MADELINE: Fred had--all kinds of reasons for going to France. He wanted a trip. (_answering his exclamation_) Why, he _said_ so. Heavens, Fred didn't make speeches about himself. Wanted to see Paris--poor kid, he never did see Paris. Wanted to be with a lot of fellows--knock the Kaiser's block off--end war, get a French girl. It was all mixed up--the way things are. But Fred was a pretty decent sort. I'll say so. He had such kind, honest eyes. (_this has somehow said itself; her own eyes close and what her shut eyes see makes feeling hot_) One thing I do know! Fred never went over the top and out to back up the argument you're making now! FEJEVARY: (_stiffly_) Very well, I will discontinue the argument I'm making now. I've been trying to save you from--pretty serious things. The regret of having stood in the way of Morton College--(_his voice falling_) the horror of having driven your father insane. MADELINE: _What?_ FEJEVARY: One more thing would do it. Just the other day I was talking with Professor Holden about your father. His idea of him relates back to the pioneer life--another price paid for this country. The lives back of him were too hard. Your great-grandmother Morton--the first white woman in this region--she dared too much, was too lonely, feared and bore too much. They did it, for the task gave them a courage for the task. But it--left a scar. MADELINE: And father is that--(_can hardly say it_)--scar. (_fighting the idea_) But Grandfather Morton was not like that. FEJEVARY: No; he had the vision of the future; he was robust with feeling for others. (_gently_) But Holden feels your father is the--dwarfed pioneer child. The way he concentrates on corn--excludes all else--as if unable to free himself from their old battle with the earth. MADELINE: (_almost crying_) I think it's pretty terrible to--wish all that on poor father. FEJEVARY: Well, my dear child, it's life has 'wished it on him'. It's just one other way of paying the price for his country. We needn't get it for nothing. I feel that all our chivalry should go to your father in his--heritage of loneliness. MADELINE: Father couldn't always have been--dwarfed. Mother wouldn't have cared for him if he had always been--like that. FEJEVARY: No, if he could have had love to live in. But no endurance for losing it. Too much had been endured just before life got to him. MADELINE: Do you know, Uncle Felix--I'm afraid that's true? (_he nods_) Sometimes when I'm with father I feel those things near--the--the too much--the too hard,--feel them as you'd feel the cold. And now that it's different--easier--he can't come into the world that's been earned. Oh, I wish I could help him! (_As they sit there together, now for the first time really together, there is a shrill shout of derision from outside_.) MADELINE: What's that? (_a whistled call_) Horace! That's Horace's call. That's for his gang. Are they going to start something now that will get Atma in jail?