"How old are you?" he asked abruptly of Alicia.

"Sixteen," she replied. "I was sixteen last October."

"You look like your mother at that age. She was my only sister. She
has now been dead--"

"Ten years," prompted Alicia. "I was a little child when she died."

"And who looks after you now? Your father's sister, isn't it?"

"Yes, Uncle Jeff. My Aunt Nellie. But I'm at school, you know. I shall
be there the next four years, I suppose."

"Yes, yes, to be sure. Yes, yes, of course. And you, Bernice? You have
no mother, either. But who looks after you?"

"I look after myself, Uncle. Father thinks there's no necessity for me
to have a chaperon in our little home town."

"Not a chaperon, child, but you ought to have some one to guide and
teach you."

"Dad doesn't think so. He says an American girl can take care of
herself."

"Maybe so, maybe so. It might be a good thing for you to go to school
with Alicia."