“That doesn't explain why he goes over to the enemy, when it's only a lot of grass.”
Kirsteen answered:
“He hasn't gone over to the enemy, Sheila. You don't understand your father; to neglect the land is sacrilege to him. It feeds us—he would say—we live on it; we've no business to forget that but for the land we should all be dead.”
“That's beautiful,” said Nedda quickly; “and true.”
Sheila answered angrily:
“It may be true in France with their bread and wine. People don't live off the land here; they hardly eat anything they grow themselves. How can we feel like that when we're all brought up on mongrel food? Besides, it's simply sentimental, when there are real wrongs to fight about.”
“Your father is not sentimental, Sheila. It's too deep with him for that, and too unconscious. He simply feels so unhappy about the waste of that hay that he can't keep his hands off it.”
Derek broke in: “Mother's right. And it doesn't matter, except that we've got to see that the men don't follow his example. They've a funny feeling about him.”
Kirsteen shook her head.
“You needn't be afraid. He's always been too strange to them!”