reserves for the members of one's own family. He was quite conscious
that Susy was looking very pretty in this new and mature frock, and that
as she stood beside his wife, far from ageing Mrs. Peyton's good looks
and figure, she appeared like an equal companion, and that they mutually
"became" one another. This, and the fact that they were all, including
Mary Rogers, in their freshest, gayest morning dresses, awakened a
half-humorous, half-real apprehension in his mind, that he was now
hopelessly surrounded by a matured sex, and in a weak minority.
"I think I ought to have been prepared," he began grimly, "for this
addition to--to--the skirts of my family."
"Why, John," returned Mrs. Peyton quickly; "do you mean to say
you haven't noticed that the poor child has for weeks been looking
positively indecent?"
"Really, papa, I've been a sight to behold. Haven't I, Mary?" chimed in
Susy.
"Yes, dear. Why, Judge, I've been wondering that Susy stood it so well,
and never complained."
Peyton glanced around him at this compact feminine embattlement. It was
as he feared. Yet even here he was again at fault.
"And," said Mrs. Peyton slowly, with the reserved significance of the
feminine postscript in her voice, "if that Mr. Brant is coming here
to-day, it would be just as well for him to see that SHE IS NO LONGER A
CHILD, AS WHEN HE KNEW HER."
An hour later, good-natured Mary Rogers, in her character of "a
dear,"--which was usually indicated by the undertaking of small errands
for her friend,--was gathering roses from the old garden for Susy's
adornment, when she saw a vision which lingered with her for many a
day. She had stopped to look through the iron grille in the adobe wall,
across the open wind-swept plain. Miniature waves were passing over
the wild oats, with glittering disturbances here and there in the
depressions like the sparkling of green foam; the horizon line was
sharply defined against the hard, steel-blue sky; everywhere the
brand-new morning was shining with almost painted brilliancy; the vigor,
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