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 time, and that he was lying, and Colonel Brant was not his
father," broke in Mrs. Peyton impatiently.