"No, I don't know. And don't think I ever need know, as a matter of
obligation. But should there ever come a time when you feel I would
understand, understand enough to help, then I should be glad and proud to
know, for it would make me feel I was no longer an outsider. And let me
tell you something. In whatever school you learned about life, there's
one thing they taught you wrong. They've developed you too much in
suspicion. They didn't give you a big enough course in trust. All the
people in this world aren't designing and cruel. Why the old globe is
just covered with beautiful people who are made happy in doing things for
the people about them."

"I haven't met them," were the words which came from the sob.

"I see you haven't; that's why I want you to. Your education has been
one-sided. So has mine. Perhaps we can strike a balance. What would you
think of our trying to do that?"

The wonder of it seemed stealing up upon the girl, growing upon her. "You
mean," she asked, in slow, hushed voice, "that I should stay
here--here?--as a friend of yours?"

"Stay here as a friend--and become a friend," came the answer,
quick and true.

So true that it went straight to the girl's heart. Tears came, different
tears, tears which were melting something. And yet, once again she
whispered: "But I don't understand."

"Try to understand. Stay here with me and learn to laugh and be foolish,
that'll help you understand. And if you're ever in the least oppressed