A Napa Christchild; and Benicias Letters | Page 7

stood at the well with Jovita,
who had been filling the little olla for her mother's night drink.
The child looked up with a pleased smile and then turning to Jovita,
asked with his bright eyes a question which words could not better have
expressed.

Jovita replied softly as she looked down at the strange, wistful face, and
felt the touch of Crescimir's hand on her own, "And I thy mother."
[Illustration: Scroll]
[Illustration: Scroll]

IV.
By the beginning of summer Crescimir's place had all been restored
and the house rebuilt on the summit of the knoll, far away from any
danger of another flood.
It was a pretty cottage now, in the new, American style with a
trellis-porch over which passion vines spread in the profusion of first
growth. The flower garden and the long lines and square beds of the
vegetable garden looked fresh and bright down by the arroyo.
The house had been completed by the middle of January and Crescimir
by careful and steady work had brought back his fields to their former
state. The Christchild still lived with him, always as merry as the day
was long. He was, as on the night of his arrival, still dressed in his little,
white frock or shirt of strange texture, and he would wear nothing else,
not even shoes.
Jovita's mother had, however, once made for him a suit, but when she
tried to have him put it on, he objected so strenuously that the project
had to be abandoned, for not even Crescimir's will, which usually was
all that was needed on such occasions, had not in this case any power at
all; so he ran quite wild about the gardens, the same pretty, little elf as
ever.
He was extremely fond of the water and paddled in the arroyo all day
long, so that even the little frock was for the greater time superfluous,
and there was never any difficulty in having it for the old woman who
came once a week from the village to do the washing. She often said
that when she touched it, it gave her "goose flesh," the "feel" was so

queer. She had never seen anything like it in all her long experience in
her particular line of business.
Crescimir's visits to Tulucay were frequent now and the little
Christchild always went with him, his greatest delight seeming to be to
see Crescimir and Jovita together.
The day for the wedding was set to be the day before Christmas, for it
seemed well that as that season had first made them known to each
other, it should see them made man and wife.
The rainless summer and autumn passed and winter came with its green
grass and new flowers.
Never had there been such a prosperous year for the Napa Valley, and
the fields were fast blossoming with little white cottages, while golden
vineyards were growing higher up the hillsides driving the chaparral
back from its old inheritance as the Gringos did the natives. The town
had increased to nearly twice its former size, so Crescimir's gardens
were much sought, and he no longer was compelled to labour from
sunrise till sunset to keep the weeds away, for now he was able to hire
the hardest work done and enjoy the fruits of his first years' toil.
The month of December came and the leaves on the poplar trees in the
village were turning golden, just lingering long enough to mingle
lovingly for a while with the new-born green of winter, and then be
hidden by the growth of broad leaved plants as soon as they had fallen
brown upon the earth, producing that endless harmony of Californian
nature, a life everlasting.
There were a few orange coloured poppies nodding in the mesas but
violet star-flowers scattered over the lower meadows were powerful
enough, by reason of their numbers, to conquer the colour of the grass,
while the fields near the river were yellow with juicy cowslips.
Now the blue dome of St. Helena was not so often visible, for the
clouds hovered about it filled with wealth giving rain.

Ploughing and planting had begun and in some places the grain had
already started; blackbirds in hosts were perched on all the fences,
watching the sowers and chattering saucily to each other as they
snapped their bead-like eyes in anticipation of the feast so profusely
spreading for them.
Over the low lands where the bay stretched its many arms in and out,
offering to the ranchos its assistance to carry their abundant produce to
a market, the marshes were red with short-growing sorrel, and the dark
green of the tules along the edges fringed the silver indentations of the
water in harmonious contrast.
All this did Jovita and Crescimir see from