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 FOR DAILY BREAD 
 
 A Story from the Life of American 
 Emigrants
 
 Copyright, 1896, by Henry Altemus. 
 
 For Daily Bread.
 
 ■-HM.I, 
 
 URft 
 
 oc/2ooa<iio 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 For Daily Bread ... 3 
 
 An Artist's End . . .151 
 
 A Comedy of Errors . . 171
 
 FOR DAILY BREAD. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 A German steamer, the "Bliicher," 
 from Hamburg, was on her way to 
 America. 
 
 It was the fourth day of her voyage 
 and the second since she had left the 
 green shores of Ireland behind and was 
 on the open sea. From her deck, as far 
 as the eye could reach, nothing was to 
 be seen, but an expanse of greyish-green 
 water, ploughed into deep, foam-crested 
 furrows, getting darker in the distance 
 and melting into the horizon covered 
 with fleecy clouds. 
 
 The reflection of the clouds lent here 
 and there a pearly tint to the water, on 
 the background of which the black hull 
 
 3
 
 4 For Daily Bread. 
 
 stood out in sharp distinct lines. Her 
 head was toward the "West and she rose 
 and fell steadily with the waves; at 
 times she seemed to disappear altogether 
 and then again rose almost clean out of 
 the water. Waves went to meet her 
 and she went towards the waves cutting 
 them in two with her bow. A long 
 streak of churning, milky water trailed 
 like a serpent behind and a few seagulls 
 followed screaming in her wake. 
 
 The wind was favorable, the ship was 
 going at half speed and had hoisted all 
 her canvas. The weather seemed to 
 improve steadily, and long rifts of blue 
 sky appeared between the ragged clouds. 
 There had been a strong wind blowing 
 ever since the "Blticher" left Hamburg, 
 but no gale. The wind was due west, 
 but fell at intervals; then the sails came 
 down with a heavy flapping sound but 
 soon filled again. Sailors dressed in 
 blue jerseys tightened or slackened the
 
 The Voyage. 5 
 
 ropes with the monotonous chanting of 
 "Yo-hoy! Yo-hoy!" stooped and rose in 
 time to the doleful tune, which mingled 
 with the boatswain's shrill whistle and 
 the fitful puffing and breathing of the 
 funnel. 
 
 Attracted by the improving weather, 
 most of the passengers had come on 
 deck. There were the dark overcoats 
 and hats of the first-class passengers; on 
 the forecastle the motly crowd of steer- 
 age passengers, mostly emigrants. Some 
 sat on benches with short clay pipes her 
 tween their lips, others were stretched 
 out at full length looking down into 
 the water. 
 
 Several palefaced women with child- 
 ren in their arms, and tin mugs fas- 
 tened to their belts crouched wherever 
 there was room. Young men, steady- 
 ing themselves with difficulty, walked 
 up and down and staggering at every 
 step, sang: "Wo ist das deutsche Vater-
 
 6 For Daily Bread. 
 
 land?" and may be thought that most 
 likely they would never see that Yater- 
 land asrain, but nevertheless looked 
 cheerful enough. 
 
 At a little distance from all these 
 people stood two, who seemed more 
 lonely and sadfaced than the others; an 
 elderly man and a young girl. They 
 did not speak German, hence their soli- 
 tude among strangers. They were 
 Polish peasants. 
 
 The man's name was Laurence To- 
 porek, and the girl, his daughter, Ma- 
 risha. They were going to America 
 and had only now come on deck for 
 the first time. On their faces, yellow 
 from recent sickness, was an expression 
 of mingled terror and astonishment. 
 They looked around with frightened 
 eyes, at their fellow-passengers, at the 
 sailors, the panting funnel, and the big 
 waves which sent heavy spray and foam 
 over the gunwales. They did not dare
 
 The Voyage. 7 
 
 to speak even to each other. Laurence 
 clutched at the railing with one hand, 
 holding his square cap with the other, 
 lest the wind should carry it away; 
 Marisha held fast to her father, and 
 when the ship heaved more violently 
 she clung closer to him, uttering low 
 exclamations of terror. After some- 
 time the old man broke the silence: 
 
 "Mansha!" 
 
 "Yes, Dad?" 
 
 "Dost, thou see all that?" 
 
 "Yes, I see." 
 
 "Art astonished?" 
 
 "I am, Daddv." 
 
 But she was still more terrified than 
 astonished at what she saw, and old 
 Toporek the same. Fortunately for 
 them, the waves grew less in size, the 
 wind fell altogether, and the sun burst 
 through the clouds. TVhen they saw 
 the sun once more they felt cheered and 
 comforted, and thought it were the same
 
 8 For Daily Bread. 
 
 as shone at home. Everything was 
 strange and new to them, and only the 
 life and warmth giving orb seemed an 
 old friend and benefactor. 
 
 In the meantime the sea had grown 
 smoother. At the shrill whistle from 
 the upper deck, the sailors nimbly 
 climbed the rigging to furl the sails. 
 The sight of these men hanging in mid 
 air impressed the two with awe. 
 
 "Our lads could not do that," said the 
 old man. 
 
 "If the Germans can do it, ours could. 
 Jan could do it," relied Marisha. 
 
 "Which Jan, Sobkoff?" 
 
 "No, not SobkofT. Jan Smolak, the 
 groom." 
 
 "He is a smart lad, I know, but put 
 him out of thy head Marisha. Thou 
 art going to be a. lady, and he is noth- 
 ing but a groom, and not likely to be 
 anything more." 
 
 "He has got his own bit of land."
 
 The Voyage. 9 
 
 "He has — at Lipince." 
 Marisha was silent after that and 
 thought with a longing sigh, if Heaven 
 had decreed it, all would come right in 
 the end. The sails had been furled 
 and the screw began to churn the 
 waters, and the heaving of the ship had 
 almost ceased. In the distance the sea 
 looked smooth and blue. 
 
 People began to come up more and 
 more from the steerage quarters: lab- 
 orers, German peasants, idlers and va- 
 grants from different towns, all in search 
 of a f ortune — but not of work ; the deck 
 became crowded, therefore Laurence 
 and his daughter, so as not to be in 
 in anybody's way, went to the farthest 
 end of the bows and sat down on a coil 
 of rope. 
 
 "Dad, shall we be on the water much 
 longer?" asked Marisha. 
 
 "How can I know ? If I speak to 
 anybody they stare at me and don't
 
 10 For Daily Bread. 
 
 seem to understand a Christian lan- 
 guage." 
 
 "And how shall we be able to make 
 ourselves understood in America?'' 
 
 "Did they not tell us that out there 
 are thousands of our people?" 
 
 "Daddy!" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "It is ail very strange and wonder- 
 ful, but it is best at home, at Lipince." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense, child!" 
 
 After a while Laurence added as if 
 to himself: 
 
 "It is the will of God." 
 
 Tears sprung to the girl's eyes and 
 then both grew silent and thouffhful, 
 their minds wandering back to the past. 
 Laurence pondered how it had come to 
 pass he was on his way to America. It 
 had happened in this way. Some six 
 months before his cow had strayed into 
 a neighbors field, and been impounded. 
 The man who had taken the cow claimed
 
 The Voyage. 11 
 
 three roubles for the damage done to 
 his elover. Laurence refused to pay, 
 and they went to law. The case did 
 not come on for some time. The neigh- 
 bor did not claim damages alone, but 
 also for the keep of the cow, and the 
 costs grew larger every day. Laurence 
 was obstinate and did not like parting 
 with the money. He had spent a good 
 deal already on the law suit, which 
 dragged on for a long time, the ex- 
 penses increasing steadily. At last Lau- 
 rence lost his case. He owed the Lord 
 knows how much for the cow already; 
 and as he had not money enough to pay 
 the full claim, they took his horse, and 
 sentenced him to a term of imprison- 
 ment for resisting the law. Toporek 
 writhed in despair. The harvest was 
 at hand, when he and his horse would 
 be wanted. He was late with his crops, 
 the rain ruined the grain; all this 
 through the bit of damage in a neigh-
 
 12 For Daily Bread. 
 
 bor's field. All his money had gone, 
 his harvest was rained, and beggary 
 stared him in the face. 
 
 As he had been a well-to-do peasant, 
 lucky so- far in all his ventures, he grew 
 desperate and began to drink. At the 
 inn he fell in with a German, who under 
 pretext of buying flax, persuaded peo- 
 ple to emigrate. The German began 
 telling him wondrous things about 
 America, and said that he could there 
 get more land than the whole village 
 owned, together with pasture-land and 
 woods. Toporek's eyes sparkled with 
 anticipation. It was too good to be 
 true, and he would not have believed 
 it, had not the dairy-farmer, a Jew, 
 confirmed the German's tale, and said 
 he knew from his nephew that land 
 could be got from the government for 
 the asking. The German dangled great 
 estates before his eyes. They tempted 
 the man until he was fairly caught.
 
 The Voyage. 13 
 
 Why should he stop here? Had he not 
 already lost as much money as would 
 have enabled him to keep a helper? 
 Should he wait here until the last of 
 the property was gone and then take the 
 beggar's staff and sing at the church 
 doors? "No-! we have not come to 
 that," he thought, and grasped the Ger- 
 man's hand; sold out at Michaelmas, 
 took his daughter, and here he was on 
 his way to America. 
 
 But the journey had depressed him 
 not a little. To start with, they had 
 fleeced him at Hamburg ; on the ship, he 
 was one among a crowd of steerage 
 passengers. They pushed him out of 
 the wav like a thins; of no account and 
 mocked at the language they could not 
 understand. At dinner time, when all 
 swarmed round the cook with their tin 
 mugs, they were crowded out and often 
 went hungry. The heaving of the ship 
 and sight of that great waste of water
 
 14 For Daily Bread. 
 
 terrified them. They were ill-at-ease 
 and lonely among a crowd of strangers. 
 Beside God's protection there was no 
 other. Laurence tried to look uncon- 
 cerned before his daughter. With his 
 cap put jauntily on one side, he bade 
 her look at things and marvel; he him- 
 self marvelled at what he saw, but at 
 the same time his heart quaked with 
 fear lest those heathens, as he called 
 his fellow passengers, should throw him 
 into the water, or make him change his 
 faith, or sell his soul to the evil one. 
 
 That very ship that went on churning 
 the water night and day, breathed and 
 panted like a. living thing, and like a 
 dragon trailed behind her a hail of fiery 
 sparks seemed to him an unholy thing. 
 These childish fears, though he did not 
 acknowledge them before his daughter, 
 weighed heavily on his heart; for this 
 Polish peasant, torn away from his 
 homely nest, was verily a mere helpless
 
 The Voyage. 15 
 
 child with nobody but God to protect 
 him. He could neither understand nor 
 take in what he saw, and sitting with 
 bowed head on the coil of rope, his 
 heart full of nameless- trouble, he heard 
 the wind whistle the name of "Lipince! 
 Lipince!" The sun looked down at him 
 and said : "How goes it Laurence ? I have 
 been in Lipince." But the screw went 
 round and round and churned the water, 
 and the smokestack breathed and panted 
 like two evil spirits that dragged him 
 further and further away from home. 
 Other memories, like seagulls follow- 
 ing the ship, fluttered around Marisha. 
 Her thoughts carried her back to a quiet 
 evening, shortly before their departure, 
 when she went, to the well to draw 
 water. Raising the heavy crane she 
 sang: 
 
 "Jan was driving his team 
 Whilst Kasia went to the well." 
 
 It was a sad little voice not unlike
 
 16 For Daily Bread. 
 
 the howling of the swallows before set- 
 ting out for their long journey. From 
 the verge of the wood came a long 
 whistle. It was Jan Smolak's signal 
 that he had seen the crane moving. 
 
 Presently the dull thud of horses, 
 hoofs was heard, and then he himself 
 appeared, jumped from the foal and 
 what he said seemed to her now like 
 some far off music. She shuts her eyes, 
 and list ens again to< Jan's trembling voice 
 "If thy dad proves obdurate, I shall 
 throw up my place, sell the cabin, the 
 bit of land, and follow thee. Marisha, 
 where thou art, I shall be; as the birds 
 fly towards the sun, I will fly unto thee; 
 I will sail down the stream like the wild 
 drake, or like the gold ring roll down 
 the road until I find thee, my own. 
 How could I live without thee Mary? 
 Thy ways will be my ways, what hap- 
 pens to thee will happen to me, in life 
 and death we will be one; and as I have
 
 The Voyage. 17 
 
 vowed here before the well, may God 
 desert me, if I desert thee, my own 
 love." 
 
 Kecalling these words Marisha saw 
 before her the old well, the red moon 
 rising beyond the woods, and the manly 
 figure of Jan vowing to be faithful. 
 
 These thoughts carried hope and com- 
 fort to her heart. Jan was firm and 
 steady and she believed he would do* as 
 he promised. How she wished he were 
 here listening to the sound of the waves. 
 They would not feel so forlorn; he was 
 not afraid of anything and always found 
 a way out of every difficulty. What 
 was he doing now at Lipince? The first 
 snow must have fallen by this time. 
 Has he gone to the woods with his axe 
 or is he busy with the horses? Maybe 
 they sent him off somewhere with the 
 sledge-, or he was cutting holes in the 
 ice on the pond? Where was her sweet- 
 heart now? And the girl saw the pic-
 
 18 For Daily Bread. 
 
 ture of the village: the hard snow creak- 
 ing under the heels of the passers-by ; 
 the ruddy glow shining through the leaf- 
 less branches, and rocks flying overhead 
 with their loud monotonous croaking, 
 the smoke curling up from the chimneys, 
 and in the distance, the woods pow- 
 dered with snow, reflecting the red light 
 of the setting sun. 
 
 Heigho! and where was she? Where 
 had her father's will carried her? As 
 far as the eye could see nothing but 
 water, ploughed into greenish, foam- 
 crested furrows, and on these immense 
 waters this lonely ship like a stray bird ; 
 the sky above, a watery desert below, 
 the sound of wind and waves around 
 them, and before them, maybe, the end 
 of the world. 
 
 Jan, poor laddie, will you find her 
 even if you could skim through space 
 like a falcon, or breast the ocean like a 
 fish; do you think of her in the distant 
 village?
 
 The Voyage. ^ 
 
 'O 
 
 Slowly the sun began to sink and 
 dipped into the ocean. On the rippled 
 surface of the water appeared a broad 
 shining path skimmering and glittering 
 with the ever changing motion, then sud- 
 denly flamed up and lost itself in the 
 distance. The ship, entering into the 
 fiery path, seemed to rush on in pursuit 
 of the vanishing sun. 
 
 The smoke coming from the funnel 
 became red, the sails and moist lines 
 changed into pink, and the sailors began 
 to sing. The glowing orb became lar- 
 ger and dipped lower into the sea. 
 Presently only half of it was visible, 
 then a half-circle of shooting flames, 
 and the whole west appeared like a great 
 conflagration without distinction of sky 
 or water; the waves murmured gently 
 as if saying their evening prayer. 
 
 At such moments the human soul has 
 wings; long forgotten memories come 
 back in crowds, lost loves hover around 
 and we go to meet them.
 
 20 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Laurence and Marisha both felt like 
 this, though they were like leaves torn 
 from the tree which has its roots deep 
 in the soil. Their thoughts are not in 
 the future but in the past. They go 
 back to the lanes waving with golden 
 corn where the thatched cabins shaded 
 with lime-trees are dotted about; back to 
 the soil, the great mother of all, who 
 nourished them lovingly, honest and be- 
 loved above all others on earth. That 
 what their simple hearts had never felt 
 before, they felt now. Laurence took 
 off his cap and the last rays of the sun 
 shone on his grey hair; his brain was 
 working how to clothe in words and tell 
 his daughter what he felt, at last he 
 said: 
 
 "Marisha! it seems to me as if we had 
 left everything on the other side of the 
 water." 
 
 "Aye, our life we left there and our 
 hearts," she replied in a low voice, and
 
 The Voyage. 21 
 
 raising her eyes the lips moved as if in 
 silent prayer. 
 
 It had grown dark. The passengers 
 gradually disappeared below, but there 
 was still an unusual stir on deck. After 
 a fine sunset often comes a stormy night. 
 The officers' whistle sounded continually 
 and the sailors hauled in the ropes. 
 The last purple light vanished from the 
 water and at the same time a mist rose; 
 the stars twinkled in the sky and then 
 disappeared. The mist grew thicker 
 every minute and gradually veiled the 
 sky, the horizon, and the very ship. 
 The only visible thing was the smoke- 
 stack and the main-mast; the figures of 
 the sailors looked like shadows in the 
 distance. An hour later everything was 
 wrapped up in a white shroud, even the 
 lanterfi on the ship's mast and the sparks 
 flying from the funnel. 
 
 The ship did not roll any more. It 
 seemed as if the waves had been crushed
 
 22 For Daily Bread. 
 
 and smoothed under the weight of the 
 mist. 
 
 The night came on very dark and 
 quiet. Presently, amid the stillness 
 there came mysterious whispers from all 
 directions, then a heavy breathing as 
 from a gigantic breast drawing nearer 
 and nearer. At times it seemed as if 
 a voice was calling out in the darkness, 
 then more voices wailing plaintively in 
 the distance. The voices are drawing 
 nearer towards the ship. 
 
 The sailors hearing them say the 
 storm calls the winds from the nether 
 world. 
 
 The warnings became more' distinct. 
 The Captain dressed in oilskins stood 
 on the quarterdeck; the first mate took 
 his usual position near the compass. 
 The passengers had all gone below. 
 Laurence and Marisha descended to 
 their quarters. It was very quiet there. 
 The lamps fixed on the low ceiling
 
 The Voyage. 23 
 
 threw a dim light on the groups crouch- 
 ing near their berths, or close to the 
 wall. The room was large, but grim 
 looking as a fourth class waiting room. 
 The ceiling sloped towards the bows and 
 the berths at that end were more like 
 dark holes than sleeping places, and the 
 whole compartment had the appearance 
 of an immense cellar. The air was per- 
 meated with the smell of tarred ropes 
 and damp mouldiness. What a differ- 
 ence between this and a first class saloon. 
 A voyage of even two weeks as steer- 
 age passenger fills the lungs with poi- 
 sonous air, takes the healthy color out 
 of the face, and as often as not pro- 
 duces scurvy. 
 
 It was not many days since Laurence 
 and Marisha had come on board the 
 "Blucher," and yet those who formerly 
 had known the rosy-faced country girl 
 would scarcely have recognized her as 
 the same person. Old Laurence, too,
 
 24 For Daily Bread. 
 
 looked very yellow. They looked worse 
 than anybody else, because for the first 
 few days they had not dared to go on 
 deck; they thought it was not allowed; 
 they were afraid to move; how could 
 they know what was permitted and what 
 was prohibited? They sat now, like all 
 the others, near their belongings. The 
 whole place was strewn with bundles of 
 all shapes and sizes. Bedding, gar- 
 ments, provisions, and tin vessels were 
 distributed everywhere in little mounts; 
 and on these sat the emigrants, mostly 
 Germans. Some chewed tobacco, others 
 smoked pipes; the clouds of smoke 
 curled up to> the low ceiling and dimmed 
 the light of the lamps. A few child- 
 ren wailed in the corners; but the usual 
 noise and racket had subsided; they all 
 seemed to> be subdued or oppressed by 
 the fog. The more experienced emi- 
 grants knew a storm was coming. It 
 was no secret to all of them that danger
 
 The Voyage. 25 
 
 was drawing nigh, inaybe death 
 Laurence and Marisha knew nothing 
 about it, though when the hatchway was 
 opened they heard the sinister voices 
 coming from the boundless space. 
 
 They were sitting near the bows, 
 where the annoying motion of the ship 
 was mostly felt, and for that reason they 
 had been pushed there by their com- 
 panions. The old man was munching 
 a piece of dry bread, the remnant of 
 provisions brought from home, and 
 Marisha, tired of doing nothing was 
 braiding her hair for the night. 
 
 After a time the dead silence, inter- 
 rupted only by the cries of children, 
 seemed to attract her attention. 
 
 ""Why are the Germans so quiet to- 
 day?" she asked. 
 
 "How can I know?" replied Laurence. 
 "Maybe it is some religious ceremony 
 of theirs." 
 
 Suddenly the ship rocked heavily as
 
 26 For Daily Bread. 
 
 if startled by a dreadful apparition. 
 The tin vessels on the floor clattered; 
 the gloomy light jumped and flared up, 
 and frightened voices asked: 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 There was no answer. Another shock, 
 more powerful than the first, struck the 
 ship; the bows rose suddenly and as 
 suddenly fell again, and a heavy wave 
 came crashing against the ship's planks. 
 
 "A storm is coming," whispered Ma- 
 risha, in a terrified voice. Then some- 
 thing roared around the vessel like the 
 wind among huge forest trees, or a pack 
 of hungry wolves in scent of a prey. 
 The wind struck the ship once or twice, 
 and laid her low, then turned her round, 
 raised her high, and hurled her down 
 into the depths. The timber creaked, 
 the tin mugs, kettles, and bundles were 
 thrown from one corner to the other. 
 Scattered feathers were flying round, 
 some people trying to steady themselves
 
 The Voyage. 27 
 
 fell down on the floor, and the lamps 
 jingled and rattled dolefully. 
 
 Then came a roar, a heavy thud, and 
 the splashing of waves across the deck; 
 the ship staggered as though in a drunk- 
 en frenzy, and the wailing of the child- 
 ren and outcries of women, mingled 
 with the shrill whistle from the quar- 
 terdeck, and the heavy tread of the 
 sailors. 
 
 "Holy Mother of God!" whispered 
 Marisha. 
 
 The bows of the ship where both were 
 crouching rose and fell rapidly and in 
 spite of their holding on to their berths 
 they were bruised against the beams. 
 The roaring of the waves increased, the 
 timber creaked and groaned, and it 
 seemed as if at any moment the ship 
 would go to pieces. 
 
