"Don't shout at me, Bernard; don't be cross! Why should you? I daresay it's all quite true, but children don't always bring happiness. Think of the parents you know who have large families! They are always in trouble. Some of the brood are always miserable, or ill, or in difficulties, or poor, or unruly, or all at once, and the poor parents have to rack their brains to think how they can help, and suffer every pang with them; _worse_ pangs, because the children are young, and can shake things off, and the parents sit by the fire and think. I've seen it with my own parents. They never had a chance of being happy and restful. One or other of us was always tearing their heart-strings." "People don't have children for the sake of happiness, my good girl," the Squire said bluntly. "A certain amount of happiness goes to it, no doubt, but that's not the principal consideration. It's a duty they owe to the race, and they must be prepared to take the rough with the smooth. You can't expect to rear any young thing without trouble." "But they don't _care_ in return, Bernard! They care so little. That's the heart-break. Parents are everlastingly giving out, and getting so little in return. It's an empty feeling. Children give so little, in comparison with the love that is lavished on them." "Who expects them to care?" demanded the Squire. "It's nature that the old should look after the young; it's nature that the young should fly away. It's no use bucking against nature! You are thinking of your own satisfaction, and the amount of happiness _you_ are going to get out of the business. That's where you're wrong. There's too much talk of happiness these days. I don't believe in it. It makes people soft and finicking. If they thought less about their feelings, and more about their work, it would be a damned sight better for all concerned. We were not put into this world to be happy."