screamed Kalman. "He is a black
devil," glancing at the black bearded man who stood waiting them at
the door of the Fitzpatrick dwelling.

"Hush, hush, you bad boy!" exclaimed Paulina, horrified,
laying her hand over the boy's mouth.

The man turned his back upon them, pulled off his black beard,
thrust it into his pocket, gave his mustaches a quick turn and
faced about upon them. This transformation froze the boy's fury
into silence. He shrank back to his mother's side.

"Is it the devil?" he whispered to his mother in Galician.

"Kalman," said the man quietly, in the Russian language,
"come to me. I am your father."

The boy gazed at him fearful and perplexed.

"He does not understand," said Paulina in Russian.

"Kalman," repeated his father, using the Galician speech,
"come to me. I am your father."

The boy hesitated, looking fixedly at his father. But three years
had wiped out the memory of that face.

"Come, you little Cossack," said his father, smiling at him.
"Come, have you forgotten all your rides?"

The boy suddenly started, as if waking from sleep. The words
evidently set the grey matter moving along old brain tracks.
He walked toward his father, took the hand outstretched to him,
and kissed it again and again.

"Aha, my son, you remember me," said the father exultantly.

"Yes," said the boy in English, "I remember the ride on the black
horse."

The man lifted the boy in his strong arms, kissed him again
and again, then setting him down said to Paulina, "Let us go in."

Paulina stepped forward and knocked at the door. Mrs. Fitzpatrick
answered the knock and, seeing Paulina, was about to shut the door
upon her face, when Paulina put up her hand.

"Look," she cried, pointing to the man, who stood back in the
shadow, "Irma fadder."

"What d'ye say?" enquired Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

"Irma fadder," repeated Paulina, pointing to Kalmar.

"Is my daughter Irma in your house?" said he, stepping forward.

"Yer daughter, is it?" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, looking sharply into
the foreigner's face. "An' if she's yer daughter it's yersilf that
should be ashamed av it fer the way ye've desarted the lot o' thim."

"Is it permitted that I see my daughter Irma?" said the man quietly.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick scanned his face suspiciously, then called, "Irma
darlin', come here an' tell me who this is. Give the babby to Tim
there, an' come away."

A girl of between eleven and twelve, tall for her age, with pale f