 "Hold on fast, Marisha," shouted Lau- 
 rence, so as to make himself heard amid 
 the uproar, but terror held him by the
 
 28 For Daily Bread. 
 
 throat as it did the others. Even the 
 children left off wailing, the women did 
 not scream any longer, but all breasts 
 were heaving in, silent anguish, and con- 
 vulsive hands clutched anything for 
 support. 
 
 The force of the storm was still in- 
 creasing. The elements had lashed 
 themselves into fury; the mist was mixed 
 up with the darkness, the clouds with 
 the water, the wind with the foam. 
 The waves thundered against the ship 
 with the roar of cannons and great 
 masses of seething water swept over her, 
 fore and aft. 
 
 The oil lamps, one by one, began to 
 go out. It became darker and darker, 
 and to Laurence and his daughter it 
 seemed like the darkness of death. 
 
 "Marisha," began the peasant in a 
 gasping voice, because the breath failed 
 him, "Marsiha, forgive me that I led 
 you into destruction. Our last hour
 
 The Voyage. 29 
 
 has come. We shall never see the world 
 with our sinful eyes again. No holy 
 sacraments for us or Extreme Unction; 
 not for us to lie in sacred ground, but 
 from the waters we must rise for the 
 Last Judgment." When he said this, 
 Marisha understood that all hope was 
 lost. Various thoughts crossed her 
 mind and something seemed to cry out 
 aloud. 
 
 "Jan! Jan! My own, do you hear 
 me in far off Lipince?" 
 
 A terrible anguish tore her heart and 
 she began to sob aloud. Her sobbing 
 became audible amid the general silence. 
 Somebody from a corner called out : "Be 
 still!" and then as if afraid of his own 
 voice relapsed again, into silence. The 
 glass fell down from a lamp, and an- 
 other light went out, and it became 
 darker still. The people huddled to- 
 gether, to be within reach of each other. 
 The awful silence still reigned unbro-
 
 SO For Daily Bread. 
 
 ken, when amid the general hush, the 
 voice of Laurence rose in a quavering 
 but sufficiently loud tone: 
 
 "Kyrie Eleison." 
 
 "Christe Eleison," responded Marisha 
 sobbing. 
 
 "0 Lord, we beseech thee to hear us." 
 
 "O Lord have mercy upon us." 
 
 They were saying the Litany. 
 
 The voice of the old man and the 
 faltering response of the girl sounded 
 very solemn in the darkness. Some of 
 the emigrants bared their heads. Grad- 
 ually the two voices became steadier and 
 grew more distinct amid the roaring 
 element which played the accompani- 
 ment. 
 
 Presently piercing screams came from 
 those 1 stationed near the hatchway; the 
 door burst open, the water rushed in 
 and flooded the compartment. The 
 panic-stricken women climbed on the 
 berths and each thought their last hour 
 had come.
 
 The Voyage. 31 
 
 Upon this an officer, lantern in hand, 
 appeared in the door, his red face glis- 
 tening with moisture. He explained in 
 a few words that the water had come in 
 by accident, and that there was but lit- 
 tle danger for the ship on the open sea. 
 About two hours passed. The tempest 
 still raged as fiercely as ever. The tim- 
 ber creaked and strained, the ship rose 
 and fell but did not founder. Another 
 few hours passed, and the grey dawn 
 peeped through the heavily barred win- 
 dows. The morning light looked weird 
 and sad as if scared at its own appear- 
 ance, but it brought hope and comfort 
 to the passengers. After having re- 
 peated all the prayers they knew by 
 heart, Laurence and Marisha. crept to 
 their bearths and fell into a heavy sleep. 
 
 They were awakened by the sound of 
 the breakfast bell, but neither of them 
 felt any desire for food. Their heads 
 felt as heavy as lead; especially the old.
 
 32 For Daily Bread. 
 
 man's, whose brain was too confused to 
 form a single idea. The German who 
 persuaded him to emigrate had told him 
 he would have to cross the water; but 
 Laurence had never dreamed there 
 would be so much of it, and ' that it 
 would take so many days and nights to 
 cross it. This idea about crossing the 
 water was a ferry boat in which he had 
 crossed the river many times. Had he 
 known the sea was so wide he would 
 never have left his native land. Besides 
 this, another more terrifying thought 
 tormented his brain: had he not brought 
 his soul and that of his daughter to 
 eternal perdition? "Was it not a mortal 
 sin for a Catholic from Lipince to tempt 
 Providence by going across that waste 
 of water where, they had been now five 
 days and nights without seeing any land 
 at all; if there be any to be seen? His 
 doubts and fears tore him hither and 
 thither, till he could not think anymore.
 
 The Voyage. 33 
 
 The storm raged forty-eight hours and 
 then abated. They dared once more to 
 venture on deck, but when they saw the 
 huge mountains of water still tossing 
 wildly about the ship, they thought that 
 only God's hand, or a superhuman power 
 could save them. 
 
 At last it became fine again But 
 one day passed after another with noth- 
 ing around them but the deep waters, 
 sometimes green, then blue, melting 
 into the distant horizon. Clouds drifted 
 along the sky which took red and golden 
 hues towards sunset, and the ship seemed 
 to be following in their wake. 
 
 Laurence thought there was indeed 
 no limit to the water, and he resolved 
 to try whether he could make himself 
 understood by somebody on the ship. 
 
 He lifted his square cap and bowing 
 very lowly, he humbly addressed a pass- 
 ing sailor: 
 
 "Could the gracious Pan tell me how 
 3
 
 34 For Dail Bread. 
 
 soon we might arrive at the other side 
 of the water?" 
 
 O wonder! the sailor did not burst 
 out laughing as the others had done 
 when Laurence spoke to them, but stood 
 still and listened. A puzzled expres- 
 sion came into his rugged face as if he 
 tried hard to remember something long 
 ago forgotten; after a short pause he 
 asked : 
 
 "Was?" 
 
 "Shall we soon see land, gracious 
 Pan?" 
 
 "Two days, two days," repeated the 
 sailor with some difficulty, and raised 
 two fingers, to make his meaning clearer. 
 
 "Thank you, humbly." 
 
 "Where do you come from?" 
 
 "From Lipince." 
 
 "Was is das Lipince?" 
 
 Marisha, who had approached during 
 their conversation, raised her eyes tim- 
 idly to the sailor, and blushingly said 
 in a low voice:
 
 The Voyage. 35 
 
 tc We come from Posen, please sir." 
 
 The sailor looked thoughtfully at the 
 girl and her flaxen hair and something 
 like emotion seemed to work in that 
 rugged countenance. 
 
 After a short pause, he said gravely: 
 
 "I have been in Dantzig — I under- 
 stand Polish — I am a Kashuba, your 
 bruder — but that was long ago. Jetzt 
 bin ich Deutsch." 
 
 Saying this, he drew at the line he 
 held in his hand with the monotonous 
 sailor's "Yo-hoy!" 
 
 Henceforth whenever Laurence and 
 Marisha appeared on deck he greeted 
 them with a friendly smile; and they 
 rejoiced at having found a single soul 
 on this German ship that was well dis- 
 posed towards them. 
 
 Two days later when they came on 
 deck, a strange sight met their eyes. 
 They saw in the distance something rock- 
 ing on the sea, and when the ship came
 
 3G For Daily Bread. 
 
 nearer, they saw it was a red cask rocked 
 by the waves; in the distance appeared 
 another, a third, and a fourth. In spite 
 of a slight mist the smooth water shone 
 like silver and as far as the eye could 
 see, red casks in numbers were floating 
 on the surface. Seagulls with shrill 
 cries fluttered about the ship, and the 
 deck now became very lively. The 
 sailors began changing their jerseys, 
 some washed the deck, while others were 
 busy polishing the brasswork, or hoist- 
 ing the flag. Animation and joy pre- 
 vailed among all the passengers who 
 crowded the deck, strapping together 
 their lighter luggage and parcels. 
 Seeing all this, Marisha said: 
 "Surely that means we are near the 
 end of our voyage," and both brightened 
 visibly. 
 
 And then in the East appeared the 
 island of Sandy Hook, and another is- 
 land crowned with a huge building, and
 
 The Voyage. 37 
 
 further on appeared a thick mist or 
 cloud, like curling smoke along the shore 
 full of shadowy formless shapes. A 
 joyous murmur broke from the crowd 
 and many hands pointed in that direc- 
 tion, even the boatswain's shrill whistle 
 seemed to participate in the universal 
 
 joy. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Laurence. 
 
 "New York," replied the Kashuba 
 sailor, who stood near him. 
 
 Whilst the ship ploughed onwards, 
 the misty cloud seemed to grow more 
 transparent and roofs, chimneys, and 
 pointed towers to emerge from it. Be- 
 low, near the town appeared a forest of 
 masts, their various colored flags flutter- 
 ing to the breeze like so many flowers 
 on a meadow. The ship came nearer 
 and nearer — and a beautiful town seem- 
 ed to rise almost out of the water. A 
 great joy and wonder took hold of Lau- 
 rence's heart. He raised his cap, opened
 
 38 For Daily Bread. 
 
 his mouth, and looked and looked, then 
 turned to his daughter: 
 
 "Marisha! dost see all that?" 
 
 ''Oh, Merciful Saviour, what a sight!" 
 
 "And dost thou marvel, Marisha?" 
 
 "I do, Daddy." 
 
 Laurence not only marvelled at what 
 he saw, but his eyes began to shine. 
 Seeing the green banks at either side 
 of the town and the long stretches of 
 wooded parks, he exclaimed: 
 
 "Well! God be praised! If they will 
 let me have some land close to the town ; 
 with that meadow there, it would be 
 convenient to the market. Come mar- 
 ket-day; I take a cow, a pig or two, and 
 there is a ready sale. There is people 
 there as thick as poppy-seed. In Po- 
 land I was a peasant, here I shall be a 
 Pan (master)." 
 
 At that moment they came in sight 
 of the Battery Park, its whole length, 
 and Laurence seeing all those trees, said 
 3<?;ain:
 
 The Voyage. 39 
 
 "I shall bow deeply before the gra- 
 cious commissioner, and maybe give a 
 hint to let me have a bit of that wood- 
 land too or at least to give me permis- 
 sion to gather fuel. If we are to be 
 land owners let us have something good. 
 Early in the mornings I should send the 
 helper with timber to the market 
 Praised be the Lord! I see the German 
 has not deceived me." 
 
 Marisha also smiled at the thoughts 
 of their great possession and what her 
 Jan would say when he found her a 
 great heiress. 
 
 In the meanwhile a boat with the 
 quarantine officials approached the ship, 
 and four or five men came on deck. 
 Then another boat from the city itself 
 bringing agents from hotels, boarding 
 houses, railways, and money-changers, 
 all these pushing and jostling each other 
 occupied the whole deck. Laurence 
 and Marisha did not know what to do
 
 40 For Daily Bread. 
 
 with themselves amid that seething 
 crowd. 
 
 The Kashuba sailor advised Laurence 
 to change his money, and he would 
 stand by him and see that he was not 
 cheated. This advice Laurence follow- 
 ed. For the money he had, he received 
 forty-seven silver dollars. Before all 
 this was settled the ship had come near 
 the town and not only were the houses 
 plainly visible but also the wharves and 
 the people standing there; then passing 
 other greater and smaller ships they en- 
 tered the ship's dock. 
 
 The voyage was over. 
 
 People streamed across the gangway 
 like bees out of a hive. The first-class 
 passengers took the lead, after them 
 came the second class, and lastly the 
 steerage passenger. When Laurence 
 and Mariana, jostled by the crowd, ar- 
 rived at the gangway they found their 
 friend, the sailor, standing close by.
 
 The Voyage. 41 
 
 He grasped Laurence by the hand, and 
 said: 
 
 "Bruder, I wish you Gliick, and to 
 you also maiden. God speed you!" 
 
 "God bless you," both said in one 
 voice as there was no time for more 
 words. The crowd carried them along 
 the narrow gangway into the spacious 
 inclosure. Officials shook and squeezed 
 their bundles, then shouted "all right," 
 and pointed to the door. They passed 
 across and found themselves in the 
 street. 
 
 "Daddy! what shall we do now?" 
 
 "We must wait here," said Laurence. 
 "The German told me an agent from 
 the government would come to take care 
 of us." 
 
 And so they stood close to the wall 
 waiting amid the noise and turmoil of 
 the great town. They had never seen 
 anything like it. Broad and straight 
 streets before them crowded with
 
 42 For Daily Bread. 
 
 people, as if at a fair, and car- 
 riages, laden wagons and om- 
 nibuses rolling along in one incessant 
 stream. "Workmen were shouting to 
 eacli other, vendors crying out their 
 wares, a very babel of unintelligent 
 voices. Black people with curly heads 
 passed them every moment. At the 
 sight of those, both Laurence and Ma- 
 risha crossed themselves piously. They 
 felt utterly bewildered in a place so full 
 of noises, whistlingof locomotives, rumb- 
 ling of wheels and human voices. 
 Everybody seemed in such a hurry, as 
 if running away from somebody or in 
 chase of something; there seemed to be 
 no end to the crowd and strange looking 
 faces, black, olive-colored or red. "Where 
 they were standing, near the docks, 
 everything was in motion; bales were 
 taken from one ship to another, laden 
 carts arrived very minute, and wheel- 
 barrows rumbled over the bridges; there
 
 The Voyage. 43 
 
 was an everlasting noise as in a saw mill. 
 
 Thus passed an hour— and another; 
 they still remained close to the wall, 
 waiting for the agent. 
 
 He looked strange and out of place 
 there, this Polish peasant, in the long, 
 grey hair, and square, fur-cap; with the 
 fair-haired girl, in her close fitting bo- 
 dice open at the throat, with rows upon 
 rows of beads around her neck. 
 
 People passed them without a look. 
 Xobody here wonders at new faces or 
 strange dresses. 
 
 Another hour passed ; the sky became 
 overcast, rain and sleet began to fall, 
 and a cold wind blew from the water. 
 They still waited for the agent. 
 
 The peasant is by nature patient and 
 much enduring, but his heart began to 
 fail him. It had been lonesome enough 
 on board ship among strangers and sur- 
 rounded by that immensity of water. 
 They had prayed to God to lead them
 
 44 For Daily Bread. 
 
 safely across the watery desert. They 
 thought if they once touched laud again 
 they would be 1 safe. And here they were in 
 a great town amid noisy crowds, lone- 
 lier and more terrified than when on 
 board ship. 
 
 What should they do if the agent 
 did not come at all, if the German had 
 told them what was not true? 
 
 At the very thought their simple 
 hearts beat faster, they would be lost 
 indeed. 
 
 And the wind grew colder and the 
 rain soaked through their clothing. 
 
 "Marisha, art thou cold?" asked Lau- 
 rence. 
 
 "Yes, Daddy, very cold," whispered 
 the girl. 
 
 The town clocks again struck the 
 hour. It was getting dusky. The 
 movement in the wharves slackened, the 
 lamps were lit and a stream of glaring 
 light filled the street. The dock-labor-
 
 The Voyage. 45 
 
 ers in lesser or greater groups, singing 
 and shouting, marched past them to- 
 wards their homes and rest. They had 
 nowhere to go, the cold pierced their 
 bones, and they began to feel very hun- 
 gry. If they had only a roof over their 
 heads to shelter them from the rain — 
 and the agent did not come. 
 
 Poor Laurence, poor Marisha, there 
 are no such things as agents to look after 
 stray emigrants. The German was 
 agent for a steamship company that paid 
 him a commission of so much per head 
 for every emigrant. It was his business 
 to send as many on board ship as he 
 could and he did not trouble himself 
 about anything else. 
 
 Laurence felt that his feet were giv- 
 ing way, a great weight seemed to press 
 him down to the earth; it must be the 
 wrath of God which hung over him, he 
 thought. 
 
 "Daddy!"
 
 46 For Daily Bread. 
 
 'Tlush! be quiet, there is no mercy 
 for us." 
 
 "Daddy! Let us go back to Lipince." 
 
 "Let us go and drown ourselves!" 
 
 "O, Merciful God!" whispered Ma- 
 risha. 
 
 Laurence's heart was suddenly stirred 
 with compassion. 
 
 "Poor orphan! If the Lord would 
 only show mercy to thee." 
 
 But Marisha did not hear his words; 
 her eyes had closed and she slept. Fev- 
 erish dreams earned her back to Lipince, 
 and she heard Jan, the groom, singing: 
 
 '' 'Tis a great, great lady, my blue-eyed Sue, 
 All her possessions, a garland of rue." 
 
 The pale morning light in the New 
 York docks fell upon the masts, the 
 water, and the emigrant building. Then 
 it touched gently two figures sleeping 
 under the wall. Their faces looked 
 pale, and thick flakes of snow were cling- 
 ing to their garments.
 
 II. 
 
 AT NEW YORK. 
 
 In New York, coming from Broad- 
 way and passing Chatham Square, in 
 the direction of the river, one crosses 
 several streets. Here the traveler finds 
 himself in a part of the city more and 
 more poor, desolate, squalid, and 
 gloomy. The streets are getting nar- 
 row; the houses, built perhaps by the 
 early Dutch settlers, are cracked and 
 grown crooked from extreme old age; 
 the roofs are bent in, the plaster has 
 peeled of! from the walls, and the walls 
 themselves have sunk only part of the 
 windows show above the street. Crook- 
 ed lines take the place of the favorite 
 straight lines of American streets, roofs, 
 walls, all are strangely out of shape and 
 
 piled up one above the other. 
 47
 
 48 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Being close to the river, this part of 
 the city is scarcely ever dry, and the 
 narrow streets thickly studded with 
 houses are like marshes full of black, 
 stagnant water with all kinds of refuse 
 floating on its greasy surface. There 
 is everywhere dirt, untidiness, and hu- 
 man misery. 
 
 In these quarters are the boarding 
 houses, where for two dollars a week bed 
 and food may be obtained; here also are 
 the barrooms, where the whalers entice 
 all sorts and conditions of men to their 
 ships; here agents from Venezuela, 
 Ecuador and Brazil tempt the unwary 
 to their fever-stricken marshes; eating- 
 houses where they feed their customers 
 on salt junk, bad fish, and oysters; gamb- 
 ling dens, Chinese laundries, and va- 
 rious sailors' homes; here lastly are the 
 dens of crime, wickedness, misery and 
 tears. 
 
 And yet this part of the city is very
 
 At New York. 49 
 
 crowded, for all the emigrants who can- 
 not find room in Castle Garden and will 
 not or cannot go to the lodging houses 
 congregate here, live and mostly die 
 here. One might say that if the emi- 
 grants are mostly the scum of European 
 countries, the inhabitants of this place 
 are the scum of emigration. The peo- 
 ple here are mostly idle, partly because 
 they cannot obtain work and partly be- 
 cause they will not work. Night is 
 made hidious by revolver shots, cries 
 for help, hoarse yells of rage, songs of 
 drunken brawlers, or the howling of 
 quarreling negroes. In the daytime, 
 prize fights and betting on the princi- 
 pals are the customary amusements of 
 the inhabitants. Ragged children and 
 curly-headed little negroes and mulat- 
 toes crowd the streets, picking up stray 
 bits of vegetables or bananas, and ima- 
 ciated begger women stretch out their 
 4
 
 50 For Daily Bread. 
 
 hands for alms if a well dressed person 
 happens to pass by. 
 
 In this earthly Gehenna we find our 
 old friends, Laurence Toporek and his 
 daughter, Marisha. The lordly posses- 
 sion of which they had dreamed had 
 vanished into air, and reality was before 
 them in the shape of a narrow base- 
 ment, deep in the ground, with one 
 broken window, the walls stained with 
 damp and black fungus, the whole fur- 
 niture consisting of a rusty, battered 
 stove, a three-legged chair, and a heap 
 of straw which serves for a bed. 
 
 Old Laurence on his knees before the 
 stove, is searching among the ashes for 
 a stray potato, and he returns to this 
 search again and again; Marisha is sit- 
 ting on the straw, her hands clasped 
 round her knees, her eyes staring on 
 the floor. She looks ill and wan. It 
 is the same Marisha, but the once rosy 
 cheeks are pale and thin, the whole face
 
 At New York. 51 
 
 is smaller, and the great blue eyes have 
 a vacant look. Her face shows the 
 effects of foul air and scanty nourish- 
 ment. 
 
 They lived mostly on potatoes; and 
 now even these 1 have failed, and they 
 do not know what to do next, nor how 
 to live'. It is three months since they 
 came into this place and their little 
 supply of money is gone. Laurence 
 tried to get work, but nobody could un- 
 derstand what he wanted. He went to 
 the docks ready to carry bales, or load 
 coals into the ships, but the Irishmen 
 drove him away. 
 
 Of what use was a laborer who could 
 not understand what was said to him. 
 Wherever he went, and whatever work 
 he tried to do, he was pushed aside and 
 laughed and jeered at for his pains. His 
 hair had grown snow-white with sorrow, 
 hope' had left him, his money was gone, 
 and hunger stared in the face.
 
 52 For Daily Bread. 
 
 At home, among his own people, even 
 extreme poverty would have looked dif- 
 ferent. With staff in hand and a wallet 
 slung across his shoulders, he would 
 have stood singing near the cross on 
 the roadside or at the church entrance: 
 the lord of the manor would throw him 
 a coin from the carriage, the lady send 
 out a rosy-faced child who would look 
 wonderingly at the poor man and put 
 money into his hand; a peasant would 
 give him half a loaf of bread, and 
 other bits of meat, he would feed like 
 the birds that neither plough nor sow. 
 Besides, standing under the cross, he 
 would have God's protecting arms above, 
 around him the sky and fields, and in 
 the quiet stillness the Lord would hear 
 him singing in his praise. Here in this 
 great town there was the continual noise 
 and rush of people always in a hurry; 
 it seemed like a gigantic wheel turning 
 round and round and crushing all that 
 could not come up with it.
 
 At New York. 53 
 
 Heigho! what a difference from his 
 former life! At Lipince, Laurence 
 owned a goodish bit of land; he was 
 elder in the village, respected by every- 
 body and sure of his meals for the next 
 day. On Sundays he stood before the 
 altar with a wax candle in his hand; 
 and here, he was the last among people, 
 a stray dog in a strange yard; humble, 
 trembling, and hungry. 
 
