. But no, not one. This I give you. It is for the Navidad, the last old Pedro will ever see. And the senorita answers, ‘thank you’!”
He was deeply hurt, and his manner was now full of an eloquent scorn. He was returning the 72 stone to his breast, when she asked for it again, saying, gently: