"Well, we'll see about that. Just now we're talking of Mrs. Page. If you have an outfit of your own you need not be at anybody's mercy. But you must not choose too high a location, nor where it is likely to be too warm, nor an utterly inaccessible place. By that I mean she must not be too far from the railroad—or her doctor. What do you say to the Springs? I have an idea that the air and the hot water together would complete her cure."
"The air!" exclaimed Aunt Mary. "Why, it is only fourteen miles from here; there can't be any difference in the atmosphere. Besides, those springs are in a valley; you can't have seen them. The fogs are dreadful in the early morning I have been told."
"Not at my Springs," said the doctor with a smile. "I'm speaking of Warner's Ranch, although I've stayed at the others and have seen wondrous cures effected there, I assure you."
Aunt Mary had not been long in California, but she was fond of "reading up," and she had been reading about Warner's Ranch.
"Do you mean the springs which belong, or were supposed to belong, to the Indians, from whose possession they are now going to be taken?"
"Yes," replied the doctor; "and I think the whole proceeding is an infamous outrage."
Nellie and Walter had been sitting quietly listening to their elders. But at this point in the conversation Walter, who was thirteen, exclaimed:
"Oh, papa, let us go there, won't you?
"Just think, Aunt Mary," he continued, "it is a regular Indian village, and in the summer the Indians move out of their houses and rent them to the white people. I knew a boy who lived in one, and he said it was fine. Wouldn't it be grand making believe to be an Indian!"