 His conscience cried out loudly: 
 "Laurence, why didst thou leave thy 
 home?" Why? Because God had be- 
 reft him of his senses. 
 
 The peasant has much endurance and 
 carries his burden patiently enough, if 
 he sees a rav of light at the end of his 
 calvary ; but Laurence knew well enough 
 that it would be worse every day, and 
 the sun would rise every morning to 
 show a still greater depth of misery for 
 himself and his child. "What should 
 he do? A rope, a yiraver. and there
 
 54 For Daily Bread. 
 
 would be an end of it. He was not 
 afraid to die — but what would become 
 of the girl? 
 
 When he though of all this, he felt 
 that not only God had forsaken him, 
 but that he was going mad. There was 
 no ray of light in the darkness he saw 
 before him; and the greatest pain which 
 continually gnawed at his heart he 
 could not even define or give a name 
 to: it was homesickness. The simple 
 peasant yearned for his pine woods, 
 thatched cabins, priests, and landlords, 
 all of which constituted his home and 
 the familiar surroundings of his former 
 life from which he had borne himself, 
 away. At times he felt inclined to tear 
 his hair; throw himself on the floor, 
 howl like a chained dog or cry out — to 
 whom? he did not know. He is sink- 
 ing under his burden and the town is 
 always noisy, always clamorous; he calls 
 to Christ.: and there are no crosses on
 
 At New York. 5o 
 
 the roads; nobody answers or hears him; 
 only the noise grows louder without and 
 the girl crouches motionless on her 
 straw. Thev sat there from morning 
 until night without exchanging a word 
 as if they were angry with each other. 
 What could they talk about? The open 
 wounds had better be left untouched. 
 
 How was it none of their countrymen 
 helped them. There are many Poles in 
 New York, but few of them who live 
 about Chatham Square. 
 
 In the second, week after their arrival 
 they met two Polish families, one from 
 Silesia, the other from Posen, but they 
 were suffering themselves. The Silesi- 
 ans had lost two children, and with the 
 last surviving one had slept under the 
 arches of the bridges living by what 
 they could pick up until they were taken 
 to the hospital. The second family was 
 in a more unhappy condition because 
 the father was a drunkard. Marisha
 
 56 For Daily Bread. 
 
 had helped the woman as long as she 
 could; now she needed help herself. 
 
 They might have gone to the Polish 
 Church in Hoboken, and the priest 
 would have made their case known. 
 But they were ignorant of this, could 
 not ask their way, and any money spent 
 meant a step nearer to destitution. 
 
 They sat these; he before the stove, 
 she on the straw in the room. Though 
 it was only noon, it grew darker, from 
 the mist arising near the water. It was 
 warm outside but they trembled with 
 cold; at last Laurence gave up all hope 
 of finding anything in the ashes. 
 
 "Marisha," he said, "I cannot bear it 
 any longer. I will go and see whether 
 I can pick up any wood and maybe find 
 something to eat." 
 
 She said nothing in reply, and he went 
 out. He had acquired some practice by 
 this time and knew how to catch the 
 driftwood which the tide brink's near the
 
 At New York. 57 
 
 docks. Many of those who have no 
 money with which to buy coal do the 
 same. Often he got kicked and driven 
 away, but now and then he found pieces 
 of wood or something to eat, besides the 
 eagerness of his search made him for- 
 get his hard fate and the ever present 
 pain of homesickness. When he reach- 
 ed the dock it was luncheon time, the 
 men had gone away, and the smaller 
 boys, though they pelted him with mud 
 and oyster shells could not drive him 
 away. Pieces of wood were rocking on 
 the water, one wave brought them near, 
 another carried them back, but he man- 
 aged to secure a good supply neverthe- 
 less. Other light objects were floating 
 in the distance out of his reach. The 
 boys threw lines and drew them on the 
 shore. He had no line, so* he waited 
 until the boys were gone, then looked 
 over what they had left and picked out 
 what he could eat. It never even
 
 58 For Daily Bread. 
 
 crossed his mind that his daughter was 
 hungry. 
 
 Fortune befriended him this time. 
 On his way back he saw a cart laden 
 with potatoes stuck fast in the mud. 
 Laurence put his shoulder to the wheel, 
 and helped the driver to> get it out. It 
 was heavy work, but he strained all his 
 muscles, the horses gave a hard pull and 
 the cart got loose. As it was heaped 
 full a great many potatoes rolled off in 
 the mud. The driver did not stop to 
 pick them up, he thanked Laurence for 
 his help, shouted to the horses, and 
 drove on. 
 
 Laurence knelt down and gathered 
 them with trembling hands and his heart 
 grew hopeful once more. Wending his 
 way homewards, he murmured to him- 
 self: 
 
 "Praised be the Almighty, he has an- 
 swered my prayers. The lassie will 
 light the fire, there is wood enough, and
 
 At New York. 59 
 
 potatoes to last us two days. The Lord 
 is merciful! The room will look more 
 cheerful, and poor Marisha will be glad. 
 God is merciful!" 
 
 Muttering thus, he went along, carry- 
 ing the wood and feeling now and then 
 whether the potatoes were safe. He 
 had a great treasure, therefore he raised 
 his eyes in gratitude to heaven, and 
 again muttered: 
 
 "I thought nothing remained for me 
 but to steal some food — and here it fell 
 from the cart like a gift from heaven. 
 We were without food, now we have 
 plenty. God be praised. Marisha will 
 jump up from the straw when she hears 
 the news." 
 
 In the meanwhile Marisha had not 
 changed her position. At times when 
 Laurence brought wood, she had made 
 the fire, brought water, and eaten what 
 there was and then sat down again star- 
 ing silently at the blaze. She, too, had
 
 60 For Daily Bread. 
 
 endeavored to find work. They had 
 taken her on in one of the boarding 
 houses to' sweep the rooms and wash 
 the dishes; but as they could not make 
 her understand aud she often did the 
 wrong thing from not understanding 
 what they wanted, they sent her away 
 after two days' trial. Now she sat the 
 whole day in the house afraid to go into 
 the street because drunken sailors often 
 stopped her on the way. This enforced 
 idleness made her still more unhappy. 
 Homesickness was eating into her soul 
 like rust into iron. She was far less 
 happy than Laurence; for besides hun- 
 ger and the hopelessness of their future, 
 the thoughts of her lost love was always 
 with her. Jan had promised and vowed : 
 "Where thou goest I will go," but she 
 had hoped to become a lady, and now 
 everything was changed. 
 
 He was head groom at the Manor and 
 owned his own land; and she was now
 
 At New York. 61 
 
 a poor, hungry outcast. Would lie still 
 follow her, take her into his strong arms 
 and say: "Poor, tired birdie, come to 
 me, or would he cast her off as a pauper's 
 daughter?" The dogs would bark at 
 her in Lipince, as they do at vagrants 
 and beggars; and yet the wish of her 
 soul was to be there once more; to live 
 near him, even if he spurned her. 
 
 When they had a fire and hunger was 
 not so near, she saw pictures of past 
 days in the glowing embers. She saw 
 herself, sitting at the spinning wheel 
 with other girls around her. Jan had 
 crept up behind and whispered into her 
 ear: "Marisha we will go the priest to- 
 gether, for thou art very dear to me." 
 And she had stopped her ears and 
 thrown her apron over her head in con- 
 fusion but listened to it all the same and 
 felt SO' lighthearted and happy. Another 
 time he had dragged her forth from the 
 corner where she was hidden and asked
 
 62 For Daily Bread. 
 
 her to dance with him and she had 
 turned her head away and bade him go 
 away she felt so ashamed and bashful. 
 She had seen it all over and over again 
 in the crackling flames through eyes 
 dimmed with tears; now there was 
 neither fire nor tears, both had burned 
 out, but though her eyes were dry the 
 tears were burning deep down in her 
 heart. She felt very tired and very 
 weak; but she suffered patiently and 
 humbly, and there was an expression in 
 the large blue eyes like a dumb animal 
 that is tortured. 
 
 Thus she looked now sitting on the 
 straw. Somebdy moved the latch of 
 the door; she thought it was her father 
 and did not raise her head, then a rasp- 
 ing voice called out: 
 
 "Look here!" 
 
 It was the owner of the tumble-down 
 rookery they lived in; a mulatto 1 with 
 a dirty, scowling face, and a chew of 
 tobacco in his mouth.
 
 At New York. 63 
 
 When the girl saw who it was she 
 felt frightened. They owed him the 
 week's rent in advance and they had not 
 a cent. She thought humble entreaty 
 might prevail with the man. She ap- 
 proached him, and gently kissed his 
 hand. 
 
 "I have come for the dollar," he said. 
 
 She understood the word dollar, and 
 shook her head, and looking at him sup- 
 plicatingly, she tried to make him un- 
 derstand that they had no money left 
 and had had no food for nearly two 
 days. 
 
 "The good God will reward you," she 
 said in her own tongue, not knowing 
 what to do or what to say. 
 
 The mulatto only understood that no 
 dollar was forthcoming, and taking her 
 bundle with one hand and the girl with 
 the other he pushed her into the street, 
 throwing down her things beside her; 
 then with the same stolidity, he opened
 
 64 For Daily Bread. 
 
 the door of the barroom close by, and 
 called out: 
 
 "Hi, Paddy! there is a room for you!" 
 
 "All right," responded a voice from 
 within, "I will come to-night." 
 
 Presently the mulatto disappeared 
 within the dark entrance and Marisha 
 remained standing alone in the street. 
 She placed her bundles into a sheltered 
 corner to keep them clean, and stood 
 close by them, humble and patient. 
 
 The passers-by left her unmolested. 
 It had been dark in the room but the 
 street was still comparatively light and 
 in that light the girl's face looked pale 
 and warm as if she had risen from a 
 sick-bed. The light flaxen hair was the 
 same, but the lips were pale; the eyes 
 sunken in and encircled with bluish 
 rings; the cheekbones very prominent, 
 She looked like a faded blossom, or a 
 girl in the last stages of consumption. 
 The passers-by looked compassionate-
 
 At New York. 65 
 
 ly at her. An old negress asked her a 
 few questions, hut receiving no reply, 
 went on her way feeling offended. 
 
 In the meantime Laurence was on his 
 way back, full of that kindly feeling 
 which in very poor people is roused by 
 a manifest sign of God's providence. 
 He now had potatoes, he thought, and 
 they would eat. The next day he would 
 go out again to look after wagons; and 
 after that, well, he did not think fur- 
 ther ahead — he was too hungry. When 
 he saw the girl standing on the pave- 
 ment he wondered and quickened his 
 steps. 
 
 "Why art thou standing in the 
 street?" 
 
 "The landlord has turned us out, 
 Dad." 
 
 "Turned us out?" 
 
 He stared at her in a helpless way; 
 the wood fell from his hands. This was 
 too much for him. To turn them out 
 5
 
 66 For Daily Bread. 
 
 when he had found wood and potatoes. 
 He dashed his cap on the pavement, 
 turned round and round, stared wildly 
 at the girl, and repeated: 
 
 "•Turned us out into the street?" 
 
 Then he seemed to be going some- 
 where but turned back and asked in a 
 hoarse voice: 
 
 "Why didst not ask him to be patient, 
 stupid girl?" 
 
 "I did ask him," whispered Marisha. 
 
 "Didst embrace his knees and kiss his 
 hand?" 
 
 "I did, Daddy." 
 
 Laurence again turned round and 
 round like a trodden worm; everything 
 seemed to grow dark before his eyes. 
 
 "A curse upon thee, for a stupid 
 wench." 
 
 The girl looked mournfully at him. 
 
 "It was not my fault, Daddy." 
 
 "Stop here and do not budge, I will 
 go and ask him to let us, at least, roast 
 our potatoes."
 
 At New York. 67 
 
 He went inside. In a few moments 
 voices were heard, a stamping of feet, 
 and Laurence came flying out into the 
 street pushed evidently by a powerful 
 hand. 
 
 For a moment he stood still, then 
 turning to his daughter, he said ab- 
 ruptly: "Let us go." 
 
 She stooped to> pick up the bundles, 
 which were very heavy, but Laurence 
 did not offer any help or take any no- 
 tice that the girl was too weak to carry 
 them. 
 
 They started off. Two such misera- 
 ble beings as the old man and his daugh- 
 ter would have attracted the attention 
 of any passer-by were they not so ac- 
 costumed to such sights of destitution. 
 
 The girl's breathing became more and 
 more difficult, she tottered on her feet 
 once, then twice, and at last, said en- 
 treateningly : 
 
 "Daddy! take the bundles, I cannot 
 carry them any longer."
 
 68 For Daily Bread. 
 
 "Throw them away, then." 
 "But the things will be needed." 
 "They will not be needed." 
 Suddenly, seeing that she hesitated, 
 he exclaimed fiercely: 
 
 "Throw them down, or I will beat 
 thee." 
 
 This time, the girl frightened by her 
 father's voice and fierce eyes, obeyed, 
 and he went on muttering to himself: 
 
 "It is fate, and there is nothing else 
 left." 
 
 Then he became silent, but his eyes 
 gleamed savagely. They crossed the 
 little streets, one dirtier than the other, 
 until they arrived near the dock, pass- 
 ing a building with the inscription: 
 "Sailors' Asylum." Marisha sat down 
 on a pile of lumber; because her feet 
 would carry her no longer and Lau- 
 rence sat beside her. The dock was 
 teeming with life and bustle. The 
 mist had cleared up and the warm sun-
 
 At New York. 69 
 
 shine fell upon the two outcasts. From 
 the water came a crisp breeze ; there was 
 light and color and ever varying motion 
 among the big ships which with their 
 canvass fluttering in the wind sailed into 
 the harbor. Other steamers churning 
 the water were leaving it. 
 
 They were going home, towards Li- 
 pince, thought Marisha, mournfully, 
 where they had left their happiness and 
 peace. How was it the Lord had for- 
 saken them, what had they done to de- 
 serve such punishment? It was in His 
 power to bring them back; so many 
 ships were going out, and they were 
 left behind among strangers. 
 
 The tired girl's thoughts were con- 
 tinually hovering about the village. 
 
 "Does he still think of me," she whis- 
 pered to herself, "does he remember." 
 
 She remembers, because only happi- 
 ness makes us forget, but solitude and 
 sorrow niukes us cling round the dear
 
 70 For Daily Bread. 
 
 ones like the tendrils of the ivy round 
 the oak. Maybe he had forgotten the 
 old love and taken up with a new one? 
 Was it possible he could still think of 
 a poor lass who would bring him noth- 
 ing but her garland of rue, who had no 
 possessions, and whom only death alone 
 would woo' now. 
 
 As she was ill, hunger did not trou- 
 ble her, but she felt very tired and 
 sleepy; she snut her eyes and the pale 
 face sank lower on her breast. She 
 dreamed she> was wandering over preci- 
 pices and deep ravines like Kasia in the 
 ballad, who fell into the Dunajelz river; 
 she distinctly heard the lines of the 
 song: 
 
 " Jan saw her peril from the cliff above 
 And threw a silken cord towards his love. 
 The cord did not reach — too short by a bit 
 And Kasia tied her long tresses to it." 
 
 Here she started; it seemed to her she 
 had no tresses and was falling into space.
 
 At New York. 71 
 
 The dream vanished. It was not Jan 
 who sat beside her, but Laurence, her 
 father. There was no< river, only the 
 dock with its forest of masts, and fun- 
 nels. Some ships were leaving the pier, 
 and thence came the singing which had 
 mingled with her dream. A quiet, 
 balmy, spring evening spread a ruddy 
 glow on sky and water. The river was 
 without a. ripple and every ship and 
 every pile stood clearly reflected in the 
 water. There seemed to be peace and 
 happiness spread everywhere! — but be- 
 yond the reach of those two waifs; the 
 workmen were beginning to return to- 
 wards their homes, these two only had 
 nowhere to go. 
 
 Hunger with its iron claws began to 
 gnaw at Laurence's vitals. The peasant 
 sat there in gloomy silence, a fierce re- 
 solve depicted on his face. If anybody 
 had looked at him, he would have been 
 frightened at that despairingly quiet
 
 72 For Daily Bread. 
 
 face with the expression of a rapacious 
 animal. He had not. opened his lips to 
 the girl since he bade her throw down 
 the bundles; now he said in a strange 
 voice: 
 
 "Come, Marisha." 
 
 "Where are we going?" 
 
 "To the end of the pier, near the 
 water. We will lie down on the boards 
 and sleep." 
 
 They crossed the long, winding pier 
 until they reached the covered platform 
 where during the day the workmen had 
 been busy, but there was nobody there 
 now. 
 
 When they reached the furthest end 
 Laurence said: 
 
 "We will lie down here." 
 
 Marisha sunk down at once, and in 
 spite of the swarming mosquitoes, fell 
 into a heavy sleep. 
 
 Suddenly in the depth of night the 
 voice of Laurence awakened her.
 
 At New York. 73 
 
 "Marisha, get up!" 
 
 There was something in the tone of 
 his voice which roused her instantly. 
 
 "What is it, Daddy?" 
 
 In the midst of the stillness the old 
 man's voice sounded hollow and terri- 
 bly quiet. 
 
 "Child! never more shalt thou suffer 
 from hunger. Thou shalt not beg thy 
 bread at the stranger's door nor sleep 
 under the open sky. People have aban- 
 doned us. God has forsaken us. There 
 is nothing for us but death. The water 
 is deep and thou wilt not suffer much." 
 
 She could not see his face in the dark- 
 ness, but her eyes dilated with terror. 
 
 "I will drown thee, poor lassie, and 
 then drown myself," he continued in 
 that same dull, even voice. "There is 
 neither help nor mercy for us. To- 
 morrow thou wilt not be hungry; to- 
 morrow thou wilt be happier than to- 
 day."
 
 74 For Daily Bread. 
 
 "Oh, no." she did not wish to die; 
 she was only eighteen and clung to life 
 and was afraid of death. Her very soul 
 recoiled from the thought that her body 
 should lie at the bottom of the sea 
 among fishes and reptiles. A great ter- 
 ror and aversion shook her whole frame, 
 and her own father speaking thus in the 
 darkness, seemed an evil spirit. 
 
 Both his hands were resting on her 
 thin shoulders, and still in that same 
 unnaturally quiet voice, he went on: 
 
 "If thou shoutest nobody will hear it; 
 I have only to push thee, and it is all 
 over." 
 
 "I will not die, Daddy, I will not," 
 cried out Marisha. "Have you no fear 
 of God? Daddy, my own Daddy, have 
 mercy on me! Did I ever complain of 
 anything, did I not patiently suffer cold 
 and hunger with you?" 
 
 His breath came quicker and quicker 
 and his hands held her as in a vice; she 
 still prayed to him despairingly.
 
 At New York. 75 
 
 "Have mercy, I am your child. Poor 
 and weak, and not long to live; but I 
 will not die, I am afraid." 
 
 She clutched his garments and kissed 
 the hands that tried to push her into 
 the dark space. But all this seemed to 
 excite the old man still more. His un- 
 natural quietness gave way to frenzy 
 and he began to snort and pant like a 
 wild beast. 
 
 The night was dark and still, nobody 
 could hear them because they were at 
 that part of the pier where even in the 
 daytime none except workmen ever 
 come. 
 
 "Help! help!" screamed Marisha. 
 
 He dragged her violently with one 
 hand to the brink, while beating her on 
 the head with the other to smother her 
 cries. 
 
 But the cries did not rouse any echo; 
 a dog only barked in the distance. The 
 girl was growing faint; the piece of gar-
 
 76 For Daily Bread. 
 
 merit she clutched unconsciously remain- 
 ed in her hand and Marisha was sensible 
 she was falling. 
 
 In her fall she grasped at a beam and 
 remained hanging over the water. 
 
 The peasant leaned over, and horrible 
 to say, tried to unloosen her hands. 
 
 At this moment like a flash of light- 
 ning she saw before her the short. Past: 
 Lipince, the well with the long crane, 
 then the voyage, the terrible storm, 
 when they said the litany together, and 
 their miserable life at New York. But 
 what is this she sees: A great ship is 
 coming towards her, nearer and nearer, 
 there is a great crowd of people and 
 among them stands Jan with out- 
 stretched arms and above the ship the 
 Holy Virgin, smiling at her in heavenly 
 glory. Oh, Holy Mother! Jan, my 
 Jan! Daddy!" she cries out, 'there is 
 the Mother of God! The Holy Virgin!" 
 
 A moment more and the same hands
 
 At New York. 77 
 
 that pushed her ruthlessly over the brink 
 grasp her arms and with superhuman 
 strength drag her upon the pier. Again 
 she feels the boards under her feet, two 
 arms infold her, they are not those of 
 the excutioner, but of the loving father, 
 and her head sinks on his breast. 
 
 When she recovered from her swoon 
 she saw herself lying quietly near her 
 father; though it was dark, she could 
 see he was lying on his face, both arms 
 spread out in the form of a. cross, and 
 his whole frame shaking with convul- 
 sive sobs: "Marisha," he said in broken 
 tones. "Marisha, my child, forgive." 
 
 The girl searched in the dark for his 
 hand and covered it with kisses. 
 
 '"Daddy, may the Lord Jesus forgive 
 you, as I do." 
 
 From a silvery cloud which shone on 
 the horizon came out the bright moon, 
 and oh, wonder! Marisha saw crowds of 
 silver-winged angels, gliding along the
 
 78 For Daily Bread. 
 
 moonbeams towards her; they fanned 
 her face, singing in sweet, childish 
 voices: 
 
 " Peace be with thee, poor tired, child ! 
 Storm-tossed, battered birdie, peace 
 be with thee ! little field-flower, so 
 patient and quiet, rest in peace 1" 
 
 Singing thus they scattered lilies and 
 rose leaves over her and little silver bells 
 chimed in: 
 
 " Rest, poor girl ! sleep — sleep in peace." 
 
 And she felt well, bright and peace- 
 ful and fell off to sleep. 
 
