"I know I will be lucky," the man answered. He looked about them as they walked slowly and he pointed out the many objects of interest. "See there, three arches built at different angles from one column. And here, this building is the old warehouse, but it is used now for classrooms and a convent." They walked down the north corridor.

David heard much activity going on inside as sounds drifted out to him from the screened-wooden-barred windows. There was the clatter of dishes being washed. Then the two walked down a little incline of ground.

"Here are the ruins of the tallow vats. And it was here in the old mission that this section contained all the work shops. In these two vats tallow for mission use and for barter was made. Hides were tanned nearby. Weaving, dyeing and candle making shops were built in this area." He stretched out his hand to survey the location to David. They headed south again.

"There is the smelter where metal was prepared for making old locks, iron bars, keys and any other needs of the time. And that little building over there was the little kitchen used by the Indians."

"Oh, look!" David interrupted. "There's a pool with a little path of stones to the island in the middle of it. And a willow tree with branches growing all the way to the ground is on the little island. Why, it's like a tent. Let's cross over and sit under it for a moment, please. Just you and I..

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The gardener went ahead, obediently and turned to help the boy across the large, flat stones. They went through the branches and under the tree and they sat down on the cool, Spring grass. David could see out through the branches at people moving about the grounds and he wondered if anyone could see the two of them sitting under the tree. Then David felt the shock of the gardener's hand upon his head, smoothing back his black hair. He felt himself trembling inside and he reprimanded himself. I mustn't shake, I mustn't let him know I'm pleased and a little bit frightened, all rolled up into one feeling. Oh, I like his hand as it passes over my head, brushing my hair to one side. Should I reach up and touch his fingers, hold his hand? What do guys do in a case like this?

But David was so scared that he might lose control of himself and respond to the man who was sitting beside him, that instead of remaining calm and enjoying this feeling, he cleared his throat, leaned forward and pointed, "What are those things out there?"

The gardener dropped his hand away from the boy and he, too, cleared his throat before speaking for it felt suddenly dry. "Those are foundation outlines, and are all that is left of the work shops, hospital and storehouse of early mission days."

"Oh." David answered. Now I've made a mess of things. I had to go and move. He'll probably not touch me again.

He's flighty, flighty as a little swallow. But he'll learn, he'll learn in due time, the gardener thought to himself. He stood up and ran a hand through his own coal-black Indian hair and put on his hat with the so-called magical swallow feather. "Come, let me show you the calabozo where the unruly Indians were put as punishment."

"O. K." David got up and went with the man back to the mainland. But the rest of his privately guided tour and the special places of interest began to lose their interest for David. He now began to concern himself with the thoughts and emotions that ran through people's heads, his own included, and especially

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