Virginia Aydelot stood at the west window watching her husband trying to carry two full pails of water which the wind seemed bent on blowing broadcast along his path. He had been plowing a double fireguard around the premises that morning and his face and clothes were gray with dust. These days of unceasing winds seemed to Virginia to sap the last atom of her energy. But she was young and full of determination. "Why did you put the well so far away, Asher?" she asked, as he came inside. The open door gave the wind a new crevice to fill, and it slapped wrathfully at the buckets, splashing the contents on the floor. "We have to put wells close to the water in this country. I put this one in before I built here. And if we have a well, we are so glad we don't try to move it. The wind might find it out and fill it up with sand while we were doing it. It's a jealous wind, this." Asher's smile lit up his dust-grimed face. "I've tried all day to keep the dust off the table. I meant to do a washing this morning, but how could any garment stay on the line out there and not be whipped to shreds?" "Virginia, did you ever do a washing before the war?" Asher asked through the towel. He was trying to scrub his face clean with the least possible amount of water. "Oh, that's ancient history. No, nor did I do anything else. I was too young. Did you ever try to till a whole section of land back in Ohio before the war?" Virginia asked laughingly. Asher took the towel from his head to look at her. "You are older than when I first knew you--the little lady of the old Jerome Thaine mansion home. But you haven't lost any of that girl's charms and you have gained some new ones with the years." "Stop staring at me and tell me why you didn't put the house down by the well, then," Virginia demanded. "I did pitch my tent there at first, but it is too near the river, and several things happened, beside," he replied. "Is that a river, really?" she inquired. "It looks like a weed trail." "Yes, it is very real when it elects to be. They call it Grass River because there's no grass in it--only sand and weeds--and they call it a river because there is seldom any water in it. But I've seen such lazy sand-foundered streams a mile wide and swift as sin. So I take no risk with precious property, even if I have to tote barrels of water and slop the parlor rug on windy days." "Then, why didn't you put another door in the kitchen end of the house?" Virginia questioned. "Two reasons, dearie. First, can you keep one door shut on days like this, even when there is no draught straight through the house?" he inquired. "Yes, when I put a chair against it, and the table against the chair, and the bed against the table, and the cookstove to back up the bed. I see. Shortage of furniture."