Darrell set his teeth so tightly, that he bit a little chip off his pipe. Mrs. Darrell went on as if she had not observed her husband's flash of irritation.
“But I hope we will never more deserve such name; I trust that before you locate any homestead claim in Southern California, you will first inform yourself, very carefully, whether any one has a previous claim. And more specially, I beg of you, do not go on a Mexican grant unless you buy the land from the owner. This I beg of you specially, and must insist upon it.”
“And how am I to know who is the owner of a rancho that has been rejected, for instance?”
“If the rancho is still in litigation, don't buy land in it, or if you do, buy title from the original grantee, on fair conditions and clear understanding.”
“I don't know whether that can be done in the Alamar rancho, which I am going to see, and I know it has been rejected. But of one thing you can rest assured, that I shall not forget our sad experience in Napa and Sonoma valleys, where—after years of hard toil—I had to abandon our home and lose the earnings of years and years of hard work.”
“That is all I ask, William. To remember our experience in Napa and Sonoma. To remember, also, that we are no longer young. We cannot afford to throw away another twenty years of our life; and really and truly, if you again go into a Mexican grant, William, I shall not follow you there willingly. Do not expect it of me; I shall only go if you compel me.”
“Compel you!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Compel you, when you know I have obeyed you all my life.”
“Oh! no, William, not all your life, for you were well grown before I ever saw you.”
“I mean ever since I went to Washington with my mind made up to jump off the train coming back, if you didn't agree to come North to be my commandant.”
“I don't think I have been a very strict disciplinarian,” she said, smiling. “I think the subaltern has had pretty much his own way.”