"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,
spirit, and even crudeness of youth were over all. The young girl was
dazzled and bewildered. Suddenly, as if blown out of the waving grain,