"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—"