k America. We could not
depart openly; that was not permitted; so one night he dug up the little
hoard of money he had concealed, cut off my hair and dressed me in boys'
clothes, arrayed himself in the rags of a goat-herd, and about midnight
we set off. I was eleven years old at the time, and I remember every
incident distinctly. We could travel only at night, hiding at every
sound. By day, we concealed ourselves under culverts, in ditches, under
heaps of brush. Luckily, Polish people are eager to help each other, so
we did not starve, and we got forward a little every night. At the end
of six weeks, we crossed the frontier and were safe.

"There is not much more to tell. We reached New York; and I was placed
in school--I wish you could realise all that meant to me! For a long
time, I could not go out into the street without being afraid. It seemed
impossible that there was no longer anything to fear. When at last I
understood, it was as though a great load were lifted. That was ten
years ago. For the past three years, I have been a teacher in the Hester
Street school."

She sat silent for a moment, then with a long breath, drew her hand
away.

"Do you wonder that I love America?" she asked.

"No," said Dan; "and you have made me a better patriot."

She turned to him, with a little smile.

"And now I think of it," she added, "it was my story I told you, after
all!"

"Your story helps me to understand Poland's. That is the way history
should be written."

"I think so, too. There is not enough in most histories of the common
people. And my father says it is only they who really matter. He has
thought very deeply. It is his dream to make all other countries like
America--free, peaceful, industrious--only better than America has yet
become, in that poverty and inequality and injustice will be abolished."

"A magnificent dream," Dan agreed, with a smile; "but impossible of
accomplishment, I'm afraid."

"No, it is not impossible!" she cried quickly. "It will be accomplished,
and by him!"

Dan looked at her curiously. Her eyes were blazing, and she spoke with a
conviction, with an enthusiasm, which puzzled him.

"Tell me something about your father," he suggested. "You said he was
the most wonderful man in the world."

"And I meant it. Could anything be more wonderful than to force all the
nations of the earth to break up their navies, to dismantle their forts,
to disband their armies? Could anything be more w