 The night faded and early dawn whit- 
 ened the water. Masts and funnels 
 seemed to emerge from the shadow and 
 come nearer. Laurence knelt down 
 bending over his daughter. 
 
 He thought she was dead. Her 
 slender form was motionless; her face 
 was very pale, and the closed eyes were 
 surrounded by a bluish tint. He shook
 
 At New York. 79 
 
 her arm but she neither moved nor 
 opened her eyes. Laurence felt as if 
 he, too, were dying; but putting his 
 hand close to her mouth he felt the 
 faintest flutter of a breath. Her heart 
 was beating though very feebly, and he 
 thought it might stop any moment. If 
 there came a warm sun from out of the 
 morning mist she may wake up, he 
 thought. 
 
 The seagulls circled overhead as if 
 they too' were taking an interest in this 
 human tragedy. The mist gradually 
 dissolved under the breath of a westerlv 
 wind which brought with it waxmth and 
 sweetness. 
 
 Then rose the sun. The rays fell first 
 on the top of the scaffolding at the end 
 of the pier, then going lower touched 
 Marisha's lifeless face. With the light 
 around her the sweet patient face sur- 
 rounded by the flaxen hair which had 
 become unloosened in the struggle look-
 
 80 For Daily Bread. 
 
 ed like that of a saint or an angel; for 
 Marisha thought her sufferings and pa- 
 tient endurance had almost reached the 
 martyr's palm. 
 
 A rosy, delightful day rose from the 
 water, the sun grew more powerful and 
 a gentle wind caressed the maiden's face. 
 The seagulls whirled and circled over- 
 head screaming as if they wanted to 
 awaken her. Laurence took off his long 
 coat and spread it over his daughter's 
 feet. 
 
 Gradually the bluish tint vanished 
 from her face and the anxiously watch- 
 ing father saw a faint touch of color 
 mounting to the cheeks, she smiled once, 
 and twice, at last opened her eyes. 
 
 Then the old man knelt down on the 
 planks, raised his eyes to heaven, and 
 heavy tears ran down his furrowed face. 
 
 He felt now that from henceforth the 
 child was as the apple of his eye, the 
 soul of his soul, a thing holy and be- 
 loved above everything on earth.
 
 At Xew York. 81 
 
 Marisha not only woke up but she felt 
 better and more refreshed than she had 
 done for some time past. The pure air 
 of the harbor had filled her lungs poi- 
 soned by the foul vapor of her narrow 
 lodgings. She had indeed come back 
 to life again, for she sat up and called 
 out: 
 
 "Daddy! I am very hungry." 
 
 "Come, little daughter," said the old 
 man, "we will go to the other end of 
 the pier and find something to eat." 
 
 She rose without much effort, and fol- 
 lowed him. This day was evidently to 
 be a turning point in their fortunes for 
 scarcely had they gone a few steps when 
 they saw lying between two beams a red 
 handkerchief tied up in a bundle, which 
 on examination was found to contain 
 some bread and meat, and a piece of 
 pudding. Who had put it there? A 
 laborer most likely who had eaten only 
 a portion of his lunch yesterday. They 
 G
 
 82 For Daily Bread. 
 
 often do. Laurence and Marisha ex- 
 plained it in their own simple way. 
 Who had put it there? He, who re- 
 members and feeds the sparrows on the 
 roof and the flowers in the field. 
 
 God! 
 
 They said a short prayer and ate what 
 they found; it was not very much for 
 two hungry people, but they felt re- 
 freshed and strengthened, and went 
 along the water front towards the larger 
 docks. Reaching the Emigrant Office, 
 they turned into Water street. With a 
 rest now and then it took them several 
 hours to accomplish the journey. Why 
 they went in this particular direction 
 they did not know themselves, but Ma- 
 risha fancied going that way. On their 
 way they met a number of carts and 
 wagons going towards the water front. 
 Water street was full of life and motion. 
 People were coming in all directions 
 from their dwellings, and hurrying to
 
 At New York. 83 
 
 their offices, and places of business. In 
 one of the open doors stood a grey-haired 
 gentleman, with long moustaches, with 
 a young lad by his side. He stepped 
 out, looked at the two wanderers, his 
 moustaches twitched, and an expression 
 of deep astonishment appeared on his 
 face; he came a little nearer, looked 
 again, and then smiled. 
 
 A human being smiling at them in 
 New York was something so wonderful, 
 nay miraculous, that both Laurence and 
 his daughter were astonished. 
 
 The old gentleman approached them, 
 and addressed them in their own tongue : 
 
 "Where do you come from, good peo- 
 ple?" 
 
 If a thunderbolt had fallen from the 
 pure sky they would not have been more 
 taken aback. Laurence grew as white 
 as a sheet and reeled on his feet; una- 
 able to believe his ears. Marisha re- 
 covered first, and falling to the old
 
 84 For Daily Bread. 
 
 man's knees, which she embraced, ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 "We come from Posen, Gracious 
 Pan!" 
 
 "And what are you doing here?" 
 
 "Nothing, gracious Pan, but suffering 
 hunger and misery." Her voice failed, 
 and Laurence having shaken off his be- 
 wilderment, fell at the old gentleman's 
 feet, clutched at the lappels of his coat, 
 kissed them raptuously and thought he 
 clutched at a bit of heaven. • 
 
 It's our own Pan, our master," he 
 gasped out. "He will not let us die 
 of hunger, he will protect us and save 
 us from evil." 
 
 The young lad who was with the 
 elderly man opened his eyes in undis- 
 guised astonishment; people began to 
 crowd around them to see one man 
 kneeling before another, kissing his feet, 
 a thing unheard of in America. The 
 gentleman grew red, and evidently an-
 
 At New York. 85 
 
 gry, and turned sharply on the by- 
 standers: 
 
 "What are you staring at? It's none 
 of your business," and then turning to 
 Laurence and Marisha, he said: 
 
 "We cannot stand here in the street, 
 come with me." 
 
 They followed him to the nearest res- 
 taurant, and there he went with them 
 into a private room. Here the two 
 peasants again begun to embrace his 
 knees but he waived them off and mut- 
 tered in grumpy tones: 
 
 "There, there, have done with your 
 foolishness! We come from the same 
 countrv, and are children of the same 
 mother." 
 
 The smoke of his cigar seemed to 
 
 have got into his eyes because he rubbed 
 
 them vigorously with his fist, then asked : 
 
 "Are you hungry?" 
 
 "We have eaten nothing for two days,
 
 86 For Daily Bread. 
 
 but what we found to-day near the 
 water." 
 
 "William," said he addressing the lad, 
 "order some lunch to be brought in 
 here." Then he asked again: 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 "Nowhere, illustrious Pan." 
 
 "Where did you sleep?" 
 
 "On the pier." 
 
 "Did you get turned out of your lodg- 
 ings?" 
 
 "We did." 
 
 "Have you no things, nothing but 
 what you stand in?" 
 
 "We have not." 
 
 "And no money?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 "And what do you intend doing ? ,? 
 
 "We do not know." 
 
 The old gentleman put further ques- 
 tions in a sharp, quick tone; then sud- 
 denly turning towards Marisha, he said 
 in a gentle voice:
 
 At New York. 87 
 
 "How old are you, child?" 
 
 "I shall be eighteen next Michaelmas, 
 please, Sir." 
 
 "And you have suffered a great deal?" 
 
 Instead of answering, Marisha bent 
 humbly down to his knees; upon which 
 the old gentleman took to rubbing his 
 eyes again — the smoke evidently an- 
 noyed him. 
 
 A dish of hot meat and some beer 
 was brought in. He told them to sit 
 down and eat, at which they demurred, 
 saying they dared not do so in his pres- 
 ence. He became angry again, and 
 called them a couple of fools, but in 
 spite of all his impatient manner he 
 seemed to them a very angel from 
 heaven. 
 
 His face beamed with satisfaction 
 when he saw them making a hearty 
 meal. After they had finished he asked 
 them to tell him how they had come 
 here and all that had happened to them.
 
 88 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Laurence told him everything as if he 
 had been in the confessional, he had 
 tried to drown his child; the old gen- 
 tleman jumped up in a terrible rage, 
 and fairly shouted: 
 
 "I could flay you alive for that." 
 Then turning to Marisha, he said: 
 "Come here, child." 
 When she approached he took her 
 head in both his hands and kissed her 
 on the forehead. 
 
 After a short and thoughtful pause 
 he said: 
 
 "You have undergone great suffering 
 and privation. Nevertheless it is a good 
 country for those who know how to shift 
 for themselves." 
 
 Laurence opened his eyes in silent 
 amazement: this good and wise gentle- 
 man called America a good country. 
 
 "Yes, you blockhead," he said, seeing 
 Laurence's astonishment, "it is a good 
 country. I came here with empty pock-
 
 At New York. 89 
 
 ets and have now a good income. But 
 you peasants have no business to come 
 out here, you ought to stick to your land, 
 if you leave the country who is to re- 
 main there. You cannot do much here. 
 It is easy enough to come but very diffi- 
 cult to get home again." 
 
 He remained silent a few minutes, 
 and then said, as if to himself: "It's 
 forty years since I came here, time al- 
 most to have forgotten the old home; 
 but the longing for it comes back now 
 and then. William must go there 
 and get acquainted with his father's 
 country." 
 
 "This is my son," he said, pointing 
 to the lad. 
 
 "William you will bring me from 
 thence a handful of soil to put under my 
 head in the coffin." 
 
 "Yes, father," replied the lad, in Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 "And upon the breast, William, upon 
 the breast,"
 
 90 For Daily Bread. 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 The smoke of the cigar seemed to 
 have got into his eyes again, so that they 
 were suffused with tears. He shook 
 himself and said gruffly: 
 
 "The rascal understands Polish well 
 enough, but prefers to speak English. 
 Such is fate. Where the sapling is 
 transplanted there it grows. "William, 
 go and tell your sister that we have 
 guests for dinner and for the night." 
 
 The lad jumped up quickly, and went 
 out to do his bidding. 
 
 The old gentleman sat silent evidently 
 lost in meditation, then spoke as if to 
 himself: 
 
 "If I were to send them home it would 
 cost a great deal, and they have nothing 
 to go back to. Sold their property and 
 all their sticks, nothing but a beggar's 
 life to await them there. To send the 
 girl into service, the Lord knows what 
 might become of her. Since they are
 
 At New York. 91 
 
 here they might as well try to work. 
 I will send them to a settlement, the 
 girl, will get married at once. They will 
 earn some money, and can go back if 
 they wish to, and take the old man with 
 them." 
 
 Then he turned to Laurence: 
 
 "Did you hear about our settlements 
 here?" 
 
 "No, gracious Pan, I have heard noth- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh, people, how can you come here 
 not knowing where to turn; no wonder 
 you came near perishing miserably. In 
 Chicago there are twenty thousand like 
 you; in Milwaukee as many; in Detroit 
 and Buffalo a great number. They work 
 mostly in factories, but the peasant loves 
 the soil best. I might send you to Ra- 
 dom, in Illinois, h'm! but land is more 
 difficult to obtain there. Thev are build- 
 ing a new Posen in the prairies at Ne- 
 braska, but that is too far, and the rail-
 
 92 For Daily Bread. 
 
 road fare is too much. St. Mary's in 
 Texas is also too far. Barovina would 
 be the best, especially, as I can get you 
 free passes, and what money I give you, 
 you can keep for other purposes. 
 
 He thought again, deeply. 
 
 "Listen to me, old man," he said sud- 
 denly. "They are opening a new settle- 
 ment called Borovina, in Arkansas. It 
 is a beautiful country, good climate and 
 you can obtain one hundred and sixty 
 acres, or more, of good woodland by 
 making a, small payment to the railway 
 company. Do you understand? I will 
 give you some money to start with, be- 
 sides the railway tickets; these will take 
 you to Little Rock, and from there you 
 go by wagon. You will find many 
 others there bound for the settlement. 
 I shall provide you with letters of in- 
 troduction. I will do for you what I 
 can, because we are children of the same 
 mother, but I am more sorry for your
 
 At New York. 93 
 
 daughter than for you. Do you under- 
 stand?" Then his voice grew soft and 
 tender. 
 
 "Now listen, child," he said to Ma- 
 risha," take my card, and do not lose 
 it. If ever you are in need of a friend, 
 come straight to me and I will protect 
 you. If I should not be alive, William 
 will help you. Do not lose the address, 
 and now, come with me." 
 
 On the way he bought for them a 
 change of clothes and some linen, and 
 then took them to his house. They 
 were all good people there. William 
 and his sister Jenny made them as wel- 
 come as if they had been relatives. 
 William treated Marisha as if she were 
 a lady, to the great confusion of the 
 simple girl. In the evening some young 
 girls, prettily dressed, with fringes on 
 their foreheads came to see Jenny. They 
 took Marisha among them, wondered at 
 her pale face and beautiful flaxen hair
 
 94 For Daily Bread. 
 
 and laughed at her timid ways and her 
 wanting to kiss their hands. The mas- 
 ter of the house walked to and fro among 
 them, shook his white head. Sometimes 
 muttering to himself, addressing the 
 company either in Polish or English; he 
 talked about the far off country to Ma- 
 risha and Laurence, dwelt upon stories 
 of the past, and the smoke of his cigar 
 seemed to trouble his eyes for he wiped 
 them frequently. 
 
 When they retired for the night, Ma- 
 risha was deeply moved, seeing that 
 Jenny with her own hands prepared the 
 bed she, Marisha was to sleep upon. Oh, 
 how good they were! But it was not 
 astonishing after all, did not the gen- 
 tleman come from the same part of the 
 country ? 
 
 The third day Laurence and his 
 daughter were on their way to Little 
 Bock. The peasant felt his one hun- 
 dred dollars in his pocket, and his past
 
 At New York. 95 
 
 sufferings seemed to him a dream; and 
 this was real life at last. Marisha pon- 
 dered over the wonderful ways of Provi- 
 dence and thought that He who had 
 saved them from such misery would fur- 
 ther protect them, bring Jan out to her, 
 and allow them to go back to Lipince. 
 Towns and farms seemed to fly past 
 them. How different it was from New 
 York. There were fields and woods as 
 far as the eye could see, houses sur- 
 rounded by trees, large tracts of waving 
 cornfields, just as it was at home. At 
 the sight of this Laurence's chest, ex- 
 panded and he felt inclined to shout 
 and sing for joy. On the meadows 
 herds of cattle and sheep were grazing; 
 on the verge of the wood, men were 
 busy plying their axes. The train went 
 further and further, and the country 
 gradually became less settled. The 
 farms disappeared and the large, soli- 
 tary prairie met their eyes. The wind
 
 96 For Daily Bread. 
 
 moved the tall grasses and wild flowers. 
 Here and there like a golden ribbon 
 twisted in and out, appeared an aban- 
 doned car track now covered with yel- 
 low flowers. The feathery heads of 
 grasses, mullein, and thistles seemed to 
 nod in welcome to the wanderers. 
 Hawks hung motionless in mid air look- 
 ing down on the prairie. The train 
 rushed on as if it wanted to follow the 
 prairie where it lost itself in the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 From the windows flocks of hares and 
 prairie dogs could be seen; sometimes 
 the antlered head of a deer was seen 
 above the grasses. Nowhere, either 
 towns, churches, farms, or houses; only 
 stations between the stations, not a liv- 
 ing soul. Laurence looked and looked 
 and could not understand how it was so 
 much good soil remained uncultivated. 
 
 A day and a night passecT in that way. 
 In the morning they found themselves
 
 At New York. 97 
 
 i 
 in the woods. The thick trees with 
 
 vines and creepers twisted across their 
 branches, made a green, almost impene- 
 trable wall on either side. Strange 
 birds were now and then flitting in and 
 out the luxuriant vegetation. Laurence 
 and Marisha fancied they saw among 
 the thicket strange riders with feathered 
 headgear and faces like burnished cop- 
 per. Seeing these vast prairies and in 
 penetrable woods in succession passing 
 before their eyes, Laurence would now 
 and then ejaculate: 
 
 "Marisha!" 
 
 "Yes, Daddy." 
 
 "Isn't it all wonderful?" 
 
 They at last crossed a river which 
 seemed to them immense. Later on 
 they were told it was the Mississippi; 
 and late at night they arrived at Little 
 Kock. 
 
 Here they were to ask their way to 
 Borovina. 
 7
 
 98 For Daily Bread. 
 
 We will leave them here. The sec- 
 ond part of their wanderings is finished. 
 The third will take place amid the noise 
 of the axe, and the heavy work of the 
 settlement. Whether there is to be less 
 suffering, fewer tears, and less ill-fate, 
 time will show.
 
 III. 
 
 THE NEW SETTLEMENT. 
 
 What was Borovina. A settlement 
 in embryo. The name had been fixed 
 upon, that was the main thing; as a 
 name implies an existing fact and in- 
 spires confidence. Polish and American 
 newspapers published in ISTew York, 
 Chicago, Buffalo, Detroit, Denver, and 
 Milwaukee, in fact wherever the Polish 
 tongue was heard, proclaimed urbi et 
 orbi generally, and especially to the 
 Polish settlers, that if they wished to 
 enjoy good health, to become rich, and 
 live on the fat of the land, and, maybe 
 afterwards, save their souls, they should 
 buy farms in that earthly paradise, Bo- 
 rovina. These announcements further 
 stated that Arkansas, where the new 
 settlement was to start into life, was as
 
 100 For Daily Bread. 
 
 yet sparsely settled, although the cli- 
 mate was most salubrious. It was true 
 that the City of Memphis, situated on 
 the opposite shore of the Mississippi, was 
 a very hotbed of yellow fever; but it 
 was a well-known fact that fever could 
 not cross a broad river like the Missis- 
 sippi ; besides the Choctaws would make 
 short work of it, as the fever trembles 
 at the sight of a redskin. In conse- 
 quence of these combinations the set- 
 tlers of Borovina would have the fever 
 district on the East, redskins on the 
 West, they themselves living in a per- 
 fectly neutral zone. 
 
 In a few hundred years Borovina 
 would boast of a vast population and the 
 ground which now sold for a dollar and 
 a half an acre would fetch a thousand 
 dollars a square yard for building pur- 
 poses. 
 
 To those who were alarmed at the 
 proximity of Choctaws the announce-
 
 The New Settlement. 101 
 
 ment stated that these noble savages 
 were full of friendly feeling towards 
 their white neighbors, especially if they 
 were Poles and that their mutual rela- 
 tions would be of the friendliest; besides 
 railways, and telegraph poles were sure 
 to frighten them away, and their disap- 
 pearance would be only a question of 
 time. 
 
 The ground had been acquired by a 
 railway company which would assure 
 the settlers with an outlet for their pro- 
 duce and easy communication with the 
 world. The announcements neglected 
 to state the fact that the line was only 
 a projected one, and was to be erected 
 at some future time from the sale of the 
 land given by the government to the 
 railway company. To Borovina it made 
 this little difference, that instead of be- 
 ing on a direct line it was situated in 
 a howling wilderness that could only be 
 reached by wagons, and with great diffi- 
 culty.
 
 102 For Daily Bread. 
 
 This was a temporary inconvenience, 
 a little disappointing for the settlers it 
 is true, but one which would disappear 
 in time as soon as the line was opened. 
 Besides advertisements are not to be 
 taken for gospel truth, and as plants 
 transplanted to America soil grow into 
 luxuriant leafage at the expense of its 
 fruit, so also American advertisements 
 spring up full blown and it is difficult 
 to pick out the grain of truth from the 
 rhetorical chaff. Putting aside how- 
 ever the humbug and puffing up of the 
 settlement, one might think it would be 
 no worse than thousands of others whose 
 beginning was the same and which had 
 been praised with no less exaggeration. 
 
 The conditions from many points of 
 view seemed favorable, therefore a great 
 many people, spread over the States, 
 from the great lakes to Florida, and 
 from the Atlantic to the shores of Cali- 
 fornia, applied for farms. Poles from
 
 The New Settlement. 103 
 
 Prussia, Poles from Galicia, Masurs 
 from the plains of Warsaw, all those 
 that worked in the factories of Chicago 
 and Milwaukee and had sighed in vain 
 for the life which is the peasant's in- 
 heritance snatched eagerly at the oppor- 
 tunity to get back from smoke begrimed 
 cities to> the plough. Those who felt too 
 hot at St. Mary's in Texas, too cold in 
 Minnesota, too damp in Detroit or hun- 
 gry at Radom, in Illinois were eager 
 for a. change and a few hundred people 
 with a fair sprinkling of women and 
 children started for Arkansas. They 
 were not deterred by the tales of the 
 lawlessness of the country infested with 
 Indians, outlaws hiding from justice, 
 rough squatters who despite the govern- 
 ment's prohibition were cutting down 
 timber along the Red River, and the 
 terrible fights that were going on be- 
 tween the white and Indian buffalo 
 hunters. The Masur, if he has his
 
 104 For Daily Bread. 
 
 knotty stick and feels another brother 
 Masur at his back, is not afraid of any- 
 thing. They are clannish these Masurs 
 from the Warsaw plains; like to be 
 within reach of each other; and work 
 or fight together shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 The gathering point for Borovina was 
 the town of Little Rock. From Little 
 Rock to Clarksville, the nearest settle- 
 ment to Borovina, is a great distance; 
 and their way lay through a wild and 
 desolate country, heavy woods, and 
 swollen rivers. The few who had 
 started out alone were never heard of 
 again, but the main body arrived with- 
 out mishap and were now camping out 
 in the woods. 
 
 To say the truth they had been very 
 much disappointed when they arrived 
 on the spot. Expecting arable land and 
 woods they had found nothing but a 
 thick almost impenetrable forest which 
 had to be cleared before the plough
 
 The New Settlement. 105 
 
 could be used. Black oaks, redwood, 
 cottonwood, and gloomy hickory trees, 
 with vines and creepers as thick as cables 
 twisting in and out, and chapparal un- 
 derneath formed a solid green wall. 
 Those who penetrated further did not 
 see the sky above. They had to feel 
 their way in the surrounding gloom and 
 were in danger of losing their way and 
 perishing in the wilderness. 
 
