Alexandra remembered the little yellow cane she had found in frank's clothes-closet. She thought of how he had come to this country a gay young fellow,so attractive that the prettiest Bohemian girl in Omaha had run away with him. It seemed unreasonable that life should have landed him in such a place as this. She blamed Marie bitterly. And why, with her happy, affectionate nature, should she have brought destruction and sorrow to all who had loved her,even to poor old Joe Tovesky, the uncle who used to carry her about so proudly when she was a little girl? That was the strangest thing of all. Was there,then, something wrong in being warm-hearted and impulsive like that? Alexandra hated to think so. But there was emil, in the Norwegian graveyard at home,and here was frank Shabata. Alexandra rose and took him by the hand.