Years ago, before the gold-seekers came to California, there lived at the Mission of San Gabriel, a Spaniard, whose beautiful vineyard was admired by all the country.
In early life he had been a great traveler, and while in Germany, he met a fair golden-haired maiden, whom he loved and married. After a few years he emigrated to America, and settled at the Mission of San Gabriel—near the town of Los Angeles.
There he prospered greatly, his cattle increased to great herds, covering the green hill-sides, and his vineyard was the pride of his heart. He built a pleasant house, and surrounded it with a garden filled with all kinds of fruit. In that delicious climate, fruits of the tropic and temperate zones grow together; while the white flowers of the North, and their crimson-hued sisters of the South, blossom side by side.
There seemed nothing wanting to make his happiness complete but children. The house was too silent; he wished for the silvery laughter of childish voices; he longed to press little ones to his heart, and call them his own.
At last, God gave him two little girls; but the fair, golden-haired mother lived only to bless them, and was then buried by the clear “Lake of the Tulés.” At first he was inconsolable, and for months refused to see his little ones; but one day, while he slept, the old Indian nurse took them into his room, and laid them on the bed by his side.
Little Snowdrop nestled in his bosom, but Rosebud ran her fingers into his beard, and pulled it so hard that she woke him. There she was, when he opened his eyes, crowing with delight—her little rosy lips close to his, and the fair Snowdrop in his bosom.
Then all the father’s love, which had only slept, awoke, and he pressed the little ones to his heart, weeping; but especially he loved the beautiful Snowdrop, she was so like her mother.
After this, although he still mourned greatly for his wife, he loved these little ones very dearly; and as years passed by, became happy in the absorbing devotion to them, which filled his whole heart.
He watched over them with the most jealous care. Even in childhood, he would not allow them to play with other children; and as they grew older, his fear was awakened lest some of the young señors of Los Angeles should see and fall in love with them. For his daughters to form a mèsalliance, he was quite sure would break his heart.
As he was obliged often to go from home on business, he employed an old Indian woman as duenna, and charged her never to allow the girls out of her sight for a moment.
Rosebud was a Spanish girl, with purple-tinged hair, soft black eyes, and clear olive complexion. Through the satin skin the warm blood flushed her cheeks, and her lips were more tempting than ripe cherries; but Snowdrop was a rare German maiden in complexion, clear and fair as the noonday. Her eyes were like violets. Her hair in the sunshine was like fine spun gold, and so long that it reached to her feet, and hung like a mantle of glory about her.
It was no wonder the old man guarded his daughters so carefully; for though so different, they were equally beautiful, and all the young men of good family were anxious to pay court to them.
Day by day they sat upon the piazza of the inner court, reading the fascinating romances of old Spain, which was to them the dreamland of delight. They longed very much to go out, and see something of life among the rich Spanish families about San Gabriel and Los Angeles, but their father would not allow it; and the old duenna was always near them; even when they walked through the vineyard or the orange orchard, she followed them.
One day, Rosebud called Snowdrop into the garden, and sitting under a large almond-tree, she said: “Look over this book of prints with me, while we talk softly, for the duenna must not hear every thing.”
Snowdrop rested her golden tresses upon her sister’s arm, and, turning over the leaves of the book, they talked together.
“Sister dear,” said Rosebud, “we lead a very dull life here. All young girls are gay and happy. What is the use of being beautiful, with no one to see us but servants and old women?” A look of conscious beauty gathered around her pouting lips, as she ran her dainty fingers through the silken meshes of her sister’s golden hair.
“Our dear papa loves us,” said Snowdrop, “but I do wish to be loved by others,” she added—her violet eyes softening, and a faint flush spreading over her fair cheeks and neck.
“And I to be admired! but how can we be either?” replied Rosebud, “shut up here, with the old duenna to watch every thing we do? God made us beautiful, and I’m sure he intended us to be seen. And for my part, I am determined to go to the consul’s grand ball, if I have to run away!” and her pretty dark eyes filled with tears.
“Oh! sister Rosebud, think of the dear papa!” said Snowdrop.
“He did not tell us not to go out of the garden alone; he only told the duenna to watch us. If we could only manage her,” said Rosebud, thoughtfully.
“I am afraid it would not be right,” replied Snowdrop, “but I want to go very much. We will make an altar-cloth, and embroider it with gold, as an offering to the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps she will pity our loneliness, and help us.”
