The spring months of 1922 were the perfection of growing weather, and
Jean rejoiced for the farmers, but elsewhere on her planet there was
plenty of trouble to keep her determination strong. The coal strike
reminded her that there is very little of anything left on earth to
burn. The bloody condition of Ireland and the bloodless condition of
Russia were new proofs that food is hard to get. In Germany every
mother’s son who grew up devoted to the people was likely to be
assassinated. That was an old story on earth, and the assassination of
Dr. Walter Rathenau for making electricity and coal cheap merely
confirmed it.
A day or two after that death a sudden freeze killed all the raspberries
on which she had been counting for next winter’s suppers. Then
infusorial blight fell on all the potatoes, and she really did not see
where to get money to buy potatoes. These were trivial losses, but even
trivial losses sometimes affect the state of mind.
July came, and for the first time in three years she once more saw the
Little Pine. He had completed his high-school studies and come home for
a vacation. He remained unspoiled after playing football and studying
chemistry and associating with girls. Jean could not help sharing the
Little Red Leaf’s pride in him.