ook into the faces of the women and the men in the front line
who receive the sacred essence from the golden cup and golden spoon,
and almost I can hear what their eyes are saying. What odds about low
foreheads, thick lips, and necks brown like the brown earth when each
has the god within? The Ruthenians--or Galicians, if you like the name
better--may be a sullen folk of unstable and misanthropical temper;
they may be uncouth of manner, and uncleanly of morals, but I shall
always think of them, as on this day, when I saw the strange glamour on
their faces that cannot be described except that it came from a
marvellous song hidden in their hearts.

There are no seats in the church, and while the sermon is being
preached the people stand--all except the mothers with babies, who sit
on the floor. These babies have pressed their mouths to the sacred
ikon the same as the older folk, and, doubtless, some gracious kindly
angel will guard them ever hereafter. Indeed, I hope so, and that she
will give unto them those things I most crave for myself.

Father Kryzanowski delivers the sermon in the Ruthenian language. I am
glad, for I am tired of hearing I should be a different person. I
don't want to be, except to have hands of healing and a heart that is
always young. Yes! these are the things I most crave for myself.

.... Good gentlefolk! will you be pleased to stay and eat brown bread
with us at the wagons, and cheese and hard-cooked eggs? We shall not
give you meat, for we would discourage the beef-trust, and, besides,
this is fast day.... But you shall eat your food off flaxen towels
which we spun and wove with our own hands. Yes! and we have wrought
northern flowers and prairie roses into them.

And further, believe us, Sirs and Mesdames, we sent five towels like
unto these to Mary, the English Queen, that she might know that we are
now Canadians and no Ruthenians.

And Michael Laskowicz shall take your picture, Lady, with his picture
box, and you may have Hanka's necklace like as if you belonged to us,
and Anna's head'kerchief which is always in this year's style.... and
we shall clap our hands and laugh and say, "There! There! she belongs
to us, this Mees Janey Canuck, now and without end." ... They are
engaging, these beechwood folk from Austria, and their loving kindness
is like honey to my mouth.

If it were more genteel, I would like to speak them fair, and to write
books about them, but I have set my f