,
she cried again as hard as at first; and Ysidro felt ashamed of her, for
he was afraid Mr. Connor would think her ungrateful. But Mr. Connor
understood it very well.

"I have lived only two years in my house," he said to Rea, "and I would
not change it for one twice as good that anybody could offer me. Think
how any one must feel about a house he has lived in all his life."

"But it is a horrible little house, Uncle George," said Rea,--"the
dirtiest hovel I ever saw. It is worse than they are in Italy."

"I do not believe that makes much difference, dear," said Uncle George.
"It is their home, all the same, as if it were large and nice. It is
that one loves."

Just as Mr. Connor and Rea came out of the house, who should come riding
by, but the very man that had caused all this unhappiness,--the lawyer
who had taken Ysidro's land! He was with the man to whom he had sold it.
They were riding up and down in the valley, looking over all their
possessions, and planning what big vineyards and orchards they would
plant and how much money they would make.

When this man saw Mr. Connor, he turned as red as a turkey-cock's
throat. He knew very well what Mr. Connor thought of him; but he bowed
very low.

Mr. Connor returned his bow, but with such a stern and scornful look on
his face, that Rea exclaimed,--

"What is the matter, Uncle George? What makes you look so?"

"That man is a bad man, dear," he replied; "and has the kind of badness
I most despise." But he did not tell her that he was the man who was
responsible for the Indians being driven out of their home. He thought
it better for Rea not to know it.

"Are there different sorts of badness,--some badnesses worse than
others?" asked Rea.

"I don't know whether one kind is really any worse than another," said
Mr. Connor. "But there are some kinds which seem to me twice as bad as
others; and meanness and cruelty to helpless creatures seem to me the
very worst of all."

"To me too!" said Rea. "Like turning out poor Ysidro."

"Yes," said Mr. Connor. "That is just one of the sort I mean."

Just before they reached the beginning of the lands of Connorloa, they
crossed the grounds of a Mr. Finch, who had a pretty house and large
orange orchards. Mr. Finch had one son, Harry, about Jusy's age, and the
two boys were great cronies.

As Mr. Connor turned the horses' heads into these grounds, he saw Jusy
and Harry under the trees in the distance.

"Why, there is Ju