of what went on in the mind of a certain gardener. They walked along the south corridor now.

"Here is the kitchen of the Padre's living quarters where meals were prepared for the Padres and any travelers who visited the mission." They went inside the old building. "See the old hewn shelves. This was the old storeroom for kitchen supplies. And here is the Padre's living quarters. The fireplace was put in in 1866. Here, looking out of the window you can see the olive and grain crusher. Olive oil was made here during mission days, and was used in sanctuary lamps, in the mission kitchen for cooking purposes, and as an article of trade with other missions and with the outside world."

They went outside. "See the old Indian chimney on the roof above? That is the original chimney. And notice the erosion caused by weather and time on these old columns, and the dripping of rain has created holes in the pavement for over a century and a half." He grew quiet then and his voice was replaced by the toning of chapel bells. "It's the Angelus ringing."

David stood still to listen to the evening bells. He heard the gardener as he sang the Angelus softly, in Latin.

The young man practically wept silently to himself, a thing that he had not done in several years. "How beautiful. How very sacred and beautiful.”

When the pealing of the bells had died away, the gardener again tried to resume his discourse. "Over there are the soldier's barracks. Each group of missioners were assigned a small troop of foot soldiers to protect them on their travels through the wilderness and to serve as guards, once the mission was built."

"Please, no more, no more," David suddenly bent down and kissed the weather-beaten hand of the gardener and his tears fell down, moistening the back of the man's hand. "I have to go now. I hear my parents calling to me over by the exit. You are a good and kind man. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for showing me the mission. Goodbye and thank you again."

David left the man then and came suddenly to a wishing well. He quickly took out a dime, made a fast wish and slipped it through the grating and down into the well. Then he spun about and ran back to the gardener who was watching him. He ran up to him and threw his arms about his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, thank you," he whispered into the red-brown ears. Then David ran off, frightening a flock of white doves as he left the mission grounds. "God love you," cried out the gardener to the boy as he disappeared. Then the mission bells began pealing out their message. Clang-clang. Clangclang. They were ringing their messages out joyfully. The swallows were coming back. The swallows were returning in flocks, they were coming back to Old Mission San Juan Capistrano.

About Our Authors

ARNELL LARSEN is a young author who is trying to have his five novels on the homosexual theme published. This is the first time a story by him has appeared within our pages. He now resides in La Crescenta, California.

10