"I hate it, Bles, don't you?"
"Hate what?"
"Killing any of it; it's all so pretty."
"But it must be, so that what's left will be prettier, or at least more useful."
"But it shouldn't be so; everything ought to have a chance to be beautiful and useful."
"Perhaps it ought to be so," admitted Bles, "but it isn't."
"Isn't it so—anywhere?"
"I reckon not. Death and pain pay for all good things."
She hoed away silently, hesitating over the choice of the plants, pondering this world-old truth, saddened by its ruthless cruelty.
"Death and pain," she murmured; "what a price!"