"What for?" she questioned mechanically.
"Back where I came from my folks are poor—these no-account poor that every enterprising man despises. I wanted to get something together and knew I should never be able to do it if they learned where I was, for I was eternally being called on to help them and keep them from starving when I was where they could call on me."
"Have you heard nothing from them since you came here?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, John! how could you? Perhaps your mother has wanted for something."
"She would have wanted just the same if I had been there."
"She might even be dead."
"I don't think so and hope not. At any rate, I have made some money. Now I'm going back to get the rest of them and I want you to wait for me until I come back. But your name will never be Ann McNeil."
"What will it be?" she asked with pale lips.
"Well," he said, looking at her with a half-smile, "if it's not Mrs. Abraham Lincoln before I return, it will be Mrs. James McNamra."