“She said I gloated over them and rejoiced because nobody else had any. I didn’t. I only loved them because I had tended them and reared them, and I knew them and watched for their buds. She said they didn’t belong to me, but to the Community, and that she took them on behalf of the general weal. Those are all grand words for nasty mean jealousy and covetousness,” said Olive passionately. “I hate Mary Winkle and I hate the Community.”
“Oh, Olive, Olive!” cried Ezra with a gesture of entreaty. “Don’t say that, dear. It strikes me to the heart. Think of me, dear.”
“My pretty flowers!” she said with a drooping of her mouth that betokened fresh tears.
“I am so sorry, oh, more sorry than I can say,” said Ezra. “Mary Winkle has done wrong, and has administered a lesson in a cruel, brutal way.”
“She has no business to give me lessons at all, and I won’t take them from her,” cried Olive passionately. “I hate being the one to be always taught. They think themselves so superior and are always stooping to raise me. Let them raise themselves first. I can see where Mary Winkle needs teaching and correction as plainly as anybody. She is only communistic in regard to things she doesn’t really care about.”
“No, no Ollie, darling. It is really a deep conviction with us all, although in this case most unkindly illustrated,” said Ezra gently.
“I know you think so in all honesty, but it isn’t so in reality. Nobody is nor can be communistic about what they love, if it is real love. If they are communistic about a thing it is because they don’t really care.”
Ezra knew by the pang of jealousy in his own heart that this was an insurmountable truth his little wife was hurling forth in her anger.
“Mary Winkle isn’t communistic. I’m not clever and able to say wise things and use long words that amaze people like Brother Wright, but for all that I can see some things clearly enough. Mary Winkle isn’t any more communistic than I am, only we love different things.”
“I think you mistake,” said Ezra.