"Easily, if we start early enough," said Francisco.
The children lost no time in making their request. Everybody was willing to do something to vary the monotony of life in Cupa. Very early one morning a few days later the party, with Mauricio and Francisco in charge, started for the woods.
Mr. Page was something of a naturalist, or, it might more properly be said, a lover of nature in every beautiful form. When they had come into the shadow of the woods he began to observe the various kinds of shrubs, and was pleased to find a variety of "buckeye" native to California. Presently they came upon a large cluster of bushes, growing luxuriantly, the leaves of which very much resembled those of the india-rubber tree.
"There," said Francisco, "is a tree the Americans call 'mahogany tree' on account of its color, but the Indians name it limonada."
"What does that mean?" asked Mr. Page.
"The lemonade tree," said Mauricio. "The little fruits, or pods, have a sour sweetness. We soak them in water, and they make a nice lemonade. You will see our women and children gathering them when they are getting ripe. They put them into sacks and carry them home. Then they lay them in the sun to dry. It is a very nice drink. We have some at our house. Some day, if you wish, Francisco will take you a quantity."
"Yes; we'd like to taste it," said Nellie. "Perhaps we might gather some of the fruit and take it home."
"Of what need?" said the Indian boy. "There you have plenty lemons. Here we have none—that is, unless we buy them."
"They are cheaper now than in the old days," said Mauricio. "Still, many of our people like better the limonada pods."