It is a fact for students of heredity and environment to consider that
Miss Winship is not a product of the cities. Jasper M. Winship, her
father, is a bonanza farmer. Mrs. Winship was in her youth the belle of
prairie dances, and still has remarkable beauty.
Born of pioneer stock, baby Helen was reared to a life of freedom;
learning what she knew of grandeur from the sky and of luxury from the lap
of Mother Earth. Child of the sunshine and sweet air, she danced with the
butterflies, as innocent as they of cramping clothing that would distort
her body, or of city conventionalities that might warp her mind.
Year by year she grew, a brown-faced cherub, strong-limbed and supple.
Springtime after springtime her marvellous beauty budded, unnoted save by
the passing traveller, who put aside the bright, wind-blown hair to gaze
long into her fathomless eyes.
Roystering farm-hands checked their drunken songs at the little maid's
approach, but no wild thing feared her. Birds and squirrels came at her
call and fed from her hand.
And so it went. Chapters II and III described with brilliant inaccuracy my
University life and made me a piquant mixture of devotee of science and
favourite of fashion.
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