“Dear mademoiselle, I do understand, indeed I do. It grieves me to the heart that you must go, and that you are unhappy. Only—to cross the ocean! To see that great wonderful country of America—ah! sapperli! Think how many would give all they possess for a chance!”
“But—but to leave Switzerland, Zitli! You couldn’t bear it yourself?”
Zitli gave his quaint shrug.
“My faith, mademoiselle, I do not know. Not, of course, unless I was sure, sure, of returning to my own country. But it appears to me that America is your own country, Mademoiselle Honor. One has—forgive me, but you have said we are friends—one has a duty to that, not so?”
Honor hung her head.
“I never thought of that!” she said. “How could a great country need a girl like me?”
Zitli looked at her with kind grave eyes; she had not realized before how like he was, on his small scale, to the Twins.
“My brother Atli says, my sister Gretli also, that a country has need of all her children. They should be always ready—pardon, mademoiselle! One beckons you yonder, the ancient lady, very beautiful, on the bench.”
“It is my aunt—at least I am to call her aunt!” explained Honor. “Come, Zitli, come and be introduced to her! She is strange, but so kind and good; I want you to know her.
“My aunt,” she cried, when Zitli, making his best speed on his crutches, had reached the corner where Mrs. Damian sat, and had made his bow, “this is Zitli, my friend! I am glad for him to know you; and for you to know him!” she added, her cheeks glowing with loyal affection.