 One and another of the Masur lads 
 looked at their fists, then at the huge 
 trees,; several yards in circumference, 
 and felt disheartened. It is well to 
 have plenty of timber wherewith to 
 build houses but to clear hundreds of 
 acres before the plough could be used 
 was a work of years. 
 
 But there was nothing else to be done; 
 therefore on the second day after their 
 arrival, some grasped the axe, crossed 
 themselves, spat on their hands, and with 
 a groan fell to work and from that time
 
 106 For Daily Bread. 
 
 on the sound of the axe often accom- 
 panied by songs re-echoed in the woods 
 of Arkansas. 
 
 The camp had been erected on a 
 clearing near the river on the brink of 
 which the future settlement was to be 
 erected, with a school and church in the 
 middle, the houses and cabins around 
 them in a large square. In the mean- 
 while there stood the wagons forming 
 a triangle to be used as a fortress in case 
 of attack. Beyond the wagons grazed 
 the mules, horses, cows, oxen and sheep 
 under the- care of young men armed 
 with rifles. The women slept in the 
 wagons and the men round the camp 
 fires. 
 
 During the day only women and 
 children stayed in the camp, the men 
 being busy in the woods. At night 
 wild beasts — jaguars, wolves and coy- 
 otes came from the thicket. The ter- 
 rible grizzly bears which are less afraid
 
 The New Cettlement. 107 
 
 of fire came now and then close to the 
 wagons, consequently shots were often 
 heard in the dead of night, and shouts: 
 "Shoot straight at the beast." The men 
 who came from the wilder part of Texas 
 were mostly skilled hunters and pro- 
 vided themselves and their families with 
 fresh meat from antelopes, stags, and 
 buffalos, which were abundant in the 
 spring when these animals draw towards 
 the north. The other settlers lived on 
 provisions brought with them from Lit- 
 tle Rock: Indian meal and salt pork; 
 beside this they killed sheep, of which 
 nearly every family had brought a num- 
 ber. 
 
 In the evenings they congregated 
 round the blazing camp fire, and the 
 young people would dance instead of 
 lying down to sleep. A settler who had 
 brought his violin played the national 
 dances: Obertas, Masur, and Krakoviak. 
 and when the sound of the violin lost
 
 108 For Daily Bread. 
 
 itself among the rustling of the forest, 
 others helped it out by jingling tin 
 plates. Time passed quickly enough 
 amid hard work, all the harder because 
 it was done without a system. The first 
 thing was to build some kind of shelter, 
 and in a short time a few log cabins, 
 covered with bark were dotted about on 
 the green sward. Cottonwood is easy 
 to work but they had to go a long dis- 
 tance for it. Others built temporary 
 dwellings from the canvass stripped 
 from their wagons. Some younger men 
 tired of felling trees began using the 
 plough in places where the trees had 
 been cleared and for the first time the 
 shouts of the ploughmen were heard in 
 the wilds of Arkansas. 
 
 Taken altogether there 1 was such a 
 vast amount of work to be done, that 
 the settlers did not know where to put 
 their hands to first; whether to build 
 cabins, clear the forest or go hunting
 
 The New Settlement 109 
 
 for supplies of venison. One thing was 
 clear from the beginning;: the settlers' 
 agent had bought the land from the 
 company on faith, without taking the 
 trouble to examine it. Otherwise he 
 could as easily have acquired a tract of 
 prairie land only partially wooded. He 
 and the railway agent had come to the 
 spot in order to survey the land and 
 parcel out the different claims, but see- 
 ing the state of things they remained 
 two days, quarelled, and then under pre- 
 text of going for the surveying tools 
 went back to Clarksville and never 
 showed themselves at the settlement 
 again. 
 
 It soon leaked out that some of the 
 settlers had paid a great deal more than 
 others, and what was worse nobody knew 
 where his allotment lay or how to survey 
 it if they could locate it. The settlers 
 had no leader or manager or any one 
 whowascapable of adjusting their differ- 
 ences.
 
 110 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Germans no doubt would have con- 
 centrated their united strength in clear- 
 ing the woods, building cabins, and after 
 that, parcel out the claims. But each 
 Masur wanted to work at once upon his 
 own property, build his cabin, and pre- 
 pare his own soil. Every one wanted 
 land close to the river where the trees 
 were fewer and water nearest. Conten- 
 tions arose which grew into quarrels and 
 free fights from the day when a certain 
 Mr. Griinmanski made his appearance. 
 This gentleman, who seemed to have 
 dropped from the clouds, came from 
 Cincinnati, where the Germans settled; 
 there he was known as plain Griinman, 
 but he added the "ski" to his honest 
 German name for business purposes. 
 
 His wagon had a high canvass roof 
 where on either side in big black letters 
 stood the name: "Saloon," and under- 
 neath in smaller type: Brandy, Whisky, 
 Gin. How he had managed to cross
 
 The New Settlement. Ill 
 
 the wild, lawless region between Clarks- 
 ville and Borovina without having been 
 attasked by thieves or scalped by In- 
 dians (who in small detachments often 
 roam about the very neighborhood of 
 Clarksville) was his secret; enough that 
 the first day he showed himself at the 
 settlement he did a good business. On 
 that very same day the settlers began 
 to quarrel. To their various differences 
 about claims, implements, or places near 
 the fire, came other more trifling 
 grounds for disagreeing. The men be- 
 came affected with provincial patriot- 
 ism. Those that came from the North- 
 ern States, praised their country at the 
 expense of those from the South. Loud 
 and angry voices in that American-Po- 
 lish idiom where their own mother 
 tongue had adopted local expressions, 
 were heard in the camp. 
 
 Quarrels became more virulent. It 
 came to fights where those coming from
 
 112 For Daily Bread. 
 
 the same town or settlement stood by 
 each other against those who came from 
 other parts. It was a bad lookout for 
 the little community who verily were 
 like a flock of sheep without a shep- 
 herd. But gradually, and by degrees, 
 the more experienced and wiser mem- 
 bers of the party acquired a certain in- 
 fluence and authority and tried to main- 
 tain order. In moments of danger their 
 common instinct of preservation made 
 them forget private rancor. Once when 
 a. party of Indians had captured some 
 dozen of their sheep, the lads moved 
 by one thought rushed after them, re- 
 covered their property, and killed one 
 of the Indians. That day the greatest 
 harmony reigned in the camp, but the 
 next day saw them wrangling again at 
 the clearings. There was also peace 
 and harmony when the musician began 
 to play their national songs, the melo- 
 dies they had heard under the thatched
 
 The New Settlement. 113 
 
 roofs at home. All conversation ceased, 
 no sound was heard but the voice of the 
 violin which spoke to them of the far 
 off country, the soughing of the wind 
 in the forest trees, and the crackling of 
 the camp fire. With earnest, thought- 
 ful faces, they stood around the musi- 
 cian, listening still, though the moon 
 had already risen high above the trees. 
 But with the exception of these peaceful 
 intervals the common bonds of brother- 
 hood were getting weaker every day. 
 This small community, thrown upon 
 their own resources without a leader, 
 did not know how to shift for itself. 
 
 Among the settlers we find our for- 
 mer friends Laurence Toporek and his 
 daughter Marisha, who shared the life 
 of the settlers. At the beginning it 
 seemed to them a welcome change from 
 the hard pavements of New York to the 
 woods of Arkansas. There they had 
 nothing they could call their own; here 
 8
 
 114 For Daily Bread. 
 
 they had their own wagon, some im- 
 plements and live stock bought at 
 Clarksville. Homesickness tormented 
 them less among their own people, and 
 the heavy work did not permit them to 
 think much beyond of the day. The 
 old man was cutting trees from morn- 
 ing till night, and preparing timber for 
 his cabin. Marisha was busy washing 
 clothes, lighting fires, and preparing 
 their meals. The exercise and open 
 air life had effaced all traces of her ill- 
 ness, and her formerly pale face ex- 
 posed now to the hot winds blowing 
 from Texas was tinged with a golden 
 brown. The lads from Saint Antonio 
 and the Lakes, who on the slightest 
 provocation squared their fists at each 
 other, agreed in one thing: that Ma- 
 risha's eyes looking out from under her 
 silky hair were like corn flowers in a 
 wheat field, and she the prettiest girl 
 human eyes had ever beheld.
 
 The New Settlement. 115 
 
 Laurence derived much benefit from 
 his daughter's beauty. He chose for / 
 himself the best piece of land and no- 
 body said him nay because all the lads 
 were on his side. Many of them helped 
 him to prepare the timber and stack it, 
 and the old man who was shrewd and 
 saw what they were aiming at, from 
 time to time threw out a hint: 
 
 "My little daughter," he said, "is like 
 a lily of the fields, a very jewel of a 
 girl. Some day I will choose a husband 
 for her from among the lads that help 
 me most and please me best; but he 
 must be a decent lad because she comes 
 from a decent family that owned their 
 own lands in the old country. 
 
 Everyone who helped him thought 
 he was furthering his suit. Consequent- 
 ly Laurence was better off than many 
 others and everything would have been 
 well with him had there been any future 
 for the settlement.
 
 116 For Daily Bread. 
 
 But things grew worse instead of bet- 
 ter. The axe still sounded in the for- 
 est and here and there rose the yellow 
 logs of a cabin but it was but as a drop 
 of water in the ocean. The dark, im- 
 penetrable wall of the forest still loomed 
 up before them showing scarcely any 
 sign of being broken. 
 
 Those who had penetrated a little 
 further into the thicket, reported that 
 the forest had no limit, that awful 
 swamps and bayous, and still, stagnant 
 waters, full of strange creatures had im- 
 peded their march, they had heard the 
 hissing of the serpents and strange 
 voices calling out in warning: "Do not 
 go further." Uncanny shrubs stretch- 
 ing out their branches had clutched 
 them by their garments. A lad from 
 Chicago swore he had seen the devil 
 raising his hairy head from a swamp and 
 snorting at him so fiercely that he ran 
 for dear life back to the camp. The
 
 The New Settlement. 117 
 
 men from Texas laughed at him, and 
 said it must have been a buffalo he had 
 seen, but nothing could shake his belief 
 that it was the evil one himself that 
 appeared to him. Superstition added 
 new terrors to their already doleful 
 plight. A few days later two bolder 
 lads ventured upon another exploration 
 of the woods and were never heard of 
 again. 
 
 People began to sicken from over- 
 work and fever. Quarrels and conten- 
 tions grew fiercer; cattle which had not 
 been marked by their owners was claim- 
 ed by those who had no right to- them. 
 At last the camp broke up altogether 
 and the different parties shifted their 
 wagons as far as possible from each 
 other. It became evident that their 
 provisions would give out and hunger 
 stare them in the face long before any- 
 thing could be expected from the soil. 
 Despair got hold of the people. The
 
 118 For Daily Bread. 
 
 sound of the axe grew fainter because 
 patience and courage were lacking; but 
 even now they would have worked if 
 anybody had told them "this is your un- 
 disputed property." As it was, nobody 
 knew which was his and which was his 
 neighbor's. They began to see that 
 nothing was left for them, but to perish 
 in the wilderness. Those who still had 
 some money left took their wagons and 
 went back to Clarksville. But the 
 greater portion of the people had sunk 
 every penny they possessed in this ven- 
 ture and had nothing left with which 
 to return. These wrung their hands in 
 bitter despair. The axes were at last 
 thrown aside and the forest rustled as 
 if mocking at the insignificance of hu- 
 man efforts. 
 
 "We might go on cutting trees for 
 two vears and then die of hunger," said 
 one peasant to another. 
 
 One evening Laurence came to Ma- 
 risha, and said:
 
 The New Settlement. 119 
 
 "It is clear that starvation is before 
 us, we shall perish with the others." 
 
 "God's will be done," replied the girl. 
 "He has shown us mercy before and will 
 not desert us now." 
 
 Saying this she raised her blue eyes 
 to the starlit heaven, and with the re- 
 flection of the fire surrounding her fair 
 head as with a halo she looked the pic- 
 ture of a sweet saint. 
 
 The lads from Chicago and hunters 
 from Texas called out: 
 
 "Marisha, our sunlight, we will stand 
 by you." 
 
 She thought within herself that there 
 was one only with whom she would go 
 to the end of the world: Jan, from Li- 
 pince. He had promised to swim across 
 the water like a drake, to fly through 
 the air on wings, and roll along the road 
 like a golden ring; but he had not come, 
 the only one she cared for had forgotten 
 her.
 
 120 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Marisha had noticed long ago that the 
 settlement was doomed, but her trust 
 in Providence remained unshaken, and 
 her soul purified in the fire of adversity 
 shone serene and calm through her lim- 
 pid eyes. 
 
 Beside she remembered the old gen- 
 tleman at New York who had helped 
 them before and promised to help again 
 if they needed it. 
 
 In the meanwhile the confusion in 
 the camp grew from bad to worse. 
 People escaped from it in the night- 
 time, and what became of them it was 
 difficult to say. And still around them 
 the forest rustled and waved its trees 
 and branches mocking at their helpless- 
 ness. 
 
 Old Laurence fell ill from overstrain- 
 ing his muscles. He felt pains in his 
 back and all his limbs. For two davs 
 he said nothing about it, the third day 
 he could not rise from his improvised
 
 The New Settlement. 121 
 
 bed. Marisha went to the woods, gath- 
 ered a quantity of moss and prepared 
 for him a bed on the timber rafters 
 which he had put together for the erec- 
 tion of their cabin; then set herself to 
 concocting a cordial from various herbs 
 and spirit. 
 
 "Marisha," murmured the old man, 
 "death is creeping towards me from yon 
 black forest and thou wilt remain an 
 orphan alone in the world. God is now 
 punishing me for my heavy sins in 
 bringing you out here, and my last hours 
 will be full of anguish." 
 
 "Daddy," replied the girl, "It was my 
 bounden duty to go with you, I would 
 not have let you come alone." 
 
 "If I left thee with a protector and 
 saw thee married I could die easier. 
 Marisha! take Black Orlik for thy hus- 
 band, he is a good lad and will take care 
 of thee." 
 
 Black Orlik, the great hunter from
 
 122 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Texas, who heard this fell on his knees 
 before the sick man, and spoke up: 
 
 "Your blessing, father! I love the lass 
 more than my life. The woods and I 
 are old friends, and I will not let her 
 come to harm." 
 
 Saying this he looked out of his fal- 
 con eyes at the girl, but she sank down 
 at the old man's feet. 
 
 "Do not force me, Daddy, I must re- 
 main faithful to him I promised." 
 
 "You will never be his, because I 
 shall kill him. You must be mine or 
 nobody's," replied Black Orlik. "They 
 all will perish here and you will perish 
 also unless I save you." 
 
 Black Orlik was right. The utter 
 destruction of the settlement was merely 
 a question of time. They had already 
 begun to slay the cattle bought for till- 
 ing the soil. Fever became more fre- 
 quent; people either cursed or cried out 
 to heaven in a loud voice. One Sun-
 
 The New Settlement. 123 
 
 day all the men, women and children 
 knelt down together and there rose a 
 chorus of monrful voices: 
 
 u O Lord, have mercy upon us! O 
 Lord, save and deliver us from evil." 
 
 The voices often broken by sobs rose 
 to the canopy of heaven and the forest 
 murmured and rustled "I am King here, 
 I am Master, I am the stronger." 
 
 But Orlik, who knew the woods, look- 
 ed up with gleaming eyes as if measur- 
 ing his strength with that impenetrable 
 wall, and then said aloud: 
 
 "We will have a hand to hand tussle 
 by and by." 
 
 The men looked at Orlik with aston- 
 ishment. Those who had known him 
 in Texas believed in him implicitly, be- 
 cause he was a great hunter, famous 
 even among the Texas hunters. He 
 was powerfully built and would engage 
 a grizzly single handed. At Saint An- 
 tonio, where he had formerly lived,
 
 124 For Daily Bread. 
 
 they knew that when he took his rifle, 
 he might often disappear for months 
 together, but always came back un- 
 harmed and in excellent condition. 
 They called him Black Orlik from his 
 tanned complexion. Some said that at 
 a time he was one of a band of pirates 
 but that was not true. He brought 
 skins from the woods, sometimes Indian 
 scalps, until the priest threatened him 
 with excommunication. Now he was 
 almost the only one in Borovina who 
 did not care what happened. He was 
 not troubled about the future. The 
 woods gave him food, shelter, and cloth- 
 ing. When the people began to desert 
 the place he took things into his own 
 hands and in this he was backed up by 
 the lads from Texas. "When after the 
 public prayers he was challenging the 
 forest, people thought he must have a 
 new scheme in hand and began to grow 
 less despondent.
 
 The New Settlement. 125 
 
 The sun had set. High up, between 
 the branches of the dark hickory trees 
 gleamed a yellow light which gradually 
 changed into red and then disappeared. 
 There was a strong wind blowing from 
 the South, when at dusk Orlik seized 
 his rifle and went into the woods. 
 
 The night was very dark when the 
 people in the camp saw something like a 
 great shining star rising in the distance 
 above the forest; then appeared a sec- 
 ond, a third, which increased in volume, 
 spreading all round a red, glaring light. 
 
 "The forest is on fire ! the forest is on 
 fire!" shouted the terrified spectators. 
 
 Great flocks of birds rose screaming 
 and chattering from the thickets. The 
 cattle began lowing mournfully, the 
 dogs howled, and people panic stricken 
 rushed aimlessly about in fear less the 
 flames might reach the camp. The con- 
 flagration spread rapidly, the flames 
 diffused themselves like water running
 
 126 For Daily Bread. 
 
 along the dead creepers. The wind tore 
 off the burning leaves and carried them 
 along like so many fiery birds. 
 
 The hickory trees exploded with a 
 report like cannons. Like fiery ser- 
 pents the flames writhed and twisted 
 around the resinous undergrowth. The 
 hissing and roaring of the fire mingled 
 with the screaming of birds and bellow- 
 ing; of beasts rose into a tumult inde- 
 scribable. The tall trees like so many 
 fiery columns swayed to and fro. The 
 burning creepers torn off from the trees 
 seemed to stretch out demoniacal arms 
 sending the fiery element from tree to 
 tree. The sky was of a dusky red as 
 if the conflagration had spread into the 
 heavens above. It was almost as light 
 as in the daytime. Then all the flames 
 blended into one huge mass of fire which 
 like the breath of destruction or the 
 wrath of God rushed through the forest. 
 The smoke and heat and smell of
 
 The New Settlement. 127 
 
 burning wood became almost overpower- 
 ing. The people, though not threatened 
 by immediate danger, were still wildly 
 rushing about searching and calling for 
 each other, when suddenly from out of 
 the burning woods, lit up by falling 
 sparks, emerged the figure of Black Or- 
 lik. His face was begrimed with smoke 
 and his eyes looked fierce and exultant. 
 They surrounded him from all sides, and 
 he leaning on his rifle he said: 
 
 "You will not have to cut trees any 
 longer. I have burned the woods. To- 
 morrow you shall have, each of you, as 
 much land as you can manage." Then 
 approaching Marisha, he whispered: 
 
 "You must be mine now, for it was 
 I who burned the forest. Who is 
 stronger than I?" 
 
 The girl trembled in every limb be- 
 cause the wild elements seemed to be 
 reflected in Orlik's eyes and he was ter- 
 rible to look at.
 
 128 For Daily Bread. 
 
 For the first time since she had set 
 foot on American soil, she thanked God 
 that her Jan was far away in the- quiet 
 Lipince village. 
 
 The roaring fiery waves rushed on 
 their mad career further and further 
 away from the camp; at daybreak the 
 sky was overcast and threatened rain. 
 The few people who ventured into the 
 neighborhood of the smouldering woods 
 were driven back by the intense heat. 
 The whole day a heavy fog hung in the 
 air and shrouded the whole landscape 
 from view. At night, rain began to 
 fall, which presently changed into a 
 heavy downpour. Maybe the conflag- 
 ration shaking the atmosphere contrib- 
 uted to the breaking of the clouds, or 
 perhaps it was the time when heavy 
 rains fell in these regions of big rivers, 
 swamps, and lakes. The whole encamp- 
 ment grew soft and muddy and looked 
 like a vast marsh. The people exposed
 
 The New Settlement. 129 
 
 to continual wet began to sicken. More 
 of the people left the settlement for 
 Clarksville, but returned soon after with 
 the terrible news that the river had risen 
 and their retreat was cut off. 
 
 Consternation prevailed in the camp, 
 provisions were short, and now they 
 could get nothing from Clarksville. 
 
 Laurence and Marisha were less ex- 
 posed to hunger than the others because 
 Orlik's strong hand protected them. 
 Every morning he brought some game 
 which he either shot or caught in snares. 
 He had put his own tent over their cabin 
 wall to protect Marisha and the old man 
 from rain and wind. Marisha was ob- 
 liged to accept all his gifts and be grate- 
 ful to him, he would take nothing in 
 return but that which Marisha would 
 not give him; her love. 
 
 "There are other girls in the world," 
 she said, " go and choose one among
 
 130 For Daily Bread. 
 
 them. You know my heart belongs to 
 another." 
 
 "If I were to search the whole world 
 over, I would not find one like you. 
 You are the only one for me and you 
 must be mine. "What will you do if 
 the old man dies? You will come to me 
 of your own accord and I shall carry 
 you off into the forest as the wolf car- 
 ries a lambkin; but not to devour you. 
 Whom do I fear? Let him come here, 
 that lover of yours, and we shall see 
 who is the stronger man." 
 
 Wheal Orlik spoke about the old man 
 dying he judged by what he saw. Lau- 
 rence was rapidly growing worse; 
 sometimes delirious, and always be- 
 moaning his fate that the Lord 
 was punishing him for his sins and 
 that never again would he behold his 
 native village. Orlik promised and 
 vowed to take Marisha back to Lipince. 
 but this added more bitterness to the
 
 The New Settlement. 131 
 
 girl's sorrow. To go back to the village 
 where Jan lived as the wife of another 
 — no! it were better to remain here and 
 die in the wilderness. She thought that 
 would be her fate. 
 