So they wrought an altar-cloth of purple and gold, and spread it upon the altar, before the picture of the Blessed Mother, in their own chamber; putting vases of beautiful flowers upon it. When it was finished they were quite happy, and sat down with their guitars, and sang very sweetly together, till their father came home.
The next morning, an old Mexican woman, with baskets of trinkets for sale, knocked at the garden gate.
When she was admitted, she spread out her finery before the young señoritas. The duenna hastened to the piazza where they were sitting—for no one was more fond of looking over the vendedora’s basket than she, always finding something she could not do without among its tempting stores—this time it was a gay-colored shawl, and she ran away for her purse.
As soon as she was out of sight, the old woman whispered:—
“Pretty señoritas, I have charms to sell. This will make you admired, and this loved,” she said, holding up two curious little bags—one tied with long pink ribbon, the other with blue—“and this,” pointing to a third, “will make you sleep. It contains a powder. You must drop one grain into a glass of water. It is perfectly tasteless, but it brings on a sleep so profound, that until the effect passes away, nothing could awaken you from pleasant dreams.”
The young girls bought the charms. Snowdrop took the one tied with blue ribbon, and placing it in her bosom, whispered, “Now I may be loved.”
“And I will be admired,” said Rosebud, taking the other; but the charm for sleep she concealed in her pocket, just as the old duenna returned, eager for her purchases.
“I have pretty slippers for little dancing feet,” said the old woman, holding up two pairs of the daintiest white satin slippers you could imagine.
“The señoritas have no use for them,” exclaimed the duenna, frowning; but the young girls found that they fitted so nicely, and looked so pretty, they bought them.
“Papa is rich enough to give us any thing we want, and we fancy these,” said Rosebud. They bought strings of beads, ribbons, and combs for their hair, until the old duenna was nearly frantic. What they could want of all these, shut up as they were, she could not tell.
Then Rosebud said:—“We will have some new dresses;” so they bought fine white muslin and lace. Snowdrop bought a bright-colored handkerchief, which she gave the duenna, who was so much pleased that she promised to help them make their dresses.
As soon as the old woman went away, they all sat upon the piazza, shaded with vines, and commenced cutting and stitching upon the delicate fabric so busily, that by evening the skirts of their dresses were quite finished.
The next morning they were early at work again.
“Why do you hurry so much,” said the duenna, who never liked to work very long at a time.
“To have it over the sooner, dear duenna,” answered Snowdrop, smiling so sweetly that the duenna took her needle again quite pleasantly.
Snowdrop’s dress was trimmed with blue ribbon, Rosebud’s with crimson and gold. The young girls wrought upon them all their pretty fancies, till, when they were finished, the duenna thought them beautiful enough for a queen.
At evening the work was all done; and the duenna, quite fatigued with her unaccustomed task, sat dozing in her arm-chair.
Suddenly she roused herself, exclaiming:—“How warm it is! I am very thirsty.”
Rosebud jumped up quickly, saying, “I will bring you fresh water;” so she ran down to the spring at the foot of the garden, and there she met the faithful old Miguel—who had been in the family for years before she was born, and loved the young señoritas as though they were his own children.
Rosebud caught him by the arm, and whispered:—“Have the horses at the back garden-gate to-night at nine o’clock, you dear old Miguel, for you shall take us to the consul’s ball.”
“But the señor?” said the old servant, in astonishment.
“Never mind the señor, you dear, careful man.”
“But the duenna?” he continued.
“Never mind! never mind! I tell you I will go! so be sure you are ready in time,” said Rosebud, laughing, and shaking her finger as she ran away.
Poor old Miguel was in a great dilemma. He loved the pretty señoritas, and wanted to help them; but he feared the señor.
“It may cost me my place; and in this family I have lived, and here I would die; but my pretty children are so lonely, it is too bad to shut them up—and old Miguel will not fail them.”
Thus his fond love for the fair girls he had carried in his arms in their helpless infancy, conquered his discretion; and he went to the stable to groom the horses.
Rosebud brought the water—clear, cool, and sparkling—to the old duenna, and she drank it eagerly in her thirst, little dreaming of the sleep-charm the gay young señorita had dropped into the cup.
Almost instantly she became very drowsy, and, closing her eyes, she fell asleep in her chair. In a short time her heavy breathing told how surely the charm had taken effect.
“Now for the ball!” said Rosebud. So the young girls dressed themselves quickly, but with great care—looping their sleeves with rare flowers from the garden, and tying their ribbons very tastefully.
