And Nature Takes No Account Of Moral

The Way To Become Rich Is To Make Money, Not To Save It.

The Delicious Breath Of Rain Was In The Air.

The Mother-women Seemed To Prevail That Summer At Grand Isle. It Was Easy To Know Them, Fluttering About With Extended, Protecting Wings When Any Harm, Real Or Imaginary, Threatened Their Precious Brood. They Were Women Who Idolized Their Children, Worshiped Their Husbands, And Esteemed It A Holy Privilege To Efface Themselves As Individuals And Grow Wings As Ministering Angels.

The Past Was Nothing To Her; Offered No Lesson Which She Was Willing To Heed. The Future Was A Mystery Which She Never Attempted To Penetrate. The Present Alone Was Significant.

It Was Not Despair, But It Seemed To Her As If Life Were Passing By, Leaving Its Promises Broken And Unfulfilled. Yet There Were Other Days When She Listened, Was Led On And Deceived By Fresh Promises Which Her Youth Had Held Out To Her.