 A new disaster was in store for the 
 settlers. One night when Orlik was ab- 
 sent on one of his hunting expeditions, 
 a great cry was heard in the encamp- 
 ment: "The water! the water!" 
 
 The startled settlers rubbed their eyes, 
 looked round and saw as far as the. eye 
 could reach a greyish-white expanse 
 bubbling with heavy raindrops, and a 
 waterv cloud-obscured moon threw her 
 steely light on the rippling water. From 
 the woods where the half charred stumps 
 were dimly visible came the sound of 
 rushing waves a great tumult arose 
 The women and children climbed on the 
 wagons; the men were rushing into the 
 direction opposite where the trees had 
 not been cut down. The water barely
 
 132 For Daily Bread. 
 
 reached their knees but was rising rap- 
 idly. The sound of rushing waters 
 grew louder, and mingled with the cries 
 of terror and entreaties for help. Pres- 
 ently the animals began to retreat from 
 place to place, driven by the pressure 
 of the water. The sheep with plaintive 
 bleating seemed to* ask for help till they 
 disappeared carried away by the current. 
 It rained in torrents and soon the dis- 
 tant rushing of the waters changed into 
 the roar of the unfettered elements. 
 The wagons began to sway and totter 
 under the pressure. It soon became 
 evident that this was not an ordinary 
 flood caused by heavy rainfall but an 
 overflow from the Arkansas and its trib- 
 utaries. The trees snapped like reeds 
 or were torn out by the roots, the ele- 
 ments seemed to be unchained carrying 
 with them darkness and death. 
 
 One of the wagons standing nearest 
 the woods toppled over. At the heart-
 
 The ]S[ew Settlement. 133 
 
 rending cries of the women, the dark 
 figures of several men were seen leap- 
 ing from the trees, but the waves car- 
 ried the would-be rescuers into the for- 
 est to perish. In other wagons people 
 clung to the canvass roofs. The rain 
 came down unceasingly and still greater 
 darkness fell on the dusky lake. 
 
 Sometimes a log with a human being 
 clinging to it was bobbing up and down 
 along the current; sometimes the dark 
 form of an* animal or a man, sometimes 
 a hand was stretched out of the water 
 and then disappeared forever. 
 
 The bellowing of the beasts and the 
 agonizing cries and prayers of human 
 beings were drowned alike in the mighty 
 roaring of the waters. Whirlpools and 
 eddies were forming on the grassy plain, 
 the wagons were fast disappearing. 
 
 And Laurence and Marisha, what had 
 become of them? The timbered wall 
 on which Laurence was lying covered
 
 134 For Daily Bread. 
 
 by Orlik's tent had saved them for the 
 moment, as it floated on the water like 
 a raft. The eddies turned it round and 
 round, and the current carried it towards 
 the woods and bumping against one 
 tree and another pushed it into the bed 
 of the stream and further out into the 
 darkness. 
 
 Marisha kneeling by her father's 
 couch, raised her hands to Heaven, call- 
 ing for help from above; but her only 
 answer was the splashing of the water 
 against the wooden- raft. 
 
 The tent had been carried off by the 
 wind, and the few planks their only 
 refuge might be dashed to pieces any 
 moment. 
 
 Presently it stuck fast between the 
 branches of a tree, the top of which rose 
 above the water At the same minute 
 a human voice called out to them : 
 
 "Take my rifle and move to the fur- 
 ther side of the raft to keep in it bal- 
 ance. I am going to jump down."
 
 The New Settlement. 135 
 
 As soon as Laurence and Marisha had 
 obeyed these instructions a dark iignre 
 jumped from the branches on to the 
 raft. 
 
 It was Orlik. 
 
 "Marisha," he said, "as I promised, so 
 I will stand by thee ; and may God deal 
 with me as I deal by yon." 
 
 He took the axe hanging at his side, 
 cut off a stout branch, fashioned it 
 quickly to suit his purpose, pushed the 
 raft out of the tree, and began to row. 
 
 Once in the bed of the stream, the 
 current increased their speed and they 
 floated on and on; where they went they 
 did not know. 
 
 From time to time Orlik turned the 
 raft aside in order to avoid trees, or 
 pushed stumps or branches out of the 
 wav. His strength seemed to increase 
 with every difficulty and his eyes, in 
 spite of the darkness, noticed everything 
 that might endanger their fragile
 
 136 For Daily Bread. 
 
 craft. Hour after hour passed. Any 
 ordinary man would have succumbed 
 under the strain; but he did not show 
 any sign of fatigue. Near daybreak 
 they came out of the forest; not a sin- 
 gle tree was visible in the distance. 
 The whole country looked like one vast 
 sea. Hideous, foaming waves rolled 
 and whirled over the plain. It became 
 lighter, and Orlik seeing that no imme- 
 diate danger was to be apprehended 
 stopped rowing for a moment, and turn- 
 ing to Marisha, he said: 
 
 "You are mine now, because I 
 snatched you from the jaws of death." 
 His head was bare, and his face wet 
 and glowing from the single-handed 
 fight with the elements, had such an 
 expression of power and masterfulness, 
 that for the first time Marisha dared 
 not reply that she belonged to another. 
 "Marisha," said the lad softly, "Ma- 
 risha, dearest."
 
 The New Settlement. 137 
 
 "Where are we going?" she asked, 
 endeavoring to change the subject. 
 
 "What do I care, as long as we are 
 together, sweetheart." 
 
 "Go on rowing, because death is still 
 around us." 
 
 Orlik began to row vigorously. Lau- 
 rence in the meanwhile had grown 
 worse and worse. Sometimes he was 
 delirious, sometimes conscious, but he 
 grew weaker every minute. It was too 
 great a shock, and too much suffering 
 for his old worn out body. He wa9 
 drawing fast towards the last stage of his 
 wanderings. At noon he woke up and 
 said: 
 
 "Marisha ! I shall not see the dawn of 
 another day. Oh, child! child! why 
 did I leave my home and drag thee with 
 me into misery? But God is merciful; 
 I have suffered much, and He will for- 
 give my sins. Bury me if you can and 
 let Orlik take thee to New York. The
 
 138 For Daily Bread. 
 
 good gentleman will take care of thee, 
 and send thee back to Lioince. I shall 
 not see it any more. Oh, God! merci- 
 ful and just, let my soul take wings, 
 and see the old home once again." 
 
 The fever again increased and he be- 
 gan to pray aloud; and then called out in 
 a terrified voice : "Do not throw me into 
 the water as if I were a dog." He 
 seemed suddenly, to remember how he 
 had tried to drown Marisha so as to put 
 her out of her misery, and cried out 
 in piteous tones: "Child, forgive! for- 
 give!" 
 
 The poor girl was seated at his side, 
 sobbing pitifully; and Orlik took the 
 oar with a firmer grasp while tears 
 gripped him by the throat. 
 
 Towards evening it cleared up. The 
 sun burst out and threw a flood of light 
 on the watery desert. The old man was 
 dying, but God was good to him and 
 gave him an easy end. First he repeated
 
 The New Settlement. 139 
 
 in mournful tones, over and over 
 again : 
 
 "Why did I leave my own country 
 and my own village?" by degrees the 
 feeble voice grew more cheerful. He 
 was on his way home. The gentleman 
 at New York had given him money to 
 buy his little homestead back again and 
 they are both on their way home. They 
 are on the ocean; the ship goes night 
 and day, and the sailors are singing. 
 Then he sees the harbor whence he em- 
 barked, towns fly past him, he 
 hears the sounds of German speech, the 
 train goes faster and faster and he is 
 getting nearer home. Joy is expanding 
 his breast, how different the air feels, 
 how sweet and refreshing. What is 
 this — the frontier? The peasant's sim- 
 ple heart beats like a sledge hammer. 
 Go on! go on! Good God, there are 
 the fields! that is Malick's pear tree, 
 the grey cabins, and the church. There 
 is a peasant in his square- cap ploughing
 
 140 For Daily Bread. 
 
 the field. He stretches his hands out 
 to him in greeting. There is the last 
 station and then comes Lipince. Both 
 he and Marisha are going along the road 
 weeping. It is spring, the wheat is in 
 bloom, and the cockchafers are buzzing 
 in the air. They are ringing the bell 
 for the Angelus. O Lord Jesus, it is 
 too much happiness for a sinful man. 
 One hill to climb and there is the vil- 
 lage cross and the boundary of Lipince. 
 The peasant throws himself on the 
 ground and cries like a child, he crawls, 
 up to the cross and hugs it with both 
 arms; he is home again. 
 
 Yes, he is at home; because only the 
 soulless body remains on the raft in the 
 midst of the surging flood, and his spirit 
 has gone where is peace and happiness. 
 In vain are the sobs and cries of his 
 daughter: "Daddy, dear, Daddy!" Poor 
 Marisha, he will not return to thee ! He 
 is too happy in his new home!
 
 The New Settlement. 141 
 
 The night had come. The improv- 
 ised oar almost dropped from Orlik's 
 blistered hands and hunger had begun 
 to torment them. Marisha, kneeling 
 near her father's body, was praying; and 
 all around nothing was to be seen but 
 the water. Had they entered into an- 
 other river? because the current was 
 carrying them along very fast or maybe 
 they were on the prairie as the whirl- 
 pools and eddies caused by the hollows 
 were often turning the raft round and 
 round and it was almost impossible to 
 steer it. Orlik felt himself growing 
 fainter, when suddenly, he stood straight 
 up and shouted excitedly: 
 
 "By the wounds of Christ! there is 
 a light." Marisha looked in the direc- 
 tion where his arm pointed, and saw a 
 feeble light with its ray reflected in the 
 water. 
 
 "It is the boat from Clarksville," said 
 Orlik quickly, "It has been sent out by
 
 142 For Daily Bread. 
 
 the town to save lives. . If they could 
 only see us! Marisha! cheer up, help 
 is at hand/' and he called out with all 
 his might "Hoop! halloa!" rowing at 
 the same time with redoubled vigor. 
 
 The light gradually increased and by 
 its red glow they could distinctly see 
 the outline of a large boat. They were 
 still far away from it, but the distance 
 seemed to lessen. 
 
 "Is my eyesight failing," muttered 
 Orlik, after he had rowed some time, 
 or does the light appear smaller. Yes, 
 it was growing smaller and dimmer; 
 they had evidently drifted into another 
 current. 
 
 Suddenly the oar broke in Orlik's 
 powerful hands and the current carried 
 them swiftly further away from the 
 light. Fortunately the raft stuck fast 
 in the branches of a lonely tree. Both 
 shouted for help but the rushing water 
 drowned their voices.
 
 The New Settlement. 143 
 
 "I am going to fire," said Orlik. 
 "They will see the flash and hear the 
 report." 
 
 As soon as he said this he raised his 
 rifle but instead of a flash and crack there 
 was only the click of the hammer. The 
 powder was wet. 
 
 Orlik threw himself down on the raft, 
 and remained there like one bereft of 
 his senses. Presently he raised himself. 
 "Marisha," he said, in a half dreamy 
 voice: "I think you have fairly be- 
 witched me; if you were like other girls 
 I should have earned you off by force 
 long ago; there was a time when I 
 thought of it, but dared not do it for 
 I loved you. Like a wolf I roamed 
 solitary in the forest and people were 
 afraid of me, and now I am timid in 
 the presence of a girl. I will save you 
 yet or perish in the attempt. If you 
 cannot love me it were better you 
 should be free from me. Marisha, my 
 love, my sunlight, farewell!"
 
 144 For Daily Bread. 
 
 Before she realized wliat lie was going 
 to do he had jumped from the raft into 
 the whirling storm. For a moment 
 she saw his dark head emerging from 
 the water and his arms striking out. 
 Then he disappeared from view. He 
 was swimming towards the boat to sum- 
 mon help. The fierce current impeded 
 his motions and dragged him back. If 
 he could have got into smoother water 
 he might have done it, for he was an 
 expert swimmer, but in spite of super- 
 human effort he made little progress. 
 The yellow foaming water blinded his 
 eyes, he raised his head and peered 
 through the darkness to see the light 
 of the boat. Sometimes a bigger wave 
 threw him back, another lifted him up, 
 his breath came quicker and quicker, 
 and he felt his knees growing stiff. He 
 seemed to hear the voice of Marisha 
 calling for help, and braced himself for 
 a fresh effort. Even now he could have
 
 The New Settlement. 145 
 
 gone back to the raft, carried by the 
 current, but he did not even think of it, 
 because the lights of the boat seemed 
 to come nearer. The fact was that the 
 boat came into his direction carried by 
 the same current that he was struggling 
 against. A few more strokes and he 
 will reach it. 
 
 "Help! Help!" The last cry was half 
 smothered by the water which entered 
 into his throat. A wave passed over him 
 but he arose again. The boat was so 
 close to him that he heard the splashing 
 of the oars. He gathered his strength 
 for another cry. They had evidently 
 heard him, because the strokes of the 
 oars became faster. But Orlik went 
 down again. A hideous whirlpool 
 dragged him under. Once more he ap- 
 peared on the surface, then one hand is 
 lifted above the water, then the other, 
 presently he disappeared altogether. 
 
 "In the meanwhile Marisha on the 
 10
 
 146 For Daily Bread. 
 
 raft alone with the body of her father 
 stared half unconsciously at the far off 
 light Then, was it her feverish fancy? 
 but it seemed to come nearer, bear down 
 upon her, the huge boat which in the 
 red light and fast moving oars looked 
 like an immense beetle. 
 
 Marisha utterd piercing cries for help. 
 
 "I say, Smith; I'll be hanged if I 
 didn't hear cries of help a few minutes 
 ago, and just now I heard them again." 
 
 A few moments later strong arms car- 
 ried Marisha into the boat, but Orlik 
 was not there. 
 
 Two months later Marisha left the 
 hospital of Little Rock, and with money 
 provided by charitable people, set out 
 on her way to New York. 
 
 The money was not sufficient and she 
 had to go part of the way on foot, but 
 she could now speak a little English, 
 and sometimes the conductors would 
 give her a lift. Many people showed
 
 The Xew Settlement. 147 
 
 pity to the pale girl with the large bine 
 eyes who* looked more like a shadow 
 than a human being. People were not 
 hard; it was life and its conditions which 
 bore hardly on her. What business had 
 this little Polish wildflower in the Amer- 
 ican whirlpool? The big wheels of life 
 would crush her frail life as cart wheels 
 pass over the flowers on a meadow. 
 
 With weak and trembling hand she 
 pulled the bell of the house in Water 
 street, in Xew York; in search of help 
 from the good old gentleman who hailed 
 from Posen like herself. A stranger 
 opened the door: 
 
 "Is Mister Ilotopvlski at home ?" 
 
 "Who's he?" 
 
 "A gentleman, well on in years," here 
 *he produced the card. 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 "Dead? and his son, Master William?" 
 
 "Gone away." 
 
 "And Miss Jenny?"
 
 148 For Daily Bread. 
 
 "Gone away." 
 
 The door was shut in her face. She 
 sat down on the threshold and wiped her 
 eyes. Here she was again in New York, 
 alone without protection or money, de- 
 pending on God alone. 
 
 What is she to do now? Stay at New 
 York? No, never. She would go to 
 the docks and beg the captains to take 
 her back to Hamburg. From there, on 
 foot and begging her bread she would 
 go back to Lipince. Jan was there. If 
 he has forgotten his love, and spurns 
 her she would at least die in the old 
 place. 
 
 She went to the docks and humbly 
 begged the German captains to take her 
 on their ships. Some of them might 
 have done so, because with a little bet- 
 ter living she would look a comely lass, 
 but the rules were against it, and they 
 bade her to go away. 
 
 Marisha spent her nights on the same
 
 The Xew Settlement. 149 
 
 pier "where they had slept that never to 
 be forgotten night, she and her father. 
 Fortunately it was summer, and the 
 nights were warm. 
 
 At daybreak she was always at the 
 German docks to renew her prayers to 
 be taken across the Atlantic and always 
 in vain. She grew weaker every day, 
 and felt that unless she sailed soon, she 
 would die, as died all those that had 
 been connected with her fate. But, 
 with the quiet endurance of the peasant 
 she still clung to hope. 
 
 One morning she crept there thinking 
 it would be the last time, as her strength 
 was ebbing fast. She resolved to beg 
 no more, but get into a ship sailing for 
 Europe, and hide somewhere quietly. 
 When, later on, they should find her 
 they would not throw her into the water; 
 and if they did, what would it matter? 
 It was all one to her how she died, if 
 die she must. But on the gangway
 
 150 For Daily Bread. 
 
 leading to the ship, the man on watch 
 rudely pushed her back. She sat down 
 on some lumber near the water and 
 thought the fever was getting hold of 
 her again. She began to smile strange- 
 ly and mutter to herself: 
 
 "I am a great heiress now, but always 
 faithful. Jan, don't you recognize 
 your Marisha?" 
 
 It was not fever but insanitv. 
 
 *J 
 
 Henceforth she came every day to 
 the docks to wait for the ship which was 
 to bring her lover. People came to 
 know her and gave her small gifts. She 
 thanked them humbly and smiled at 
 them like a child. This continued for 
 two months. One morning she did not 
 come and was seen no more. 
 
 The newspapers reported the next day 
 that the body of a girl, name and where- 
 abouts unknown, had been found dead 
 on the furthest end of the pier.
 
 AN ARTIST'S END 
 
 {Lux in Tenebris Lucet)
 
 AN ARTIST'S END. 
 
 There are days, especially in Novem- 
 ber, so dark, damp, and gloomy that even 
 to those endowed with a good constitu- 
 tion, life becomes a thing of utter weari- 
 ness. 
 
 Ever since Kamionka had begun to 
 feel ill and left off working at his statue 
 of charity this same weather had op- 
 pressed him more than his physical ail- 
 ment. Morning after morning he rose 
 from his couch, wiped the large studio 
 window and peered anxiously out to see 
 whether there was any change in the 
 weather; but the same dreary vista met 
 his eyes. A leaden mist shrouded the 
 earth; it did not rain, yet the flags in 
 the court vard were covered with a 
 
 greasy moisture, everything was soaked 
 
 153
 
 154 An Artist's End. 
 
 with wet, and the large drops falling 
 from the waterspout seemed to beat time 
 to the slowly dragging hours of sadness. 
 
 The window of the studio looked upon 
 the yard and garden beyond. The grass 
 across the railings still looked green with 
 the sickly greenness of death and decay ; 
 the trees were stripped of all but a few 
 yellow leaves and the black, dripping 
 branches seen dimly through the mist 
 presented a ghost-like appearance. The 
 rooks which had chosen them for their 
 winter quarters flapped their wings and 
 cawed loudly before settling down among 
 the branches. 
 
 On days like these the studio looked 
 like a mortuary. Marble and plaster of 
 Paris require light and sunny skies. In 
 the dim light their whiteness looked 
 mournful, and the darker terra, albas 
 losing all distinctness of outline, took 
 indescribable, almost hideous shapes. 
 Dirt and untidiness added not a little to
 
 An Artist's End. 155 
 
 the desolation of the place. Dust mixed 
 with bits- of clay, and dirt carried in from 
 the street covered the floor. The walls, 
 discolored by age, were bare except for a 
 few casts of hands and feet; not far 
 from the window hung a small looking- 
 glass surmounted by a horse's skull, and 
 a bunch of withered flowers. 
 
 In one corner stood the bed covered 
 with an old, crumpled counterpane, near 
 it a little table with an, iron candlestick. 
 Ivamionka, to save expense, lived and 
 slept in the studio. The bed was usually 
 concealed by a screen; but now the 
 screen had been removed so that the sick 
 man might be able to watch the win- 
 dow opposite for the sun to come out. 
 There was another still larger window in 
 the roof, but this was so encrusted with 
 dust and dirt that even on bright days 
 it emitted but a scanty light. 
 
 It did not clear up. After several days 
 of gloominess the clouds sunk lower yet;
 
 156 An Artist's End. 
 
 the air became more and more saturated 
 with mist and it grew darker still. The 
 artist who had lain down on his bed fully 
 dressed began to feel worse ; he took off 
 his clothes and got up no more. 
 
 He did not suffer from any particular 
 disease ; he only felt very tired, very sad, 
 and a general weakness seemed to numb 
 his limbs. He did not wish for death, 
 yet could not summon energy enough to 
 live. 
 
 The long hours of darkness seemed to 
 him all the longer, as he had nobody near 
 him. His wife had died twenty years 
 before; his relations lived in another part 
 of the country and he had no friends. 
 His acquaintances had gradually desert- 
 ed him because of his increasing ill tem- 
 per. At the beginning people had 
 smiled at his cantankerous humors, but 
 when he became more and more of an 
 oddity and took offence at the slightest 
 joke, even those that knew him best 
 broke off all intercourse.
 
 An Artist's End. 157 
 
 They also resented that he had grown 
 pious with advancing years and doubted 
 his sincerity. Malicious tongues whis- 
 pered that he went to church in order to 
 get commissions from the priests. They 
 were wrong. His piety was not, perhaps, 
 the outcome of a firm and deep-rooted 
 conviction, but it was genuine. The only 
 thing said against him founded upon 
 truth was his ever increasing miserliness. 
 For many years he had lived in his studio 
 upon the scantiest of fares, which under- 
 mined his constitution and gave his face 
 the waxlike hue. 
 
 He avoided people, fearing they might 
 want something from him. His was a 
 warped nature, embittered and very un- 
 happy. But for all this his character was 
 not a common one, as even his faults had 
 an artistic stamp. Those who fancied he 
 hoarded money were wrong. Kamionka 
 was a poor man because he spent all his 
 money upon etchings, of which he had a
 
 158 An Artist's End. 
 
 large collection. He looked at them now 
 and then and counted them with the 
 greed of a miser gloating over his gold. 
 He kept this a secret from everybody, 
 perhaps for the very reason that the fan- 
 cy had sprung from a great sorrow and 
 deep feelings. 
 
