ere dead and
the original home disbanded, but there was no reason why I should think
of everybody else in the same terms. After all, Catherine had had a
mother and a father who'd come to see me after her disappearance.

So we went West, across Southern Illinois and over the big bridge at St.
Louis into Missouri and across Missouri and West, West, West. We parked
nights in small motels and took turns sleeping with one of us always
awake and alert with esper and telepath senses geared high for the first
sight of any threat. We gave the Highways we came upon a wide berth; at
no time did we come close to any of their way stations. It made our path
crooked and much longer than it might have been if we'd strung a line
and gone. But eventually we ended up in a small town in New Mexico and
at a small ranch house on the edge of the town.

It is nice to have parents; I missed my own deeply when I was reminded
of the sweet wonder of having people just plain glad to see their
children again, no matter what they'd done under any circumstances. Even
bringing a semi-invalid into their homes for an extended course of
treatment.

John Farrow was a tall man with gray at the temples and a pair of sharp
blue eyes that missed nothing. He was a fair perceptive who might have
been quite proficient if he had taken the full psi course at some
university. Mrs. Farrow was the kind of elderly woman that any man would
like to have for a mother. She was sweet and gentle but there was
neither foolish softness or fatuous nonsense about her. She was a
telepath and she knew her way around and let people know that she knew
what the score was. Farrow had a brother, James, who was not at home; he
lived in town with his wife but came out to the old homestead about once
every week on some errand or other.

They took me in as though I'd come home with their daughter for
sentimental reasons; Gloria sat with us in their living room and went
through the whole story, interrupted now and then by a remark aimed at
me. They inspected my hand and agreed that something must be done. They
were extremely interested in the Mekstrom problem and were amazed at
their daughter's feats of strength and endurance.

My hand, by this time, was beginning to throb again. The infection was
heading on a fine start down the pinky and middle fingers; the ring
finger was approaching the second joint to that point where the advance
stopped long enough for the infection to become com