er Nichols. It's Peter
Nicholaevitch----"

"Then you _are_ all Russian!" she said.

Peter shook his head.

"No. Only half of me. But I used to live in Russia--at a place called
Zukovo. The thing I wanted to tell you was that they fired me out
because they didn't want me there."

"You! How dared they! I'd like to give them a piece of my mind," said
Beth indignantly.

"It wouldn't have done any good. I tried to do that."

"And wouldn't they listen?"

"No. They burned my--my house and tried to shoot me."

"Oh! How could they!" And then, gently, "Oh, Peter. You _have_ had
troubles, haven't you?"

"I don't mind. If I hadn't had them, I wouldn't have come here and I
wouldn't have found you."

"So after all, I ought to be glad they did fire you out," she said
gently.

"But aren't you curious to know _why_ they did?"

"I am, if you want to tell me, but even if it was bad, I don't care
_what_ you did, Peter."

He took her fingers to his lips.

"It wasn't so very bad after all, Beth. It wasn't so much what I did as
what my--er--my family had done that made them angry."

"Well, _you_ weren't responsible for what your kin-folks did."

Peter laughed softly.

"_They_ seemed to think so. My--er--my kin-folks were mixed up in
politics in Russia and one of my cousins had a pretty big job--too big a
job for _him_ and that's the truth." A cloud passed for a moment over
Peter's face and he looked away.

"But what did _his_ job have to do with _you_?" she asked.

"Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related--at
least that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot of
things the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of other
things that they thought he _ought_ to have done, they believed that I
was just the same sort of man that he was."

"How unjust, Peter!"

He smiled at the ceiling.

"I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did what I could to
straighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen.
Instead they burned my--my house down and I had to run away."

"How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house,
Peter?"

"Yes," he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house--in the midst of
a forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned that
house, Beth, because I loved it."

"Poor dear! I'm _so_ sorry."

"I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures,
books, music----"

"