 A year or two after the death of his 
 wife he had come across an old etching, 
 the center figure of which recalled to 
 him the features of his dead wife. He 
 bought the print and ever afterwards 
 looked about to find the same likeness in 
 others and gradually, as the fancy got 
 hold of him, he bought anything in the 
 same line that pleased Lis artistic eye. 
 
 People who have lost what they held 
 most precious in life are obliged to fill 
 up the void, otherwise they could not ex- 
 ist. As to Kamionka nobodv would have 
 thought that this elderly egoist had once 
 loved a woman more than his life. Had 
 she not died, his life most likely would
 
 An Artist's End. 159 
 
 have been different, more peaceful, and 
 human. As it was this love had outlived 
 his talent, youth and happier times. 
 
 The piety which gradually became a 
 regular custom, based upon the observa- 
 tion of outward forms, had sprung from 
 the same source. Kamionka was not one 
 of those who clung to religious beliefs; 
 he began to pray after the death of his 
 wife because it seemed to him that this 
 was the only thing now he could do for 
 her, the only link which connected him 
 with her. Natures apparently cold and 
 impassive are often endowed with an in- 
 tensity of feeling little suspected by their 
 surroundings. After the death of his 
 wife all Kamionka's thoughts twined 
 around her memory and drew nourish- 
 ment from it like the parasite plant from 
 the tree to which it clings; but the hu- 
 man mind cannot subsist on this kind of 
 nutriment; it distorts it and throws it off 
 its balance.
 
 1(30 An Artist's End. 
 
 Had he not been an artist he could not 
 have survived his loss : his art saved him. 
 It is useless to tell the survivor that it 
 matters nothing to the dead in what 
 grave they rest. Kamionka wished his 
 dead wife to have the best he could give 
 her and he worked at her monument as 
 much with his heart as hands. This 
 saved him from madness and prevented 
 his giving way altogether. 
 
 The man remained warped and un- 
 happy, but art had saved the artist. 
 Henceforth Kamionka lived only for his 
 art. 
 
 Yery few in looking at pictures or 
 sculptures give any thought as to wheth- 
 er the artist has treated his subject hon- 
 estly or otherwise. Upon this point Kam- 
 ionka was without reproach. He was not 
 a genius, and his gift only a little above 
 the average, therefore it could not fill his 
 whole life or compensate him for his loss, 
 but such as it was he respected it deeply
 
 An Artist's End. 161 
 
 and was always true to it. During all his 
 life he never insulted or wronged his art, 
 either for fame, lucre, or blame. He 
 created what he felt. In those happy 
 times when he lived like other men he 
 used to speak about art in quite an un- 
 common way and when afterwards peo- 
 ple began to avoid him he thought of it 
 in the loneliness of his studio with the 
 same reverence and honesty. 
 
 Human beings in relation to each 
 other have certain unwritten laws in vir- 
 tue of which the exceptionally unhappy 
 ones are condemned to solitude It is the 
 stone thrust out of the riverbed, ceasing 
 to rub against other stones, becomes in- 
 crusted with moss, so the human unit 
 separated from his fellows acquires faults 
 and oddities. 
 
 Now when Kamionka lay ill nobody 
 
 came to see him except the charwoman, 
 
 who looked in twice a day to fill his 
 
 samovar and prepare the tea. She ad- 
 
 11
 
 162 An Artist's End. 
 
 vised to send for the doctor, but he scout- 
 ed the idea, being afraid of the expense. 
 
 At last he grew very faint, perhaps 
 because he took no nourishment except 
 tea. But he had no desire for anything, 
 either to eat or to work, or to live. His 
 thoughts were as limp as the autumn 
 leaves he saw through the window, and 
 in harmony with the mist and darkness 
 outside. There are no worse moments in 
 human eixstence than when it is brought 
 home to us that all has been done there 
 was to do, and that life can give us noth- 
 ing more. Kamionka for nearly fifteen 
 years had lived in continual terror lest 
 his talent should give out. Now he was 
 sure of it and he thought with bitterness 
 that even his art had deserted him. He 
 felt weary and utterly exhausted. He 
 did not expect to die soon, but did not 
 believe he could get better. 
 
 Altogether there was not a spark of 
 hope in him.
 
 An Artist's End. 163 
 
 If he wished for anything it "were for 
 the sun to come out and shine through 
 the window. He thought that might re- 
 vive him a little. He had always been 
 sensitive to the changes of weather, and 
 rain or darkness always influenced his 
 spirit, and now this hopeless weather, as 
 he called it, had come when he lay pros- 
 trated on his bed. 
 
 Every morning when the woman came 
 with his tea Kamionka asked : 
 
 "How does it look outside? Do you 
 think it is clearing up?" 
 
 "Ah, no," answered the woman, 
 "there is such a mist that one cannot see 
 anybody within a yard." 
 
 The sick man hearing this shut his 
 eyes wearily and remained motionless for 
 hours. 
 
 In the courtyard everything was silent 
 but for the slow continual drip of the 
 waterspout. 
 
 At three o'clock in the afternoon it
 
 164 An Artist's End. 
 
 grew so dark that Kamionka had to light 
 the candle. This, being so weak, cost 
 him no little trouble. Before stetching 
 out his hand for the matches he thought 
 it over, then raised his arm, the thinness 
 of which showing through the night 
 dress offended his artistic taste; after he 
 had lit the candle, he fell back again, 
 and remained motionless, listening with 
 closed eyes to the monotonous drip of the 
 water, until the charwoman came in for 
 the second time. 
 
 The studio presented a strange sight. 
 The flame of the candle lit up the bed 
 and the artist lying upon it, and concen- 
 trated itself in one luminous point on the 
 forehead, which looked like old polished 
 ivory. The remainder of the room lay 
 in deep shadow, which increased and 
 thickened gradually. But in proportion 
 as the darkness increased the statues 
 seemed to grow more lifelike. The flam\3 
 of the candle rose and fell, and in the
 
 An Artist's End. 165 
 
 flickering lights they too seemed to move 
 and stand on tip-toe to look at the 
 emaciated frame of the sculptor, curious 
 to know whether their creator were still 
 among the living. 
 
 And truly there was in that face a 
 certain rigidity of death. But from time 
 to time the pale lips moved as if in 
 prayer, or maybe silently complained of 
 his loneliness, and the everlasting drip 
 from the waterspout, which always with 
 the same precision, seemed to measure 
 the time of his illness. 
 
 One evening the charwoman came in 
 smelling strongly of alcohol, therefore 
 more than usually loquacious, and said: 
 
 "There is so much work on my hands 
 that I can only just manage to look in 
 twice a day. Why not send for a sister 
 of mercy? They do not cost anything, 
 and it would be more comfortable for 
 you." 
 
 The idea pleased Kamionka, but like
 
 166 An Artist's End. 
 
 most queer tempered people, he liked to 
 oppose what anybody advised him, he 
 therefore refused. 
 
 After the woman had gone he began 
 to turn it over in his mind. A sister of 
 mercy! It was true they did not take 
 money and what help and comfort she 
 would have been to him! Kamionka, 
 like other sick people left to themselves, 
 had to bear various discomforts and 
 small miseries which hurt him as much 
 as they irritated him. Sometimes his 
 head was lying in an uncomfortable posi- 
 tion for hours and he could not summon 
 energy enough to rearrange the pillows ; 
 then at nights he often felt chilly and 
 would have given anything for some hot 
 tea, but if the lighting of the candle 
 caused him difficulty how could he think 
 of boiling the water? A sister of mercy 
 would do all that for him with the ut- 
 most cheerfulness. How much easier it 
 would be to bear illness with somebody 
 to help him.
 
 An Artist's End. 167 
 
 The poor man worked himself up to 
 that extent that it appeared to him even 
 illness under such conditions were some- 
 thing almost desirable and wondered in- 
 wardly that all this lay within his reach. 
 
 The thought also that if the sister 
 came the studio would look more cheer- 
 ful, even the clouds might lift and the 
 unceasing drip of the waterspout cease to 
 haunt him. 
 
 Then he began to regret that he had 
 not agreed at once to the woman's pro- 
 posal. The long, gloomy night was be- 
 fore him and he could not see her till 
 next morning. It dawned upon him that 
 this night of all others would be the long- 
 est and the heaviest to bear. 
 
 Thoughts flitted through his brain of 
 what an utter outcast he was and he be- 
 gan to compare his former life with what 
 it now was. And as the' thought of the 
 sister, so now the days past and gone, 
 seemed to be closely allied with sunshine 
 and bright skies.
 
 168 An Artist's End. 
 
 He began thinking of his dead wife 
 and to pour out all his grief and sorrow 
 to her as he always did when he felt very 
 miserable. At last he grew tired and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The candle on the little table burned 
 down. The flame changed from pink 
 into a bluish hue, then flickered up once 
 and twice and went out. The studio was 
 now wrapped up in utter darkness. 
 
 In the meantime outdoors the drops of 
 water fell one by one as if all the sadness 
 and gloom were filtering slowly through 
 nature's bosom. 
 
 Kamionka slept long and peacefully, 
 when suddenly he woke up under the 
 impression that something unusual was 
 taking place in the studio. It was to- 
 wards daybreak. The marble statues and 
 plaster of paris casts began to whiten. A 
 pale light shone through the window op- 
 posite. By this light Kamionka saw 
 somebody sitting near his bed.
 
 An Artist's End. 169 
 
 He opened his eyes very wide and 
 looked. It was a sister of mercy. 
 
 She sat quite motionless, a little 
 turned towards the window, with her 
 head bent down. Her hands were crossed 
 on her knees — she seemed to pray. The 
 sick man could not see her face, but he 
 saw distinctly the white coif and the 
 dark outline of the somewhat thin 
 shoulders. 
 
 His heart began to beat a little anx- 
 iously and the question rose in his mind : 
 
 "When could the charwoman have 
 fetched the sister, and how did she come 
 in?" 
 
 Presently he thought it must be the 
 fancy of a weakened brain and he shut 
 his eyes. After a few moments he 
 opened them again. 
 
 The sister was still sitting in the same 
 place, motionless as if absorbed in pray- 
 ers. 
 
 A strange feeling, partly of joy and
 
 170 An Artist's End. 
 
 partly of fear made his hair rise. Some- 
 thing incomprehensible seemed to draw 
 him towards that silent figure. He fan- 
 cied to have seen her before — but where 
 and when he could not remember. He 
 felt a great longing to see the face hid- 
 den under the white coif. Kamionka, 
 without understanding it himself, dared 
 neither move or speak ; he scarcely dared 
 to breathe. He only felt that fear and 
 joy possessed his whole being and asked 
 himself wonderingly: What does it 
 mean? 
 
 It had grown quite light now. What 
 a wonderful morning it must be out- 
 doors he thought. Suddenly, without 
 any transition, a great flood of light came 
 in through the window, a light as strong 
 and radiant as comes in the month of 
 May. Waves of golden sunshine seemed 
 to pour in and fill the room, the statues 
 and marbles disappeared within, the very 
 walls seemed absorbed by it — and Ka-
 
 An Artist's End. 171 
 
 mionka found himself in a lighted end- 
 less space. 
 
 He looked at the sister, the white coif, 
 which concealed her features, seemed to 
 shake with a sudden tremor, and the 
 glorious light touched the bent head. 
 
 She turned it slowly towards the sick 
 man and suddenly the deserted outcast 
 saw as in a glory the well-known features 
 of his beloved wife. 
 
 He rose from his bed, and from his 
 breast came a cry, which spoke of years 
 of bitterness, tears, and sorrow: 
 •'Lozia! Lozia!" 
 
 And taking hold of her he pressed her 
 to his heart and she threw both arms 
 around his neck. 
 
 The light grew stronger and stronger. 
 "You remained true to me," she said 
 at last, "therefore I came and prayed 
 that death might deal gently by you." 
 
 Kamionka was still holding her in his 
 arms for fear the holy vision might dis-
 
 172 An Artist's End. 
 
 appear together with the light. "I am 
 ready to die," he said, "if only I could 
 keep you with me." 
 
 A smile of exceeding sweetness lit up 
 her face and taking one hand from 
 around his neck she pointed down and 
 said: 
 
 "You are dead; look there!" 
 Kamionka's eyes followed the direc- 
 tion of her hand and there below, under 
 his feet, he looked through the skylight 
 into the dim lonely studio; there on the 
 bed lay his body, the wide-open mouth 
 forming a decavity on the yellow waxen 
 face. He looked upon the emaciated 
 form as upon a strange thing. He soon 
 lost sight of it altogether, because the 
 wave of light, as if moved by a breeze 
 from other worlds, carried them higher 
 and higher into space.
 
 A COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 A Sketch of American Life
 
 A COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Five or six years ago it happened that 
 oil was discovered somewhere in the 
 county of Mariposa, in California. The 
 enormous profits derived from oil in 
 Nevada and other states, speedily 
 brought speculators to the spot, who 
 formed a company and brought out 
 pumps, barrels of all sizes and dimen- 
 sions, and all the machinery necessary 
 for sinking wells. Some fifty houses 
 were erected for the workmen, the place 
 named "Struck Oil," and shortly, as if 
 by magic, a settlement sprung into life 
 where formerly had been a barren wil- 
 derness, inhabited only by coyotes. 
 
 Two years later Struck Oil became a 
 city, and was a city in the full meaning 
 of the word. Please to note : There was 
 already a shoemaker, a tailor, a carpen- 
 
 175
 
 176 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 ter, a blacksmith, a butcher, and a doc- 
 tor. The latter a Frenchman, who in 
 bygone times had shaved beards in 
 France, but nevertheless had some surgi- 
 cal knowledge and was harmless, which 
 in an American doctor means a great 
 deal. 
 
 The doctors, as is often the case in a 
 small town, had an apothecary's shop. 
 He was also postmaster, and had, there- 
 fore, three strings to his bow. 
 
 As an apothecary he was equally 
 harmless, as his whole stock consisted 
 in colored syrups and Leroy. This quiet 
 and gentle old man would say to his 
 patients: 
 
 "Do not be afraid of my physic. I 
 take a dose myself every time I prescribe 
 to a patient, and if it does not hurt a 
 healthy man, it is sure not to harm a 
 sick one. Now don't you think so?" 
 
 "That's true," replied the satisfied pa- 
 tients. It never occurred to them that
 
 A Comedv of Errors. 177 
 
 it was the doctor's duty not only not to 
 injure a patient, but to help him. 
 
 Monsieur Dasonville, that was the doc- 
 tor's name, was a staunch believer in the 
 marvellous effects of leroy. Frequently 
 at public meetings he would bare his 
 head and turn to his audience with these 
 words : 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, you see in me 
 the happy effects of leroy. I am seventy 
 years old, and during forty years of my 
 life, I have never failed to take a daily 
 dose, and behold, I have not a single grey 
 hair on my head." 
 
 He had no grey hair, that was true 
 enough ; but then it might have been re- 
 marked that he had none at all, as his 
 head was as smooth as a billiard ball; 
 but as this had nothing whatever to do 
 with the development of the city, the 
 doctor's speech remained unchallenged. 
 
 In the meanwhile Struck Oil Citv 
 
 grew larger and larger. Presently a 
 12
 
 178 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 railway branch was established to con- 
 nect the city with the world in general; 
 and its officials decided upon. The doc- 
 tor as a representative of learning, a man 
 universally liked and respected, was 
 chosen as judge; the shoemaker, Mr. 
 Davis, a Polish Jew, became the head of 
 the police force, which consisted of the 
 sheriff and nobody else; a school was 
 built, and its management entrusted to a 
 schoolma'am, specially imported, an an- 
 cient spinster with a chronic facea^he; 
 and last, but not least, there rose the 
 first hotel under the name of the United 
 States Hotel. 
 
 Business flourished. The exportation 
 of oil brought immense profits. 
 
 Mr. Davis erected a bay-window be- 
 fore his shop in imitation of those in 
 'Frisco.' At the next meeting the citi- 
 zens offered him a vote of thanks for 
 having embellished the city; upon which 
 the sheriff, with the proud humility of a 
 great man, said :
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 179 
 
 "Thank yon! oh, thank you!" 
 "Where there is a judge and a sheriff 
 there are likely to be lawsuits. This 
 called for writing material; therefore, at 
 the corner of Coyote and First streets a 
 stationer established himself, who sold 
 also newspapers and political caricatures, 
 representing General Grant as a boy 
 milking a cow: the United States. It 
 was not the sheriff's duty to prohibit the 
 sale of caricatures, as the police had 
 nothing to do with that. 
 
 What would an American town be 
 without a newspaper? At the end of the 
 second year a paper under the title of 
 the "Saturday Weekly Review," made 
 its appearance and had as many subscrib- 
 ers as there were people in the city. The 
 editor of the paper was at the same time 
 sub-editor, printer and distributor. The 
 last duty did not cause him any incon- 
 venience, as he kept a dairy and person- 
 ally supplied the citizens with milk.
 
 180 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 These humble duties did not prevent him 
 from beginning his political articles 
 something after this fashion: "If our 
 benighted President had followed the ad- 
 vice given him in our last issue," etc., 
 etc. 
 
 It is seen, therefore, that not a single 
 blessing was lacking in Struck Oil City. 
 The sheriff's duties were not heavy, as 
 the miners working the oil-wells had 
 none of the violent and rowdy spirit of 
 the gold-diggers; and things were gen- 
 erally pretty quiet. Nobody fought any- 
 body, lynch-law was unknown, and the 
 days flowed peacefully, one exactly like 
 the other. The first half of the day was 
 devoted, to business, and in the evening 
 when there were no meetings, the citi- 
 zens burnt rubbish in the street, and 
 then went to bed; in the blissful con- 
 sciousness that they would do the same 
 thing the day following. 
 
 The sheriff's only trouble was that he
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 181 
 
 could not prevail upon the citizens not 
 to fire at the wild geese which at sunset 
 were seen flying over the city. The law 
 prohibits using firearms in public thor- 
 oughfares. "If it were a scurvy little 
 town," remarked the sheriff, "I wouldn't 
 say anything against the practice, but in 
 a respectable city to go on bang! bang- 
 ing in the streets, is, to say the least, un- 
 becoming." 
 
 The citizens listened deferentially to 
 his speech, nodded their heads, and said : 
 "Yes, yes," but when the evening came 
 and on the rosy sky appeared the long 
 grey line of the birds flying towards the 
 ocean, everybody forgot his promise, 
 grasped the rifle, and the shooting began 
 as merrily as ever. 
 
 Mr. Davis might have brought the cul- 
 prits before the judge to be fined heav- 
 ily, but we must not forget that the of- 
 fenders were the judge's patients in case 
 of sickness, and which happened oftener,
 
 182 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 the sheriff's customers when their boots 
 wore out, and as one hand washes the 
 other, it is not likely one hand would 
 hurt the other. Peace and quietness 
 reigned therefore in Struck Oil City, 
 when suddenly that delightful state of 
 things came to an end. 
 
 Two storekeepers had risen against 
 each other in mortal feud. In the stores 
 was everything which mortal man or 
 woman can want or desire: hats, cigars, 
 paper-collars, shirts, blouses, and all 
 sorts of groceries. In the beginning 
 there was but one store, kept by Hans 
 Kasche, a phlegmatic German from 
 Prussia. He was about thirty-five years 
 old, not exactly fat, but round and com- 
 fortable looking. He always walked 
 about in his shirt sleeves and never part- 
 ed company with his pipe. He knew 
 enough English for his business, and no 
 more; but to the latter he attended so 
 diligently, that after a year it was said
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 183 
 
 by those who knew that he was worth 
 several thousand dollars. 
 
 Suddenly a second store made its ap- 
 pearance opposite Hans Kasche. 
 
 By a singular chance the rival estab- 
 lishment was also kept by a German, a 
 I\Iiss jSTeuman, or, as she styled herself, 
 Newman. The two dealers looked as- 
 kance at each other from the beginning, 
 but open hostilities did not break out 
 until Miss Neuman gave an "Opening" 
 luncheon, and the cakes there served 
 were found to be baked from flour adul- 
 terated with soda and alum. She would 
 have compromised herself in public opin- 
 ion had she not declared that the flour 
 had been purchased at Hans Kasche's; 
 her own not being yet unpacked. It be- 
 came evident that Hans must be a rascal, 
 who, devoured by envy, had tried to ruin 
 his rival at the very outset. Everybody 
 anticipated skirmishes between the two, 
 but did not foresee that so much personal
 
 184 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 animosity would be mixed up with it. 
 It was commented upon by the citizens 
 that Hans never burned his rubbish, but 
 when the wind blew in the direction of 
 his rival's store. Miss Neuman never 
 spoke of Hans but as the "Dutchman," 
 which gave mortal offence. 
 
 In the beginning the citizens made 
 fun of both parties, especially as neither 
 of them spoke English; but gradually, 
 from their daily relations with the gro- 
 cers two parties began to form them- 
 selves in the city, the ISTeumanites and 
 the Hansimists, who looked askance at 
 each other, which undermined the gen- 
 eral harmony and threatened the city 
 with dire complications. The diplomatic 
 sheriff tried in vain to stem the torrent 
 at its source and to conciliate the two 
 Germans. He was often seen standing 
 in the middle of the street addressing 
 them in their native tongue: 
 
 "Come now, why should you quarrel?
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 185 
 
 Don't you buy your boots in the same 
 establishment? I have got just now such 
 a lovely assortment, none better to be 
 found in San Francisco." 
 
 "What is the use of recommending 
 your boots to people who will have to do 
 without them before long?" interrupted 
 the ladv, acrimoniouslv. 
 
 v 7 u 
 
 "I do not attract customers by my 
 feet," replied phlegmatic Hans. 
 
 Xow Miss Neuman, though a Ger- 
 man, had beautiful feet, and this covert 
 sneer filled her with wrath unspeakable. 
 
 At the meetings, the affairs of the two 
 rival dealers begin to evoke discussion 
 and, as in America, in the case of a wom- 
 an, justice is doubly blindfolded, there- 
 fore the majority leaned towards Miss 
 jSJeuman. 
 
