As Told by May Iverson
Well, I told her. It wasn't much, of course, and then I waited to see if she'd tell me anything. She did. She told me the whole story in one sentence. She said:
"My only sister is in that company, May—" and then she added, under her breath, "Oh, if I could see her!"
"Well," I said, "she'll come to see you, won't she?" You know their friends can come and see the Sisters and have a happy visit sitting on the other side of an iron grating and talking to them. I've had to do that once or twice since I was graduated, and it just makes me sick. But I was talking about Sister Chrysostom.
She shook her head and said, very sadly, "No, she does not know that I am here. Even if she did, she would not come." Then all the brightness faded out of her face, and she looked her old self again. Even the sarcastic little lines around her mouth came back. She passed her hand across her forehead, and when she spoke again her voice seemed tired. She said: "Thank you for telling me, May. She is my little sister. She is only twenty now, and I have not seen her since she was twelve. When we were together no two sisters ever loved each other more. I really brought her up until I—came here. My people opposed
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