"Oh, off there." Minty pointed a vague finger behind them seaward. "We lived there when father went fishin' afore he was drownded. I was real small, and I didn't have no cow. Daisy was born the year we come here, and Thinkright gave her to me."
"Oh, she's a pet, then; so I needn't be afraid of her."
"No-o, she wouldn't hook nobody! Beside, didn't you know if you're skeered o' things they're likely to happen?"
"Oh, are they? Well, luckily I'm not scared of many things."
"Where do you live?" asked Minty, renewing her grave stare at the admired guest.
"I,"—Sylvia's mind flew back over a panorama of abiding places. "A—I think I shall have to say nowhere," she replied after a pause. "I'm a tramp, Minty."
The child regarded her, unsatisfied and skeptical. "Why, where's yer mother and father?" she drawled.
"I,"—again the mutability and doubtfulness of all things were brought home to Sylvia. "I don't know," she replied. "They are dead."
"There ain't any such thing," returned Minty. "When folks seem to be dead they're goin' on livin' jest the same. Thinkright says so."
"Does my cousin Thinkright know everything?" inquired Sylvia smiling.