"Maybe ye might remember," he went on, lightly lifting her hand in his, and striking it gently across his knee to beget an easy confidential manner, "maybe ye might remember that I allers allowed to do two things ef ever I might make a strike--one was to give you a good schoolin'--the other was to find Grace, if so be as she was above the yearth. They waz many ways o' finding out--many ways o' settin' at it, but they warn't _my_ ways. I allus allowed that ef thet child was in harkenin' distance o' the reach o' my call, she'd hear me. I mout have took other men to help me--men ez was sharp in them things, men ez was in that trade--but I didn't. And why?" Olly intimated by an impatient shake of her head that she didn't know. "Because she was that shy and skary with strangers. Ye disremember how shy she was, Olly, in them days, for ye was too young to notice. And then, not bein' shy yourself, but sorter peart, free and promisskiss, ready and able to keep up your end of a conversation with anybody, and allus ez chipper as a jay-bird--why, ye don't kinder allow that fur Gracy as I do. And thar was reasons why that purty chile should be shy--reasons ye don't understand now, Olly, but reasons pow'ful and strong to such a child as thet." "Ye mean, Gabe," said the shamelessly direct Olly, "that she was bashful, hevin' ran away with her bo." That perplexity which wiser students of human nature than Gabriel have experienced at the swift perception of childhood in regard to certain things left him speechless. He could only stare hopelessly at the little figure before him. "Well, wot did _you_ do, Gabe? Go on!" said Olly, impatiently. Gabriel drew a long breath. "Thar bein' certing reasons why Gracy should be thet shy--reasons consarning propperty o' her deceased parients," boldly invented Gabriel, with a lofty ignoring of Olly's baser suggestion, "I reckoned that she should get the first word from _me_ and not from a stranger. I knowed she warn't in Californy, or she'd hev seen them handbills I issued five years ago. What did I do? Thar is a paper wot's printed in New York, called the _Herald_. Thar is a place in that thar paper whar they print notisses to people that is fur, fur away. They is precious words from fathers to their sons, from husbands to their wives, from brothers to sisters, ez can't find each other, from"---- "From sweethearts to thar bo's," said Olly, briskly; "I know." Gabriel paused in speechless horror. "Yes," continued Olly. "They calls 'em 'Personals.' Lord! I know all 'bout them. Gals get bo's by them, Gabe!" Gabriel looked up at the bright, arching vault above him. Yet it did not darken nor split into fragments. And he hesitated. Was it worth while to go on? Was there anything he could tell this terrible child--his own sister--which she did not already know better than he?