face, "that it's only natural for young children to be
forgetful, and ready to take new impressions."

"And as long, dear, as WE are not the subjects of this youthful
forgetfulness, and she isn't really finding US as stupid as the rancho,"
replied her husband cheerfully, "I suppose we mustn't complain."

"John, how can you talk such nonsense?" said Mrs. Peyton impatiently.
"But I have no fear of that," she added, with a slightly ostentatious
confidence. "I only wish I was as sure"--

"Of what?"

"Of nothing happening that could take her from us. I do not mean death,
John,--like our first little one. That does not happen to one twice; but
I sometimes dread"--

"What? She's only fifteen, and it's rather early to think about the only
other inevitable separation,--marriage. Come, Ally, this is mere fancy.
She has been given up to us by her family,--at least, by all that we
know are left of them. I have legally adopted her. If I have not made
her my heiress, it is because I prefer to leave everything to YOU, and
I would rather she should know that she was dependent upon you for the
future than upon me."

"And I can make a will in her favor if I want to?" said Mrs. Peyton
quickly.

"Always," responded her husband smilingly; "but you have ample time to
think of that, I trust. Meanwhile I have some news for you which may
make Susy's visit to the rancho this time less dull to her. You remember
Clarence Brant, the boy who was with her when we picked her up, and who
really saved her life?"

"No, I don't," said Mrs. Peyton pettishly, "nor do I want to! You know,
John, how distasteful and unpleasant it is for me to have those dreary,
petty, and vulgar details of the poor child's past life recalled, and,
thank Heaven, I have forgotten them except when you choose to drag
them before me. You agreed, long ago, that we were never to talk of the
Indian massacre of her parents, so that we could also ignore it before
her; then why do you talk of her vulgar friends, who are just as
unpleasant? Please let us drop the past."

"Willingly, my dear; but, unfortunately, we cannot make others do it.
And this is a case in point. It appears that this boy, whom we brought
to Sacramento to deliver to a relative"--

"And who was a wicked little impostor,--you remember that yourself,
John, for he said that he was the son of Colonel Brant, and that he was
dead; and you know, and my brother Harry knew, that Colonel Brant was
alive all the tim