y Jean played together
back in their little days; before we moved to South Harvey." He lowered
his voice.

"George, mother hasn't heard from Jean for going on two year, now. She
went off with a fellow; told us she married him--she was just a
child--but had been working around in the factories--and, well, I don't
say so, but I guess she just has got where she's ashamed to
write--maybe."

His voice rose in anger as he cried: "Why didn't she have a show, like
this girl of Joe's? He's no better than I. And you know my wife--well,
she's no Mrs. Joe Calvin--she's been as happy about 'em when they came
as if they were princes of the blood." He stopped.

"Then there's Mugs--I dunno, George,--it seems like we tried with Mugs,
but all them saloons and--well, the gambling and the women under his
nose from the time he was ten years old--well, I can't make him work.
Little Jack is steady enough for a boy of twenty--he's in the Company
mines, and we've put Ben in this year. He is twelve--though, for
Heaven's sake, don't go blabbing it; he's supposed to be fourteen. And
little Betty, she's in school yet. I don't know how she'll turn out. No,
George," he went on, "children for us poor, children's a mighty risky,
uncertain crop. But," he smiled reflectively, "I'm right here to tell
you they're lots of fun as little shavers--growing up. Why, George, you
ought to hear Benny sing. Them Copinis of the Hot Dog found he had a
voice, and they've taught him some dago songs." Ben was a bright-faced
boy of twelve--big for his age, with snappy, brown eyes and apples of
cheeks and curly hair. He slipped away to look into a store window,
leaving the two men alone. Mr. Brotherton was in a mellow mood. He put
his great paw on the small man's shoulder and said huskily:

"Say, Dick, honest, I'd rather have just one boy like that than the
whole damn Valley--that's right!"

The car came bowling up and the South Harvey people boarded it. Grant
Adams rode down into the Valley with great dreams in his soul. He talked
little to the Bowmans, but looked out of the window and saw the dawn of
another day. It is the curse of dreamers that they believe that when
they are convinced of a truth, they who have pursued it, who have
suffered for it, who have been exalted by it, they have only to pass out
their truth to the world to remake the universe. But the world is made
over only when the common mind sees the truth, and the common heart
feels it. So the history