REVEREND MCCARTHY DECIDES TO SET BAPTISTE RIGHT, BUT—

"NOW the first thing, daughter," said the Reverend, "when Jean comes and you have the time, is to go up and see your claim." Orlean swallowed, and started to tell him that it was contested; but on second thought, decided to leave the task to her husband, and said instead:

"I have a fine claim, papa. Jean says it is the best piece of land we have."

"Now isn't that fine!"

"It is," Orlean said, thinking of her husband.

"Your husband has a plenty, my dear, and we have been surprised that you have not been sending money to Chicago to have us buy something for you."

Orlean swallowed again and started to speak; to say that while her husband was a heavy land holder, the crops had not been the best the year before and were not as good this year as he had hoped for. Then she thought Jean could explain this better, also, instead she said:

"I—I haven't wanted for anything, papa."

"No, perhaps not. But you know papa always thinks of his baby; always buys her little things and so on, you know." He paused, regarded her and the dress she wore. He recognized it as one that she had bought just before she had gotten married—forgetting that Jean Baptiste had paid for it—and said:

"And you have on the same dress you wore away from Chicago! Indeed, and that is a spring dress! Why do you not wear some of your summer dresses? Some you have bought since you have been married?"

"I haven't bought—my husband hasn't—I haven't needed any more clothes, really," she argued falteringly. He saw that she was keeping something back, and pursued:

"Why, dear, what do you mean! You don't mean to say that Jean hasn't bought you any dresses since he married you, and him owning so much land!"

"But I haven't needed any, papa—I have not asked him for any." He looked at her keenly. He saw that she was shielding the man she married, but with this he had no patience.

"Now, now, my dear. Jean ought not to treat my girl like that. He ought to buy you lots of things, and pretty things. I'm rather inclined to think he is miserly—have rather felt he was all the time." He paused briefly, posed in the way he did when preaching, and then went on. "Yes, you are sacrificing a great deal by coming away out here in a new country and living with him. Yes, yes, my dear. You see you are deprived of many conveniences; conveniences that you have been accustomed to." He looked around the little house; at its floor with only rugs, and its simple furniture. "Just compare this to the home you came out of. The good home. Yes, yes. I'm afraid that—that the rough life your husband has been living rather makes him forget the conventions my daughter has been accustomed to. Yes, I think so. I'm afraid I'll have to kind of—a—bring such to his attention that he might see his duty. Yes, my dear—"

"But, papa! I—I—think you had—better not. You see—" and she caught his arm and was thoughtful, looking downward in the meantime. She loved Jean Baptiste, but she was not a strong willed person by nature, training or disposition. She had inherited her mother's timidness. At heart she meant well to the man she married, but she had always been obedient to her father; had never sauced him and had never crossed him, which was his boast. Perhaps it was because of these things and that he knew it, that his nature asserted itself.

"I'm afraid you, like any newly married wife, are inclined to forget these things, rather accept your husband's excuse. Now your husband has a plenty, and can well afford to give to you. And, besides, you—he should not forget the sacrifices you are making for him. That is what he should see. Yes, yes. Now take Ethel," he suddenly turned to her. "Why, Glavis only makes thirteen dollars a week, and—why, Ethel makes him do just what she wants him to. Buys her a dress any time she wants it; a hat, a pair of shoes—and whatever she wishes. That's Ethel," he ended, forgetting to add that Glavis also bought and paid for the food Mrs. McCarthy ate, or that he, himself only brought—and never bought things to eat only when he came into Chicago, three or five times a year—and sent a few things infrequently. But Orlean had taken a little courage. It was rather unusual, and she was surprised at herself. She was surprised that she dared even argue—just a little—with her father. He had always been accepted as infallible without question. To get along with him—have peace, her mother and she had always followed the rule of letting everything be his way, and be content with their own private opinion without expression as to conclusions. Moreover, whether he was right or wrong, abused or accused, the rule was to praise and flatter him notwithstanding. And at such times they could depend on him to do much for them. But she found her voice. Jean Baptiste was her husband, and she was not ungrateful. He gave her real love and husbandry, and it was perhaps her woman's nature to speak in defense of her mate. So she said:

"But Jean is not like Glavis, papa. They are two different men entirely."

