t like all of a sudden, a woman as
active as mamma always was, her health and--her mind kind of went off
with a pop."

"Thu! Thu!"

"Doctor says with care she can live for years, but--but it seems
terrible the way her--poor mind keeps skipping back. Past all these
thirty years in America to--even weeks before I was born. The night
they--took my father off to Siberia, with his bare feet in the snow--for
distributing papers they found on him--papers that used the word
'_svoboda_'--'freedom.' And the time, ten years later--they shot down my
brother right in front of her for--the same reason. She keeps living it
over--living it over till I--could die."

"Say, ain't that just a shame, though!"

"Living it, and living it, and living it! The night with me, a heavy
three-year-old, in her arms that she got us to the border, dragging a
pack of linens with her! The night my father's feet were bleeding in the
snow, when they took him! How with me a kid in the crib, my--my
brother's face was crushed in--with a heel and a spur--all night,
sometimes, she cries in her sleep--begging to go back to find the
graves. All day she sits making raffia wreaths to take back--making
wreaths--making wreaths!"

"Say, ain't that tough!"

"It's a godsend she's got the eyes to do it. It's wonderful the way she
reads--in English, too. There ain't a daily she misses. Without them and
the wreaths--I dunno--I just dunno. Is--is it any wonder, Milt, I--I
can't see the joke?"

"My God, no!"

"I'll get her back, though."

"Why, you--she can't get back there, Mrs. C."

"There's a way. Nobody can tell me there's not. Before the war--before
she got like this, seven hundred dollars would have done it for both of
us--and it will again, after the war. She's got the bank-book, and every
week that I can squeeze out above expenses, she sees the entry for
herself. I'll get her back. There's a way lying around somewhere. God
knows why she should eat out her heart to go back--but she wants it.
God, how she wants it!"

"Poor old dame!"

"You boys guy me with my close-fisted buying these last two years. It's
up to me, Milt, to squeeze this old shebang dry. There's not much more
than a living in it at best, and now with Selene grown up and naturally
wanting to have it like other girls, it ain't always easy to see my way
clear. But I'll do it, if I got to trust the store for a year to a child
like Selene. I'll get her back."

"You can call on me, Mrs. C.,