One can't stand everything!" "But, Susy," said Clarence, with a swift remorseful recollection of her confidence yesterday, "is there really anything troubles you?
Tell me, dear.

What is it ?" "Oh, nothing--EVERYTHING! It's no use,--YOU can't understand! YOU like it, I know you do.

I can see it; it's your style.

But it's stupid, it's awful, Clarence! With mamma snooping over you and around you all day, with her 'dear child,' 'mamma's pet,' and 'What is it, dear ?' and 'Tell it all to your own mamma,' as if I would! And 'my own mamma,' indeed! As if I didn't know, Clarence, that she ISN'T.

And papa, caring for nothing but this hideous, dreary rancho, and the huge, empty plains.