Joseph pities them. I don’t see why they’re worth it. I don’t understand why their irresponsibility demands our sympathy. They’re useless. They just make more mouths to feed. And they will continue to do so. I overheard John saying last week that our crops aren’t doing well enough to support our rate of growth. The last thing we need are children running around. Incompetent, annoying, crying, shitting, children.I head up the creaky old stairs quickly, locking myself in my father’s study. I sit down at the old wooden desk where I had made some progress organizing the rest of his notes. It’s quiet a moment. Then the baby cries again. I hear the mother hushing it. This house is old. You can hear everything. I press my hands over my ears and look out the window, watching the progress being made in the gardens from the cooling comfort of a ceiling fan.