"Well, yes, my dear," he said slowly, his dark face taking on a peculiar—and not very pleasant expression, "I'm afraid I will have to agree with you. Yes. They are different. Glavis is a fine boy, though. Don't own a thousand acres of land, but certainly takes care of home like a man. No, no. I never have to worry about anything. Just come home every few months to see that everything is all right—and find it so. Yes, that is Glavis. While Jean," and his mind went quickly back to an incident that had happened twenty-one years before, "is rather set in his ways. Yes, very much so, I fear. That is one of his failings. Some people would call it hard headed, but I should not quite call it that. No. Then, again," he paused a moment, looked at the floor and looked up. "He's crazy to get rich. You see, dear—of course you don't know that. Not old enough. That's where your father has the advantage over you—and Jean also. He's older. It's bad when a man is ambitious to get rich, for he is liable to work himself and his wife to death. Jean's liable to do that with you. Not like your old father, you know."

"Here he comes now," she cried excitedly, going quickly to the kitchen and making a fire and starting the meal. Her father looked after her. He looked out the window to where his son-in-law was unhitching his horses. He looked back to where his daughter was working nervously over the stove, and muttered to himself. "Has her trained to run like something frightened at his approach. That's the same spirit I tried to conquer twenty-one years ago and it is still in him. M-m. I'll have to look after that disposition." And with that he went outside to where his daughter's husband worked.

"Hello, Reverend," called Jean cheerfully. The "Reverend" darkened and glowered unseen. He did not like that term of address. Glavis called him "father." That was better. But he returned apparently as cheerful:

"Hello, my boy. So you are home to dinner?"

"Yes. Guess it's ready. She is very prompt about having my meals on time. Yes. Orlean is a good girl, and appreciates that I believe in always being on time," he rattled off.

"And how are the crops?"

"Not so good, not so good, I regret to say," said Jean moodily. "No; to be truthful, it is the poorest crop I have ever raised. Yes," he mused as if to himself. "And I need a good crop this year worse than I have ever needed one. Yes, I sure do.

"Indeed so. Got lots of expense. Borrowed ten thousand dollars to buy that land out there in Tripp County, and have none of it producing anything. And on top of that a guy comes along and slaps a contest on Orlean's place, and so I have that on my hands in addition to all the other burdens. So, believe me, it keeps me hopping."

"A contest on Orlean's place? What does that mean?"

"Does that mean! But of course you couldn't understand," whereat, Baptiste tried to explain to him what it meant.

"So you see you find us with our troubles." The Reverend made no reply to this. Indeed, he had never been able to reply to Jean Baptiste. In the first place, the man was ever too hurried; moreover, he understood so little regarding practical business matters until their relations had never been congenial. When Jean had watered and fed his teams he came back to where the Elder stood and said:

"Well, Judge, we'll go in to dinner." Now the Reverend was almost upset. Such flat expressions! Such a little regard for his caste. Horrid! He started to speak to him regarding his lack of manners, but that one had his face in the tub where the horses had drank, washing himself eagerly. When he was through, he drew water from the well, and pouring it into a wash basin rinsed himself, and called for the towel. No sooner had he done so than out of the house came Orlean with the goods.

"Wash up," cried Baptiste, pointing to the horse tub.

"Jean!" called his wife remonstratingly. "You forget yourself. Asking papa to wash where the horses have drank! You must be more thoughtful!"

Baptiste laughed. "Beg pardon, Colonel. You see this open life has made me—er—rather informal. But you'll get used to and like it with time. Wash up and let's eat!"

"He's wild, just wild!" muttered the Reverend, as he followed them into the house.