you are a Russian. This," putting the miniature before him, "was
your mother. She was a lady. For her country she gave up rank,
wealth, home and at last life. For her country, too, I go back
again. When my work is done I shall return."

Through the window came sounds of revelry from the house near by.

"You are not of these cattle," he said, pointing through the window.
"Your mother was a lady. Be worthy of her, boy. Now farewell."

The boy stood without word, without motion, without tear, his light
blue eyes fixed upon his father's face, his fair skin white but for
a faint spot of red on his cheek.

"Obey your sister, Kalman, and defend her. And listen, boy."
His voice deepened into a harsh snarl, his fingers sank into the
boy's shoulder, but the boy winced not. "If any man does her wrong,
you will kill him. Say it, boy? What will you do?"

"Kill him," said the boy with fierce promptitude, speaking in
the English tongue.

"Ha! yes," replied his father in English, "you bear your mother's
face, her golden hair, her eyes of blue--they are not so
beautiful--but you have your father's spirit. You would soon learn
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