"I know what you're going to say, but I've got none," she said.
"Got none?" he repeated.
The little maiden's face took suddenly a wondrous solemnity, and she said, "My father died a long, long, long time ago—when I was only a little baby."
His lips quivered, and his eyes fell from her face.
"Such a long, long while ago—you wouldn't think. And auntie says I can't even remember him."
"Auntie?"
"But shall I tell you what Kerry said it was that made him die?—shall I?—only I must whisper—and you won't tell auntie, will you?—because auntie doesn't know—shall I tell you?"
His quivering lips whitened, and with trembling hands he drew aside the little maiden's head that her innocent eyes might not gaze into his face.
"How old are you, Ailee ven?" he asked, in a brave voice.
"Oh, I'm seven—and auntie, she's seven too; auntie and I are twins."