 Presently Hans became aware that his 
 customers began to fall off. Miss Neu- 
 man likewise thought her business did 
 not go on as well as it ought to. The
 
 186 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 fact was all the women stood by Hans. 
 They remarked that their husbands fre- 
 quented the lady's store too much and 
 lingered too long over their purchases. 
 
 When no customers were to be served 
 in either store, Hans and Miss ISTeuman 
 stood in their doors casting at each other 
 looks of scorn and hatred. Miss !Neu- 
 man often sung a ditty to the tune of 
 "Mein lieber Augustin." 
 
 "Dutchman! Dutchman^ oh Du-Du- 
 Dutchman!" 
 
 Hans looked at her feet, then at her 
 figure, his eyes slowly travelling up- 
 wards to her face with an expression as 
 if he were examining a dead coyote; 
 then burst into demoniacal laughter, 
 saying: 
 
 "Mein Gott!" 
 
 The hatred in this phlegmatic man 
 had now developed to such an extent 
 that when he stood before his door and 
 did not see his rival he felt uncomfort- 
 able.
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 187 
 
 More overt hostilities would have 
 broken out before this had not Hans 
 been sure that he would get the worst 
 of any public exposure, as Miss Neuman 
 had the editor of the "Weekly Review" 
 on her side. He had become aware of 
 this after he had circulated the news 
 that Miss Neuman had a made up figure. 
 A slashing article appeared in the paper 
 pointing out the slandering propensities 
 of the Germans in general, and wound 
 up with an assurance that being well- 
 informed he considered it his duty to in- 
 form his readers that the figure of a cer- 
 tain calumniated lady was nature's han- 
 diwork. 
 
 From this day forth Hans took his 
 coffee without milk, whereas Miss Neu- 
 man iook double the amount. She also 
 had herself measured for a tailor-made 
 dress, which decisively convinced every- 
 body that Hans was a slanderer. 
 
 In presence of female cunning Hans
 
 188 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 felt himself at his wits end, and there in 
 the open door stood the fair enemy sing- 
 ing her ditty about the "Dutchman." 
 
 "What can I do to her?" thought 
 Hans vindictively. "I have some wheat 
 poisoned for rats, if I poisoned her poul- 
 try? No, they would make me pay for 
 it. I know what I will do." 
 
 In the evening Miss ISTeuman perceiv- 
 ed with astonishment that Hans was car- 
 rying armfulls of wild sunflower stalks 
 up to his cellar window. "I should like 
 to know what he is up to now, it's sure 
 to be something against me!" 
 
 It had now grown almost dark, but she 
 could still see Hans spreading the stalks 
 in two lines, leaving a little path free 
 towards the cellar window; he then 
 brought something carefully wrapped up 
 in a cloth, he turned his back to where 
 Miss Neuman was watching him, took 
 the cloth from the mysterious object, 
 placed it tenderly on the ground and
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 189 
 
 covered it with dry leaves; then ap- 
 proached the wall and began writing 
 upon it. 
 
 Miss Neuman was quivering with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "He is writing something spiteful 
 against me," she thought. "I shall see 
 what it is as soon as everybody is in 
 bed, if it cost me my life." 
 
 "When Hans had finished his work he 
 went leisurely into his house and soon 
 afterwards extinguished the light. Then 
 Miss Neuman hastily donned her wrap- 
 per, thrust her bare feet into slippers, 
 and went into the street. "When she 
 came to the sunflowers, she went straight 
 across the little footpath up to the win- 
 dow in order to see the inscription on 
 the wall. Suddenly her eyes opened 
 wide in terror, the upper part of her 
 body swayed backwards and an agoniz- 
 ing cry burst from her lips: 
 
 "Help! help!"
 
 190 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 A sash in the upper story was lifted 
 gently. 
 
 "Was is das?" said the even voice of 
 Hans. "Was is das?" 
 
 "Cursed Dutchman," screamed the 
 lady, "you have killed me, murdered 
 me. To-morrow you will be hung. 
 Help! help!" 
 
 "I am coming directly," said Hans. 
 
 Presently he appeared with a lighted 
 candle. He looked at Miss ISTeuman, 
 who seemed rooted to the spot; then he 
 put his arms akimbo, and burst into a 
 shout of merrv laughter. 
 
 "Ho! ho! ho! It's Miss Neuman! 
 Ho! ho! ho! Good evening, Miss. I 
 set a trap for skunks and caught a young 
 lady. What were you doing at my cel- 
 lar window? I wrote a warning on the 
 wall to prevent people coming near it. 
 Scream away; let people come and see 
 that yon come at nights to look into the 
 Dutchman's cellar window. Oh, mem
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 191 
 
 Gott! scream as loud as von can, but 
 you will have to remain where you are 
 till morning. Good night, Miss Xeu- 
 rnan, good night!" 
 
 Miss JSTeurnan's position was dreadful. 
 If she kept on screaming people would 
 collect and see her thus; what a scandal! 
 If she did not scream she would have to 
 stop here all night and be seen by people 
 next morning, and beside her foot was 
 becoming very painful. Her head began 
 to swim, the stars seemed to melt one 
 into the other, the moon showed the 
 fiendish countenance of Herr Hans. She 
 fainted. 
 
 "Herr Je!" ejaculated Hans to him- 
 self, "suppose she dies? They would 
 lynch me without trial!" 
 
 And his hair stood on end with sudden 
 terror. He searched for the key of the 
 trap, but it was not easy to unlock it, as 
 Miss Neuman's wrapper was in the way. 
 He had to push it aside and ... in
 
 192 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 spite of his hatred and terror he could 
 not help looking admiringly at the little 
 marble feet, visible now in the reddish 
 light of the moon. 
 
 He unlocked the trap quickly, and as 
 the lady gave no sign of returning con- 
 sciousness he lifted her in his strong arms 
 and carried her across the street into her 
 own house. During the short transit his 
 hatred and aversion seemed to have van- 
 ished into space and the only feeling- 
 he was conscious of possessing was a gen- 
 tle pity and compassion for his helpless 
 enemy. He returned to his house, and 
 tossed restlessly on his bed all night. 
 Something had disturbed phlegmatic 
 Hans' equanimity. 
 
 The next morning Miss Neuman did 
 not appear in the doorway, and did not 
 sing about the "Dutchman." Maybe 
 she felt ashamed or maybe she was si- 
 lently plotting her revenge. 
 
 The sequel showed that it was the
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 193 
 
 latter. That same evening the editor 
 of the ''Weekly Review" challenged 
 Hans to fight, and began by giving him 
 a black eye. But Hans' blood was up 
 and he began to use his fists so vigorous- 
 ly that the editor was thrown full length 
 on the ground and cried out: "Enough! 
 Enough!" 
 
 Nobody knew how it happened, it was 
 not through Hans that the whole town 
 came to know of Miss jSTeuman's noctur- 
 nal adventure. After the fight with the 
 editor, all softer feelings vanished from 
 Hans Kasche's heart, and he hated his 
 rival as cordially as ever. 
 
 He had a foreboding that the inimical 
 hand was preparing new blows, and he 
 had not long to wait for it either. Ameri- 
 cans use ice largely and Hans always 
 kept a good supply of it in his cellar. 
 Gradually he became aware that nobody 
 applied for ice to him any longer. The 
 huge slabs he had brought by railroad 
 13
 
 194 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 were melting down and lie was already 
 some fifteen dollars out of pocket. How 
 was it? He saw his own partisans buy- 
 ing it in the opposite stores. He could 
 not make out what it meant, but resolved 
 to find out the reason. The saloon-keep- 
 er, Peters, passed his door. 
 
 "Why do you not take your ice from 
 me any longer?" he asked. 
 
 "Because you have not got any," re- 
 plied Peters. 
 
 "Aberl I keep ice always," said Hans. 
 
 "And what's that for?" asked the sa- 
 loon-keeper, pointing to a notice stuck 
 up on the wall. 
 
 Hans looked, and turned green with 
 rage. In the word "Notice" the t had 
 been carefully erased and read "No ice." 
 
 "Donnerwetter!" shouted Hans, and 
 with livid face and trembling limbs he 
 rushed into Miss Neuman's store. 
 
 "That's a rascally business," he shout- 
 ed with foaming mouth. "Why did you 
 scratch out that letter, Miss?"
 
 A Comedv of Errors. 195 
 
 -VThat did you say I scratched out?" 
 &*>ked Miss Neuman innocently. 
 
 "The letter t I say. You scratched 
 out the t, but donnerwetter, this must be 
 ended, you will have to pay me for the 
 ice. 
 
 Poor Hans had lost his usual compo- 
 sure and danced and shouted about the 
 place like one bereft of his senses. Miss 
 Neuman began to scream and people 
 rushed into the store. 
 
 "Help! help!" she called out. "The 
 Dutchman is gone mad ! He says I have 
 scratched something out. What should 
 I scratch out unless it were his eyes, if he 
 goes on like that. I am a poor, lonely 
 woman; he means to kill me, to murder 
 me." 
 
 Saying this she broke out in tears. 
 The people did not understand what it 
 was all about; but they could not stand 
 by and see a woman shed tears; they 
 therefore took thw German by the scrufi
 
 108 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 of the neck and tried to evict hirn. Hans 
 resisted valiantly, but in vain; out lie 
 had to go, and out he went flying across 
 the street into his own store, where he 
 fell headlong on the ground. 
 
 A week later a painted signboard ap- 
 peared above his store. It represented 
 a monkey dressed in a striped gown, 
 white apron and bib, a dress exactly like 
 that Miss Neuman used to wear. Un- 
 derneath was the inscription: 
 
 "Stores at the sign of the monkey." 
 
 People collected before the store. 
 Their merriment brought Miss Neuman 
 into the street. She looked at the sign- 
 board and changed color, but with great 
 presence of mind she called out at once: 
 
 "A very appropriate sign for Herr 
 Kasche!" " 
 
 But all the same the blow had struck 
 home. At noon when the children, com- 
 ing from school, stopped before the pic- 
 ture, she had te listen to their mocking 
 comments:
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 197 
 
 "Oh, that's Miss Neuman! Good 
 morning. Miss Neuman!" 
 
 This was too much. "When the editor 
 came with the milk, she said : 
 
 "The monkey is meant for me. I 
 know it's me, and I shall never forgive 
 him for the insult. He shall be forced 
 to take it down and lick it off with his 
 tongue in my presence!" 
 
 ''What do you intend to do about it, 
 Miss?" 
 
 "I will go to the judge." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 The next morning on leaving the 
 store she approached Hans. 
 
 "Listen, Herr Dutchman, I know that 
 monkey is meant for me. You come 
 with me to the judge and we will see 
 what he says about it?" 
 
 "He will say that anybody has the 
 right to hang out a signboard." 
 
 "We'll soon see about that."
 
 198 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Miss Xeuman could scarcely breathe. 
 "And how do vou know it was meant 
 
 *j 
 
 for you, Miss?" 
 
 "My conscience tells me. Come at 
 once to the judge, unless you wish the 
 sheriff to bring you there in handcuffs." 
 
 "Very well, I will go," said Hans, 
 who felt sure the judge could do noth- 
 ing to him. 
 
 They locked their stores and departed 
 — abusing each other heartily on the 
 way. 
 
 At the very door of Monsieur Dason- 
 ville they remembered that they did not 
 know English sufficiently well to explain 
 the case. ISTo, it wouldn't do, they must 
 first go to the sheriff. The sheriff was 
 sitting on his wagon ready to start off 
 on a journey. 
 
 "Go to the devil!" he exclaimed 
 quickly. "You two disturb the whole 
 town, and your boots last you out the 
 whole summer. I am going to fetch 
 lumber. Good bye!"
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 199 
 
 And off he went at a brisk trot. 
 
 Hans put his arms akimbo. 
 
 "You will have to wait till to-mor- 
 row, Miss," he said, phlegmatically. 
 
 "I shall not wait! I would rather die 
 — unless you take down your sign- 
 board." 
 
 "I will not take it down, Miss." 
 
 "Then you will swing for it! You 
 will be hanged, Dutchman." 
 
 "We can do without the sheriff. The 
 judge knows all about the matter with- 
 out our telling him." 
 
 Miss Neuman was wrong for once. 
 The judge was the only man in the city 
 who did not know anything about their 
 quarrels. The harmless old man was 
 busy preparing his leroy and fancied he 
 was saving the world. 
 
 He received them as he received ev- 
 erybody, kindly and with perfect polite- 
 ness. 
 
 "Show your tongues, my children, I 
 will soon give you a prescription.
 
 200 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Both waved their arms to show it was 
 not for a prescription they had come. 
 Miss Neuman repeated: "It is not that 
 we want." 
 
 "What is it then?" 
 
 Both talked at once. To Hans's one 
 word Miss Neuman had ten. At last the 
 lady hit upon means to make him under- 
 stand; she pointed at her heart, to show 
 how wounded it was by Hans Kasche's 
 behavior. 
 
 The judge's face brightened. "I un- 
 derstand," he said, "I understand." 
 
 Then he opened a book and began to 
 write. He asked Hans his age. "Thirty- 
 six." Then he asked the lady: she did 
 not remember accurately, but thought 
 it was about twenty-five. "All right!" 
 
 "What Christian name? Hans-Lora. 
 All right!" 
 
 "What occupation?" "Storekeepers." 
 "All right!" Then a few other questions 
 which they did not understand, but an-
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 201 
 
 swered yes. The judge nodded all was 
 over. 
 
 He left off writing, rose, and to the as- 
 tonishment of Lora took her in his arms 
 and kissed her on both cheeks. She took 
 this for a good omen, and full of pleasant 
 anticipation returned home. 
 
 "I will show you now who has got the 
 upper hand," said Miss Neuman. 
 
 ''You will show some one else then," 
 said the German quietly. 
 
 The next morning the sheriff passed 
 near the stores. Both stood at their 
 doors. Hans puffed at his pipe. Miss 
 Neuman was singing. 
 
 "Do you wish to go to the judge?" 
 asked the sheriff. 
 
 "We have been there." 
 
 "Well, what does he say?" 
 
 "Dear Sheriff, good Herr Davis, go 
 and ask him what he intends to do; and 
 please say a word for me. You see, I 
 am a poor, lonely girl. I shall visit you 
 soon as I am in want of boots."
 
 202 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 The sheriff left, but returned in a 
 quarter of an hour — and for some in- 
 explicable reason was surrounded by a 
 crowd of people. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" asked both liti- 
 gants, eagerly. 
 
 "It's all right! It's all right!" said 
 the sheriff. 
 
 "And what has the judge done for 
 us?" 
 
 "What should he have done? He has 
 married you!" 
 
 "Married us?" 
 
 "What is there so astonishing in that? 
 People do marry." 
 
 If a thunderbolt had fallen in their 
 midst they could not have been more 
 startled. Hans opened his eyes and 
 mouth and stared stupidly at Miss Neu- 
 man, and Miss Neuman stared in blank 
 amazement at Hans. 
 
 "I to be his wife?" 
 
 "I to be her husband?"
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 203 
 
 "Oh horror! never! We must have a 
 divorce at once!" 
 
 "I would rather die than live with the 
 man. We must get divorced ; oh, what a 
 misfortune!" 
 
 "My dears," said the sheriff quietly, 
 "what is the use of all this noise? The 
 judge can marry you, but he cannot di- 
 vorce you. What is there to cry out 
 about? Are you millionaires to be able 
 to go for a divorce to San Francisco ? Do 
 you know what it will cost you ? Take it 
 easy. I have beautiful baby shoes, sell 
 'em you cheap. Good bye!" 
 
 Saying this, he went on his way. The 
 people dispersed laughing, and the newly 
 married couple remained alone. 
 
 "It's that Frenchman," exclaimed the 
 bride. "He has done it on purpose, 
 knowing we are both Germans." 
 
 "Richtig (correct)," replied Hans. 
 
 "But we will have a divorce." 
 
 "I agree with you there, Miss. What
 
 204 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 a mean thing it was for you to scratch 
 that letter out." 
 
 "I was not the first to begin; you 
 caught me in a spring trap." 
 
 "I don't care for you, Miss." 
 
 "I hate you." 
 
 Upon this they separated and shut up 
 their stores. She remained shut up all 
 the day, thinking; and he did the same. 
 Night brings rest and peace. They re- 
 tired, but could not sleep. He thought: 
 "There sleeps my wife." She thought: 
 "There sleeps my husband." And 
 strange feelings grew up in their hearts. 
 It was still anger and hatred, but with 
 them, an overwhelming sensation of 
 loneliness. Beside that Hans thought of 
 the sign board over his door. He would 
 not let it remain now, it was a caricature 
 of his wife. And it struck him that after 
 all it had been a mean thing to have had 
 it painted and hung up there. But then 
 he hated her; it was through her his ice
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 205 
 
 thawed; it was true lie had caught her 
 in a trap; and he saw again before his 
 eves the pretty, bare feet, with the moon- 
 light playing upon them. She is a nice 
 enough girl, but she hates me and I do 
 not like her. What a situation. Ach ! 
 Herr Gott!" to be married to Miss Neu- 
 man. And a divorce costs so much mon- 
 ey, that all his savings would be insuffi- 
 cient to cover the expense. 
 
 "I am the wife of that Dutchman," 
 said Miss ISTeuman to herself. "I am 
 no longer a maiden, but a married wo- 
 man. And to think that I am married 
 to that fellow Kasche who caught me in 
 a springtrap. It's true, he took me in 
 his arms and carried me upstairs. How 
 strong he is. What noise is that?" 
 
 There was no noise, but Miss Neuman 
 was frightened, she, who had never been 
 frightened before. "It's very lonely for 
 a single woman; it would be different 
 with a man in the house. Murders had
 
 206 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 been committed before on lonely women 
 (she had not thought of it before), some- 
 body might kill and rob her some day. 
 And to think that now that man Kascke 
 has barred me from matrimony. We 
 must soon get a divorce, there's comfort 
 in that." 
 
 Thinking and thinking she turned 
 restlessly in her bed. 
 
 Suddenly she started, yes there was 
 a noise, she had not been mistaken. In 
 the stillness of the night she distinctly 
 heard the knocking of a hammer. 
 
 "Good Lord!" screamed the lady, 
 "some burglar is trying to get into the 
 store." 
 
 She jumped from her bed, put on her 
 wrapper and mshed to the window; but 
 what she saw there completely restored 
 the balance of her mind. By the light of 
 the moon she saw a ladder, and perched 
 on it the comfortable looking Hans, who, 
 hammer in hand, knocked out one by
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 207 
 
 one the nails which fastened the sign- 
 board over his store. 
 
 "It is good-natured on his part, he is 
 taking down the monkey." 
 
 And she felt as if something was melt- 
 ing in her heart. 
 
 Now the nails had all been withdrawn 
 and the plate came rattling to the 
 ground. Then he descended, knocked 
 off the frame, rolled the sheet into a 
 tube, and then removed the ladder. 
 
 The lady followed all his motions with 
 her eyes. The night was quiet and 
 warm. 
 
 "Herr Hans!" called she in a low tone. 
 
 "You are not asleep, Miss?" whispered 
 Hans. 
 
 "No; good evening, Herr Hans." 
 
 "Good evening, Miss." 
 
 "What are you doing?" 
 
 "I have taken down the monkey." 
 
 "Thank you, Herr Hans." 
 
 After that there was a slight pause.
 
 208 A Comedy of Errors. 
 
 "Herr Hans," whispered again the 
 voice from the window. 
 
 "What is it, Fraulein Lora?" 
 
 "We must consult about the divorce." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "To-morrow?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 Again a slight pause. The moon look- 
 ed quietly on and there seemed to be a 
 laugh on his broad face. Everything 
 was so quiet, not even a dog was barking. 
 
 "Herr Hans!" 
 
 "Well, Fraulein Lora?" 
 
 "I am in a great hurry to get that di- 
 vorce." Her voice sounded a little plain- 
 tive. 
 
 "So am I, Fraulein Lora." And his 
 voice sounded sad. 
 
 "You see, there ought not to be any 
 delay." 
 
 "No, it is better not to delay." 
 
 "The sooner we talk it over the bet- 
 ter."
 
 A Comedy of Errors. 209 
 
 <f 
 
 The better, Fraulein Lora." 
 "We might talk it over at once." 
 "If you think so, we will." 
 "You can come up into my room." 
 The door opened gently, Hans disap- 
 peared within, and presently found him- 
 self in Miss Neuman's neat and pleasant 
 room. She wore a white dressing gown 
 and looked very pretty. 
 
 "You see, it will cost us a deal of 
 money to get a divorce." 
 
 "Do you think anybody can see us 
 from below?" 
 
 "No, the windows are dark." 
 Then began a conversation about the 
 divorce which does not belong to our 
 tale. 
 
 Peace returned to Struck Oil City.
 
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 ALTEMUS' EDITION SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS. 
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 1. All's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 a. Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 3. A Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 4. As You Like It. 
 
 5. Comedy of Errors. 
 
 6. Ceriolanus. 
 
 7. Cymbeline. 
 
 8. Hamlet. 
 
 9. .Julius C.-esar. 
 
 10. King Henry IV. (Part I.) 
 
 ix. King Henry IV. (Part II.) 
 
 12 King Henry V. 
 
 13. King Henry VI. (Part I.) 
 
 14 King Henry VI. (Part II.) 
 
 15. King Henry VI. (Part III.) 
 
 16. King Henry VIII. 
 
 17. King John. 
 it. King Lear. 
 
 19. King Richard II. 
 
 30. King Richard III. 
 
 3i. Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 33. Macbeth. 
 
 23. Measure for Measure. 
 
 34. Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 35. Othello. 
 a6. Pericles. 
 
 27. Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 28. The Merchant of Venice. 
 
 29. The Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 30. The Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 31. The Tempest. 
 
 32. The Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 33. The Winter's Tale. 
 
 34. Timon of Athens. 
 
 35. Titus Andronicus. 
 
 36. Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 37. Twelfth Mght. 
 
 38. Venus and Adonis and Lucrece. 
 3$. Sonnets, Passionate Pilgrim, Etc.
 
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