We embroidered, and I drew, and sometimes we had little treats and good times, and my father did not come often, and we got along the best we could.

Always it was worse on her, because she was not so strong as I, and her heart was secretly breaking for her mother, and she was afraid he would come back any hour.

She was tortured that she could not educate me more than to put me through the high school.

She wore herself out doing that, but she was wild for me to be reared and trained right.

So every day she crouched over delicate laces and embroidery, and before and after school I carried it and got more, and in vacation we worked together.