this strange hospitality in silence. Glancing up presently, however,
I saw her eyes still fixed on me, and laid down my knife.

"I can't help it," I said, "I want to know about Feodor Himkoff."

"There's no secret," she answered. "Leastways, there _was_ one, but
either God has condemned or forgiven afore now. Look at my man
there; he's done all the repentin' he's likely to do."

After a few seconds' hesitation she went on--

"I had a boy, you must know--oh! a straight young man--that went for
a soldier, an' was killed at Inkerman by the Rooshians. Take another
look at his father here; you think 'en a bundle o' frailties, I
dessay. Well, when the news was brought us, this poor old worm lifts
his fist up to the sun an' says, 'God do so to me an' more also,' he
says, 'if ever I falls across a Rooshian!' An' 'God send me a
Rooshian--just one!' he says, meanin' that Rooshians don't grow on
brambles hereabouts. Now the boy was our only flesh.

"Well, sir, nigh sixteen year' went by, an' we two were sittin', one
quakin' night, beside this very fire, hearkenin' to the bedlam
outside: for 'twas the big storm in 'Seventy, an' even indoors we
must shout to make ourselves heard. About ten, as we was thinkin' to
alley-couchey, there comes a bangin' on the door, an' Isaac gets up
an' lets the bar down, singin' out, 'Who is it?'

"There was a big young man 'twixt the doorposts, drippin' wet, wi'
smears o' blood on his face, an' white teeth showin' when he talked.
'Twas a half-furrin talk, an' he spoke a bit faint too, but fairly
grinned for joy to see our warm fire,--an' his teeth were white as
pearl.

"'Ah, sir,' he cried, 'you will help? Our barque is ashore below--
fifteen poor brothers! You will send for help?--you will aid?'

"Then Isaac stepped back, and spoke very slow--'What nation?' he
asked. 'She is Russ--we are all Russ; sixteen poor brothers from
Archangel,' said the young man, as soon as he took in the question.
My man slewed round on his heel, and walked to the hearth here; but
the sailor stretched out his hands, an' I saw the middle finger of
his right hand was gone. 'You will aid, eh? Ah, yes, you will aid.
They are clingin'--_so_--fifteen poor brothers, and many have wives.'
But Isaac said, 'Thank Thee, God,' and picked up a log from the
hearth here. 'Take 'em this message,' said he, facin' round; an',
runnin' on the sailor, who was faint and swayin', beat him forth wi'
the burnin' stick, and b