“What is that big stone building crowning the mesa, old Pedro’s mesa?”
“Our new St. Luke’s hospital; over which your friend Miss Sophy is to rule.”
“That spire? Is that a church, right here at our own dear home?”
“Yes. The Church of the Good Shepherd—Who has cared for His unfortunates,” replies the mine manager, lifting his hat.
“That long low building, in the valley, where the raisin-grapes used to grow?”
“Ah! you haven’t forgotten localities, I see. That’s our library, reading-room, bowling alley, amusement place in general.”
“That other, of red brick with white trimmings?”
“Our school; one of the best equipped and officered in southern California.”
“Those cottages? Such rows and rows of them, each with its bit of green about it—Who lives in them? Where have the people come from? you must have irrigated well and lavishly to make so much verdure here.”
“The miners’, carpenters’, and farmers’ homes. Yes, we’ve water now and to spare. We tapped it in the mountains, an ever-constant flow, and water you will remember, Miss Jessica, is a ‘mine’ in itself to California.”