“I think we shall do,” said Rosebud, looking at the beautiful girl reflected from her mirror, then at the softer beauty of her sister.
Snowdrop answered by a kiss, and they went out softly, and down the garden path to the gate, where the faithful Miguel waited for them.
An hour’s ride brought them to the brilliantly lighted mansion of the consul, and all the young señors were delighted at the arrival of the fair sisters.
No one was so much courted and admired, among all the fair señoritas at the ball that night, as Snowdrop and Rosebud; and none of the gay hidalgoes were more happy than old Miguel, who was peeping from behind the hall door, enjoying the triumph of his darlings. At last he became uneasy, and, approaching them with a respectful bow, told them it was time to go home.
Taking special leave of their host and hostess, bowing gracefully to the guests, they started for home—leaving all, admirers, and many lovers behind them.
When they entered their chamber, they found the duenna still sleeping soundly. They undressed themselves noiselessly, putting away all their clothes but their slippers, which they forgot.
In the morning, when the sun arose, the duenna awoke, and was much surprised to find herself sitting in a chair, instead of being in bed.
She had but a confused recollection of things, and began to think she must have taken a little more wine than she intended at dinner the day before. She thought she remembered Rosebud giving her a glass of water when she was very thirsty, but she was not sure that it might not have been wine.
She looked around, but could discover nothing to help her. The two girls were sleeping soundly, and upon the face of Rosebud there was a smile. She was dreaming of the ball—again surrounded by a crowd of admirers.
Snowdrop dreamed of the dear papa; he was angry with them for their disobedience, and her long eyelashes were wet with tears.
“How different they are in their ways, even in sleep!” said the duenna.
She turned away, and as her eye fell upon the forgotten slippers, her searching glance detected that they had been worn.
“What does this mean? So much worn, and bought yesterday! ’Tis very strange!” mused she, and put them in her pocket.
She woke the young girls, but they fell asleep again. They were so unused to dancing late at night, that they were very tired; and when the bell rang for breakfast, they did not appear.
“Where are my dear daughters?” said the father, with a clouded face.
She could only tell him that they were still asleep, and seemed very tired.
“So are my horses,” replied he, angrily; “but I will see about this.”
The duenna was afraid to show him the shoes, lest he should blame her; but in her confusion, as she drew her handkerchief from her pocket, one of them dropped out upon the floor.
“What is this?” said the señor, sternly; and she was obliged to tell him all she knew.
For some time the troubled father walked the floor with great agitation without speaking, while the duenna stood trembling before him. Then, turning to her quickly, he said:—
“Call my daughters;” and he rang the bell for Miguel.
All three came into the room with fearful hearts; but Snowdrop’s face was covered with her golden hair, and the tears were shining through it.
Turning to Miguel, he said, sternly, with a black frown covering his whole face:—
“Stand here, and tell me how it is, that this morning I find my horses reeking with foam?”
The old man only answered, “I alone am to blame, señor. Pardon your old servant, who loves you and yours!” and he clasped his hands, and looked imploringly at the dark, angry face that frowned upon him.
Then Snowdrop could bear it no longer, so she ran to the father—throwing her white arms around his neck, and resting her golden-crowned head upon his bosom, she said:—
“Dear papa, I will tell you all! Only do not blame dear, good old Miguel.”
Then she told him of all their loneliness, and eager longings for companions of their own age; about the altar-cloth and all, without reserving one thing. “And now we are sorry; it was wrong; but the dear papa will forgive!” and she raised her pretty face, all shining with tears, and begged him to kiss her.
How like her mother she was! and the father thought of the sunny days of his youth, when he had wandered on the banks of the Rhine with the fair German maiden, and wondered how he could forget that the young and ardent hearts of his children must be like the heart of his youth.
He kissed the innocent face upturned to his, and forgave them, saying, “I, too, have been to blame; and, in future, I will go with you to all places, my darlings, where it is proper, and right for you to go.”
Snowdrop and Rosebud were delighted, and willingly promised never again to deceive “the dear papa;” and from that day there was mutual confidence and love between the young girls and the father.
After a time, when two brave and gallant knights sought of the father the hands of the fair señoritas in marriage, he answered, “Let the hearts of my dear children decide for you. My only wish is to see them happy.”
There was a great feast made at their marriage; and the old Spanish house, so long wrapped in seclusion, resounded with joyous music and the merry laughter of light hearts. Again old Miguel stood behind the door, and rejoiced to see his darlings loved, admired, and happy.