"Then you know these people thoroughly, Mr. Brant? I am afraid that WE
do not."

Clarence had already gathered that fact within the last few days, and,
with his usual impulsive directness, said so. A slight knitting of Mrs.
Peyton's brows passed off, however, as he quickly and earnestly went on
to say that it was impossible for the Peytons in their present relations
to the natives to judge them, or to be judged by them fairly. How they
were a childlike race, credulous and trustful, but, like all credulous
and trustful people, given to retaliate when imposed upon with a larger
insincerity, exaggeration, and treachery. How they had seen their houses
and lands occupied by strangers, their religion scorned, their customs
derided, their patriarchal society invaded by hollow civilization or
frontier brutality--all this fortified by incident and illustration,
the outcome of some youthful experience, and given with the glowing
enthusiasm of conviction. Mrs. Peyton listened with the usual divided
feminine interest between subject and speaker.

Where did this rough, sullen boy--as she had known him--pick up this
delicate and swift perception, this reflective judgment, and this odd
felicity of expression? It was not possible that it was in him while he
was the companion of her husband's servants or the recognized "chum" of
the scamp Hooker. No. But if HE could have changed like this, why not
Susy? Mrs. Peyton, in the conservatism of her sex, had never been quite
free from fears of her adopted daughter's hereditary instincts; but,
with this example before her, she now took heart. Perhaps the change was
coming slowly; perhaps even now what she thought was indifference and
coldness was only some abnormal preparation or condition. But she only
smiled and said:--