you?"

The partners, looking rather foolish, said nothing for a moment. Then
Zoeth muttered that he didn't know but she had.

"Yes," said Mary-'Gusta, "I--I think so. You see I'm--I mean I was a
stepchild 'long as father was here. Now he's dead and I ain't even
that. And I ain't anybody's cousin nor nephew nor niece. I just
ain't anything. I'm different from everybody I know. And--and--" very
solemnly--"I don't like to be so different."

Her lip quivered as she said it. Sitting there on the cranberry crate,
hugging her dolls, she was a pathetic little figure. Again the partners
found it hard to answer. Mr. Hamilton looked at the Captain and the
latter, his fingers fidgeting with his watchchain, avoided the look. The
girl went on.

"I was thinking," she said, "how nice 'twould have been if I'd had a--a
brother or somebody of my very own. I've got children, of course, but
they're only dolls and a cat. They're nice, but they ain't real folks.
I wish I had some real folks. Do you suppose if--if I have to go to
the--the orphans' home, there'd be anybody there that would be my
relation? I didn't know but there might be another orphan there who
didn't have anybody, same as me, and then we could make believe we
was--was cousins or somethin'. That would be better than nothin',
wouldn't it?"

Zoeth stepped forward and, bending over, kissed her cheek. "Never you
mind, Mary-'Gusta," he said. "You ain't gone there yet and afore you do
maybe Cap'n Shad and I can think up some relations for you."