"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.

"Some folks would say that was the wust of it," said Uncle William. "You
found him and he fell sick, and you had him to take care on--cross as
two sticks some of the time." He regarded her mildly.