“Drive into that shed,” Prince Hawkins told her. “You come around to the kitchen—I guess your pa can unhitch, can’t he?” Thurley laughed. “Dear, no—makes him cough—he’s got a pain in his side, too. I sang four songs in the last town for painkiller, but it didn’t do him any good—over there, pa, dear—I’ll be with you in a minnit.” She watched the rickety wagon creak towards the shed. Betsey Pilrig and Philena crowded about Thurley. “Is your mother awful sick, too?” Betsey asked. Thurley nodded. “Always been sick—guess she always will be. Pa has been sick, too—ever since I remember anything.” “Where are their folks?” Mrs. Hawkins demanded. “Somebody ought to look after them!” “Guess they haven’t any,” Thurley answered easily. “Guess they’re all dead—or something.” She looked reproachfully at Daniel and Lorraine, who had retreated several feet away. “Guess you won’t laff again,” she said imperiously. She passed them with an absurd swagger, and a moment later they saw her unhitching the tired nags with the dexterity of a groom. “I swan,” Mrs. Hawkins said to Betsey Pilrig, “that mite carin’ for those worthless beggars—gettin’ her to sell their old pans—did you ever see such blue eyes and did you ever, ever hear any one sing like that? She’ll be famous, if she don’t starve to death takin’ care of them first!” “Granny,” said Philena Pilrig,—being lame Philena never played with other children—“I love that little girl; ask her to come see me.” “She don’t have time for visiting, I guess,” her grandmother answered. “We’ll send her something nice to eat; she’d rather have that.” Behind the woodpile Daniel and Lorraine were talking it over. “I’m sorry I laughed,” Lorraine said penitently. “You made me—my father don’t let me laugh at poor folks.” “Because he’s a minister—I laughed because it was funny,” Dan retorted, his dark eyes flashing, “and I bet now that—what’s her name?—Thurley would have laughed too, if she could have looked in a glass and seen herself. I like her. I bet _she_ wouldn’t cry, if she got lost in the woods.” This with a reproachful expression. Lorraine moved nearer him. “Dan, I didn’t really cry; I was just nervous. Maybe I can do things this girl can’t; anyhow, I don’t go around in a ragged dress and my hair all rumpled,” and she smoothed the pattern of her pink frock proudly. She was fair-haired with dove-colored eyes and tiny, dainty features. Dan did not answer. Lorraine touched his arm. “Are you mad?” she whispered earnestly. “Not mad, but you know, Lorraine, I only play with you because my father makes me—because your father’s the minister and pa thinks it looks well.” Daniel possessed the aggressive frankness of the Birge family, but he had not acquired their customary diplomacy. Lorraine’s underlip quivered. “Wouldn’t you play with me, unless I was?” she asked wistfully. “I always liked you best of every one.”