watchful eyes of Sam Singer and Soft Wind, Donna faced her little world
at seventeen years of age in blissful ignorance of the fact that she
was marked in San Pasqual.

She had committed two crimes. In the matter of her mother's funeral she
had scorned the advice of her elders and had dared to overthrow ancient
custom; and--ridiculous as the statement may appear--she had aroused in
Mrs. Pennycook the demon of jealousy! It is a fact. In the bigness of
his simple heart the yardmaster had yielded up to Donna a spontaneous
portion of tenderness and sympathy, which first amazed Mrs. Pennycook,
because she never suspected her husband of being such an "old softy,"
and then enraged her when she reflected that never since their
honeymoon had Dan shown _her_ anything more than the prosaic
consideration of the unimaginative married man for an unimaginative
wife.

It did not occur to Mrs. Pennycook that she had not sought to bring out
these qualities in her husband by a display of affection on her part.
It never occurred to her that Dan Pennycook was a homely, ordinary,
rather dull fellow, in dirty overalls and in perpetual need of a shave;
that Donna was a beauty who could afford to pick and choose from a
score of eager lovers. She only knew that Donna had aroused in Dan
Pennycook the flames of revolt against the lawful domination of his
lawful wife; that he was of the masculine gender and would bear
watching. Miss Molly Pickett, the postmistress, whose official duties
not so onerous as to preclude the perusal of every postal card that
passed through her hands (in addition to an occasional letter, for Miss
Molly was not above the use of a steam kettle and her own stock of
mucilage), was Mrs. Pennycook's dearest friend and her authority for
the knowledge that while all men will bear watching, married men will