"First," he resumed, "selfishness is a bad patient to nurse. Secondly, we must appreciate that ours—our lives have a duty to fulfill. Bringing children into the world and rearing them to clean and healthy man and womanhood is that duty—our greatest duty. And now with regards to that receipt, or receipts.
"I will not seek to deny that such practices are not in some measure a custom. Such very often are given thoughtlessly as to the infinite harm, ill health and unhappiness they might later bring. But the fact that others cultivate and heed such is no reason, dear, do you feel, that we should?"
"No, Jean," she admitted without hesitation and very humbly.
"I feel more inspired to say this at this point in our new union, Orlean, because I cannot believe that it is your nature to be wicked; to wilfully practice and condone the wrong."
"Oh, Jean," she cried, moving toward him; laying her hands upon him, and seeking his eyes with her soul standing out in hers. "You are so noble and so good," and in the next minute she was weeping silently upon his shoulder.
The dry weather continued over all the West, and for two weeks the wind remained in the south, and blew almost day and night. Heretofore, it had been known to blow not more than a week at the most, before the heat would be broken by a rain. And coincident with the heat and drought, the crops began to fire, plants of all kinds to wither, and every one in the country of our story became ominous.
But the Creator seemed to be with the struggling people of the new country, the drought was broken by rain before the crops were destroyed; the harvest was very good, and with the completion of the same, Orlean met her husband one evening with a letter, announcing that her father was coming to visit soon. And the next day they got another letter—no, a paper. It was a summons, and concerned Orlean.