irection where once stood Filina's hut. All
that marked the place were a few half-burned timbers, now overgrown
with weeds. Oh, that face! There was only one like it, never
forgotten, younger--but nevertheless!

Bacha closed his eagle eyes that they might not fool him. He opened
them only when the steps drew nearer to him from below. He let go the
cross and crossed his arms on his chest. Looking up he stood face to
face with the stranger.

"Good evening," said he.

"Oh, Stephen!" It came out of the chest of Bacha. Half cry, half
terror.

"Peter! Is it you!" Two arms twined around Filina's neck.

"Stephen! You live? Really? It is not possible!"

"I live, Peter, and at last, I am coming. It is rather late, it's
true, but I did not know before that the loved one who once separated
us, had passed away long ago, and that you and I would not have any
more heartaches. I am coming to you for my treasures, which are in
your care."

"Your treasures?" Bacha was surprised still, not knowing whether it
was a beautiful, but impossible dream. He could not get enough of the
voice that was speaking to him. The face was older, changed, but the
voice was the same. It always sounded to Peter Filina like music. And
so it was today.

"We are expecting the father of Madame Slavkovsky today, and I am
going to meet him."

"I am that father."

"You, Stephen?" Bacha released the stranger. "I do not understand
that."

"I believe you, my Peter. Well, how you have changed, how strong you
have gotten, how giantlike, like the beautiful mountains all around!
I would not have recognized you, if it were not for the voice--no one
has called me thus since--and by your eagle eyes under those heavy
eyebrows."

"Stephen, tell me, how is it possible that you live? Was not that ship
wrecked?"

"Yes, Peter, she went to the bottom of the sea; but I was among the
few immigrants which another ship saved. God does not want the death
of a sinner, but rather that he be converted and live; so He saved me.
The first steady work that I had in America was on the farm of Mr.
Slavkovsky. My daughter wrote me that she told you everything about
us. Thus you know what Slavkovsky asked of me and that I agreed to do
as he wished. When he heard from me that I did not want you to know
that I still lived, he advised me to adopt his name and thus disappear
forever from this world. His wife and son, and even my good wife,
agreed with it. Thus Stephen Pribylinsky d