“You ought to ’a’ asked somebody to help ye,” said Uncle William, gently.
“There wasn’t any one.”
“There was me.”
“Yes. I did ask you when I couldn’t go on.”
“That wa’n’t the way. Somebody would ’a’ helped—your folks, like enough—” He stopped, remembering.
“They are dead.”
He nodded. “I know. He told me. But I’d forgot—for a minute. They been dead long?”
“Two years. It was before I came away—at home, in Russia. We were all coming—father and mother and I, and my brother. Then they died; but I wanted to be free.” She had flung out her arms with a light movement.
“It’s a dretful good place to get away from,” said Uncle William. “Nice folks come from there, too. I never saw one that wa’n’t glad to come,” he added.
She smiled. “I was glad; and I am glad I came here. It has been hard—a little—but I found Alan.” Her voice sang.