h of July, more than a year after Halfdan's arrival,
a number of young ladies and gentlemen, after having listened to a
patriotic oration, were invited in to an informal luncheon. While
waiting, they naturally enough spent their time in singing national
songs, and Halfdan's clear tenor did good service in keeping the
straggling voices together. When they had finished, Edith went up to him
and was quite effusive in her expressions of gratitude.

"I am sure we ought all to be very grateful to you, Mr. Birch," she
said, "and I, for my part, can assure you that I am."

"Grateful? Why?" demanded Halfdan, looking quite unhappy.

"For singing OUR national songs, of course. Now, won't you sing one
of your own, please? We should all be so delighted to hear how a
Swedish--or Norwegian, is it?--national song sounds."

"Yes, Mr. Birch, DO sing a Swedish song," echoed several voices.

They, of course, did not even remotely suspect their own cruelty. He
had, in his enthusiasm for the day allowed himself to forget that he
was not made of the same clay as they were, that he was an exile and a
stranger, and must ever remain so, that he had no right to share their
joy in the blessing of liberty. Edith had taken pains to dispel the
happy illusion, and had sent him once more whirling toward his cold
native Pole. His passion came near choking him, and, to conceal his
impetuous emotion, he flung himself down on the piano-stool, and struck
some introductory chords with perhaps a little superfluous emphasis.
Suddenly his voice burst out into the Swedish national anthem, "Our
Land, our Land, our Fatherland," and the air shook and palpitated
with strong martial melody. His indignation, his love and his misery,
imparted strength to his voice, and its occasional tremble in the PIANO
passages was something more than an artistic intention. He was loudly
applauded as he arose, and the young ladies thronged about him to ask if
he "wouldn't please write out the music for them."

Thus month after month passed by, and every day brought its own misery.
Mrs. Van Kirk's patronizing manners, and ostentatious kindness, often
tested his patience to the utmost. If he was guilty of an innocent
witticism or a little quaintness of expression, she always assumed it
to be a mistake of terms and corrected him with an air of benign
superiority. At times, of course, her corrections were legitimate, as
for instance, when he spoke of WEARING a cane, instead of CARRY