CHAPTER XV
THE CLAIMS OF DUTY
Half an hour later Joan left the house for the barn.
In that brief space she had lived through one of those swiftly-passing epochs in human life when mind, heart and inclination are brought into something approaching actual conflict. But, stern as the fight with weakness had been, she had emerged chastened and victorious. Realization had come to her—realization of whither her troubles had been leading her. She knew she must not abandon herself to the selfishness which her brief rebellion had prompted. She was young, inexperienced, and of a highly-sensitive temperament, but she was not weak. And it was this fact which urged her now. Metaphorically speaking, she had determined to tackle life with shirt sleeves rolled up.
She knew that duty was not only duty, but something which was to yield her a measure of happiness. She knew, too, that duty was not only to be regarded from a point of view of its benefit to others. There was a duty to oneself—which must not be claimed for the sin of selfishness—just as surely as to others; that in its thoroughness of performance lay the secret of all that was worth having in life, and that the disobedience of the laws of such duty, the neglect of them, was to outrage the canons of all life’s ethics, and to bring down upon the head of the offender the inevitable punishment.
She must live her life calmly, honestly, whatever the fate hanging over her. That was the first and most important decision she arrived at. She must not weakly yield to panic inspired by superstitious dread. To do so was, she felt, to undermine her whole moral being. She must ignore this shadow, she must live a life that defied its power. And when the cloud grew too black, if that method were not sufficient to dispel it, she must appeal for alleviation and support from that Power which would never deny its weak and helpless creatures. She knew that human endurance of suffering was intended to be limited, and that when that limit was honestly reached support was still waiting for the sufferer.
Thus she left the house in a chastened spirit, and once more full of youthful courage. The work, the new life she had chosen for herself, must fill every moment of her waking hours. And somehow she felt that with her stern resolve had come a foretaste of that happiness she demanded of life. Her spirits rose as she neared the barn, and a wild excitement filled her as she contemplated a minute inspection of her belongings and her intention to personally minister to their wants.
Something of the instinct of motherhood stirred in her veins at the thought. These were hers to care for—hers to attend and “do” for. She laughed as she thought of the family awaiting her. What a family. Yes, why not? These creatures were for the guardianship of the human race. With all their physical might they were helpless dependents on human aid. Yes, they must be thought for and cared for. They were her family. And she laughed again.
The barn was a sturdy building. Nor was it unpicturesque with its solid, dovetailed lateral logs and heavy thatched roof. She saw that it was built with the same care and finish as the house that was now her home. She could not help wondering at the manner of man who had designed and built it. She saw in it such deliberateness, such skill. There was nothing here of the slap-dash prairie carpenter she had read of—the man who flung up buildings simply for the needs of the moment. These were buildings that might last for ages and still retain all their original weather-proof comfort for the creatures they sheltered. She felt pleased with this man Moreton Kenyon.