"
"You've never heard from your sister since then?" The thing appeared
incredible to Stephen.
"Never. Now you can guess what I've been growing up for, living for, all
these years. To find her."
"But surely," Stephen argued, "there must have been some way to----"
"Not any way that was in my power, till now. You see I was helpless. I
had no money, and I was a child. I'm not very old yet, but I'm older
than my years, because I had this thing to do. There I was, at a
farmhouse school in the country, two miles out of Potterston--and you
would think Potterston itself not much better than the backwoods, I'm
sure. When I was fourteen, my stepmother died suddenly--leaving all the
money which came from my father to her husband, except several thousand
dollars to finish my education and give me a start in life; but Mr.
Potter lost everything of his own and of mine too, in some wild
speculation about which the people in that part of Indiana went mad. The
crash came a year ago, and the Misses Jennings, who kept the school,
asked me to stay on as an under teacher--they were sorry for me, and so
kind. But even if nothing had happened, I should have left then, for I
felt old enough to set about my real work. Oh, I see you think I might
have got at my sister before, somehow, but I couldn't, indeed. I tried
everything. Not only did I write and write, but I begged the Misses
Jennings to help, and the minister of the church where we went on
Sundays.
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