shaft of sunlight with his eyes and saw it end upon the altar, so bare and sadly in need of repair. Littering it were bird droppings and feathers. Directly above the altar was the patron saint of the Mission and the Valley: San Fernando Rey de España. The statue of the saint still displayed its painted colors, though covered over by chicken wire in an attempt to keep off birds or thieves. It was a crude and fragile attempt for it could easily be stolen and perhaps it had been at one time and was returned. Manuel hoped that it would never be stolen.

Several feet from the altar, Manuel knelt on the cold stone floor and with folded hands began to pray softly. "Lord Jesus there is holiness in this chapel, a place that is quickly falling to ruins. As I pray for myself, I pray, too, that good men will come along and rebuild Your Mission in this Your valley... God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. Give me an understanding heart, let me know of the ways of the world about me and the people. I am so afraid to venture forth, I hesitate and I am always afraid.. no, not so much afraid, but suspicious, that is the word . . . To us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all things. . . Here, in this year of eighteen eighty-seven I have found my love and it is young Juanito who fights the bulls

I know, I know it is torture to the animals and You must frown upon this sport. But he has a great love for it and I think You know the reasons why, I do not... Thou art a gracious God, and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness... So You see why I must learn, why I must understand. I want You to help me to help him. . . The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of God shall stand forever. . . All through Juanito's life I want to be by his side, to share his likes and his dislikes, and if it must be so, I will learn to love bullfighting and yet, if there is . . .” Manuel paused in his discourse as he heard the creak of the chapel door being opened or closed. Without turning to look, he passed it off as the effects of the wind, for the valley wind had been rising when he had entered the chapel. "... some other way that . . .” Manuel drew in his breath as he heard the sound.

Jingle-jangle. jingle-jangle, sang out the silver spurs on the booted feet, feet that attempted to walk softly over the stones and down the aisle of the chapel. Manuel heard them stop directly behind him. He slowly turned his head, and looking up, he saw the brother of Juanito, the brother who was a little infatuated with him, Manuel remembered. "Lorenzo," he spoke softly. "How good to see you. I did not know you were here. I thought you were still back in Mexico City?"

Lorenzo squatted down being careful not to sit upon his spurs. "My eyes feast themselves joyfully upon seeing you again Manuelito, or must I call you Señor Rodriguez?"

"Manuel. You have called me that before."

"Manuelito," he echoed back, his lips lovingly forming the word. "Were you praying?"

The young man nodded his head once.

"Finish your prayer. I will pray too." Making the Sign of the Cross, Lorenzo clasped his hands together and raised them to his lips. But he did not pray. He only wanted this as an excuse to watch Manuel, to be this close to him, alone.

Apparently satisfied that Lorenzo had come in to pray, Manuel turned again toward the altar and looking upward to San Fernando Rey de España, he closed his eyes and finished out his prayer.

Unable to restrain himself. Lorenzo reached out and gently placed his hand

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