s light suffused her countenance.

"No, I am not a lady," she said, "but you remember what father
said. Our mother was a lady, and I am going to be one."

Almost never had the children spoken of their mother. The subject
was at once too sacred and too terrible for common speech. Kalman
laid down his spoon.

"I remember," he said after a few moments' silence. A shadow
lay upon his face. "She was a lady, and she died in the snow."
His voice sank to a whisper. "Wasn't it awful, Irma?"

"Yes, Kalman dear," said his sister, sitting down beside him and
putting her arms about his neck, "but she had no pain, and she was
not afraid."

"No," said the boy with a ring in his voice, "she was not afraid;
nor was father afraid either." He rose from his meal.

"Why, Kalman," exclaimed his sister, "you are not half done your
feast. There are such lots of nice things yet."

"I can't eat, Irma, when I think of that--of that man. I choke
here," pointing to his throat.

"Well, well, we won't think of him to-night. Some day very soon,
we shall be free from him. Sit down and eat."

But the boy remained standing, his face overcast with a fierce frown.

"Some day," he muttered, more to himself than to his sister,
"I shall kill him."

"Not to-day, at any rate, Kalman," said his sister, brightening
up. "Let us forget it to-night. Look at this pie. It is from
Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and this pudding."

The boy allowed his look to linger upon the dainties. He was a
healthy boy and very hungry. As he looked his appetite returned.
He shook himself as if throwing off a burden.

"No, not to-night," he said; "I am not going to stop my feast for him."

"No, indeed," cried Irma. "Come quick and finish your feast.
Oh, what eating we have had, and then what dancing! And they
all want to dance with me," she continued,--"Jacob and Henry and
Nicholas, and they are all nice except that horrid little Sprink."

"Did you not dance with him?"

"Yes," replied his sister, making a little face, "I danced with
him too, but he wants me to dance with no one else, and I don't
like that. He makes me afraid, too, just like Rosenblatt."

"Afraid!" said her brother scornfully.

"No, not afraid," said Irma quickly. "But never mind, here is the
pudding. I am sorry it is cold."

"All right," said the boy, mumbling with a full mouth, "it is fine.
Don't you be afraid of that Sprink; I'll knock his head off if he
harms you."

"Not yet, Kalman," said Irma, smili