rn
to kill in Russia, but in this land you will not kill unless to
defend your sister from wrong."

His mood swiftly changed. He paused, looking sadly at his children;
then turning to Mrs. Fitzpatrick he said, "They should go to the
public school like Simon Ketzel's little girl. They speak not such
good English as she. She is very clever."

"Sure, they must go to school," said she. "An' go they will."

"My gratitude will be with you forever. Good-by."

He shook hands with Timothy, then with Mrs. Fitzpatrick,
kissing her hand as well. He motioned his children toward him.

"Heart of my heart," he murmured in a broken voice, straining his
daughter to his breast. "God, if God there be, and all the saints,
if saints there be, have you in their keeping. Kalman, my son,"
throwing one arm about him, "Farewell! farewell!" He was fast losing
control of himself. The stormy Slavic passions were threatening to
burst all restraint. "I give you to each other. But you will remember
that it was not for my sake, but for Russia's sake, I leave you.
My heart, my heart belongs to you, but my heart's heart is not for me,
nor for you, but for Russia, for your mother's land and ours."

By this time tears were streaming down his cheek. Sobs shook his
powerful frame. Irma was clinging to him in an abandonment of weeping.
Kalman stood holding tight to his father, rigid, tearless, white.
At length the father tore away their hands and once more crying
"Farewell!" made toward the door.

At this the boy broke forth in a loud cry, "Father! My father!
Take me with you! I would not fear! I would not fear to die. Take
me to Russia!" The boy ran after his father and clutched him hard.

"Ah, my lad, you are your mother's son and mine. Some day you may
go back. Who knows? But--no, no. Canada is your country. Go back."
The lad still clutched him. "Boy," said his father, steadying his
voice with great effort and speaking quietly, "with us, in our
country, we learn first, obedience."

The lad dropped his hold.

"Good!" said the father. "You are my own son. You will yet be a man.
And now farewell."

He kissed them again. The boy broke into passionate sobbing.
Paulina came forward and, kneeling at the father's feet, put
her face to the floor.

"I will care for the son of my lord," she murmured.

But with never a look at her, the father strode to the door and
passed out into the night.

"Be the howly prophet!" cried Tim, wiping his eyes, "it's