"And she was prettier than that even, the way I remember her best, with her hair all hanging down, coming to tuck me into bed at night.

Someway that's how I always seem to see her." The man drew a deep breath, and snapped shut the locket, yet still retained it in his hand.

"Is--is she dead ?" he questioned, and his voice trembled in spite of steel nerves.
"Yes, in St.Louis; dad took me there with him two years ago, and I saw her grave." "Dad?
Do you mean old Gillis ?" She nodded, beginning dimly to wonder why he should speak so fiercely and stare at her in that odd way.

He seemed to choke twice before he could ask the next question.
"Did he--old Gillis, I mean--claim to be your father, or her husband ?" "No, I don't reckon he ever did, but he gave me that picture, and told me she was my mother.

I always lived with him, and called him dad.