"I mean at least half of it," asserted Warren doggedly. "Of course when Mr. and Mrs. Gay died, everyone pitched in and helped the children; I suppose they did, though I wasn't here to see. But I do know that now when they need advice and practical help, they're apparently forgotten. Their attendance at school last winter was a farce and yet the authorities let an investigation slide; Mr. Hildreth promises vaguely to 'look after them' in the fall--and there they are, six fine American children left to bring themselves up." "Someone must be responsible," said Mrs. Willis firmly. "I'll speak to Hugh--he will know what to do." Warren shook his head. "I wouldn't--that is not yet," he declared. "It is rather difficult to explain and--well, I suppose I haven't been quite fair in my statements, either. Alec and Louisa do not invite friendship--they are extremely proud and shy and so reserved as to be almost repellant to strangers. I think every allowance should be made, under the circumstances, for them, but the neighbors who tried to do for them at first were miffed, I suppose, and take the attitude that if they want to keep to themselves, they may. "Alec is close-mouthed, too, and I fancy he has resented attempts to publicly discuss their financial affairs. There is a mortgage on the farm, of course--what would a farm be without a mortgage?" Warren digressed for a moment but was instantly serious--"and I suppose the interest keeps Alec awake nights figuring. Both he and Louisa have given up going anywhere--they send one of the children to the Center for the few things they have to buy. It's simmered right down to this--they're avoiding everyone and if they don't look out they'll be as queer as--as the dickens!" "Like some of those mountaineers I saw when Hugh took me over the back road to that little settlement at the foot of the hills," said Mrs. Willis. "The women peep out of the windows furtively and the children run if they see a stranger--all because they have lost the habit of meeting folk." "That's it," agreed Warren eagerly. "That's what I mean. And I think it is a shame, for the Gays are nice kids--clean and honest and wholesome. You know I would never have taken the girls over there if there was the slightest possibility of the Gays setting them a bad example in any way. I have a cousin who is a teacher and she is always preaching that children pick up the bad traits they see in others quicker than they do the good ones." "I'm not so sure of that," smiled Mrs. Willis. "But I am glad you are so thoughtful, Warren. They are very precious to me--my three daughters." "If I had three sisters like them--" Warren's voice faltered. He began again, hurriedly.