“You found you must give up your ambitions.”
“I saw they had to be altered,” Sadie replied. “But when you can't get things done by others, you can do them, in a smaller way, yourself, and I find I can be satisfied with running a prairie farm as it ought to be run.” She paused and resumed with a soft laugh: “Looks as if neither of us was fixed quite as we like. I have a husband who must be hustled; you want to hold yours back. Well, I guess we can't change that; we must take the boys for what they are and make allowances. Besides, your man's fine energy is perhaps the best thing he has.”
Helen was somewhat moved. Sadie's rude philosophy was founded on truth, and having made sacrifices, she had a right to preach. After all, to dull the fine edge of Stephen's energy would be an unworthy action and perhaps dangerous. Helen had been jealous of his farm, but admitted that she might have had worse rivals.
“Do you know 'The Sons of Martha'?” she asked and recited a verse.
“It's great,” said Sadie simply. “That man has our folks placed. Well, I don't read much poetry, but there's a piece of Whitman's I like. When I watch an ox-team break the first furrow in virgin soil, or a construction train, loaded with new steel, go by, I hear him calling: 'Pioneers! Oh, Pioneers!'”
There was silence for a few moments, and then Sadie leaned forward. “I don't know if I've said enough, or said too much, but Bob goes back in three days and could take a message.”
The color crept into Helen's face, and her look was strangely soft.
“Let him tell Stephen to finish his work as well as he can; say I understand.”