"Don't be too hard on him, Jean. He's got good credentials."
"And so had Sam O'Dowd. No, daddie, I won't have any money unless I can get it honestly. As soon as I can earn some cash by teaching, I'll send it to the dear old grandfolks. They capped the climax of their selfishness in jeopardizing the property and happiness of all concerned to gratify their selfish pride in Uncle Joe."
"Your theories and practices don't tally, Jean," laughed her father as he turned, and, with a tender good-bye aside for Sally O'Dowd and an open and hearty adieu to the children, he seated himself in the buggy beside his sister-in-law and drove rapidly away.
"I wonder how many years must elapse before the roads to Portland are as snugly finished and kept in as good repair as they are to-day from one suburb of London town to another?" asked Mrs. Joseph, merely to break an embarrassing silence.
"In another fifty years the people'll be awake to the need, mebbe. It takes a hundred years to make a new country habitable."
"My people always want their hunting-grounds to remain wild," said Mrs. Joseph. "I used to like the most primitive modes of life in my childhood; but I learned a better way in London."
"Did you learn to like the Indian life again, Wahnetta?"
"Never, sir. But I stooped to conquer, and I have succeeded. But I never could have done the best that was in me, for myself and Joseph, to say nothing of the children, if my father hadn't made me, instead of my husband, his legatee. It takes money to do things."
