ating the woman and
children. The gendarme shook his head. The man persisted. The gendarme
refused again, and started to move away. The man detained him with a
hand on his arm. Another man approached. He spread out both hands, his
shoulders up to his ears. All three men spoke Polish in loud, excited
voices.

"What are they saying?" I asked.

"The gendarme has just read the names of the woman and children who are
to leave this afternoon. The father's name is not with theirs.
Naturally, he wants to be with his wife and children to protect and care
for them as best he can. If they are separated now, they can never find
each other again in Siberia--if they live till they get there. The third
man is alone. He is willing to give up his place to the father. But the
gendarme refuses. 'His name is written. Yours is not. It is the order,'
he says."

The gendarme now left the garden. The woman was sobbing in her husband's
arms. He was patting her hair. The children hung at their mother's
skirt, crying and sucking their fingers.

_August 12, 1915._

_Dearest Mother and Dad:--_

They say there was no ammunition at the front. No shells for the
soldiers. They had nothing to do but retreat. And now? They are still
retreating, fighting with empty guns and clubs and even their naked
hands. And still, trainloads of soldiers go out of Kiev every day
without a gun in their hands. What a butchery! Can you imagine how
horrible it is to see them march through the streets, swinging their
arms and singing their stirring songs,--tall, able-bodied men,--while
the beggars, cripples from the Russo-Japanese War, stand whining at the
street corners.

There seems to be no doubt about the enemy within the gates. How can the
soldiers give their lives so patiently and bravely for a Government
whose villainy and corruption take no account of the significance of
their sacrifices. The German influence is still strong. They say German
money bribes the Ministers at home and the generals at the front.

There is great distrust of the Czarina and the Monk Rasputin. The latter
was a serf in Siberia, and now has a malignant, hypnotic influence in
the Russian Court. If he is refused anything, he falls on the floor in a
fit and froths at the mouth until he gets what he wants. The Court
ladies have to lick his dirty fingers clean, for he refuses to use a
finger-bowl at table. Take this for what it's worth. At any rate, th