re perhaps
wayward children who had run away from home and were now penitently
trying to find their way back.

After the boys were rested, they thanked their kind hostess and set out
again upon their wanderings with no other compass than blind chance, but
avoiding the highways for fear of being captured by the soldiers. On
they went for hours, Mendel supporting his complaining brother and
whispering words of hope and courage.

By noon the sky had become darker, the storm more threatening. The wind
blew in furious gusts over the dismal country, and an occasional
rumbling of distant thunder filled the weary lads with dread. The road
they had chosen was absolutely deserted. It lay through a bleak,
scarcely habitable prairie, a landscape common enough in that part of
Russia; and stones and brambles did much to retard their progress. There
was not a place of shelter in sight. The outlook was sufficiently
unpromising to dismay the most resolute.

Jacob sat down upon a stone and began to weep.

"I can go no further," he sobbed. "I am tired and sick."

"But you must come," pleaded his brother. "See what a storm is
gathering. If we remain here we shall be drenched. We must find
shelter."

"Go alone, brother," said the little one. "I'll stay here."

There was a sudden flash of lightning, which illumined Jacob's bandaged
face, pale with fear and fatigue. The trembling boys looked at each
other and Jacob began to cry.

"Come, Jacob," murmured Mendel, helping his brother to rise. "We shall
die if we stay here. May God protect us."

Again the waifs plodded on, Mendel supporting his brother and
endeavoring to protect him from the cruel wind. Darker grew the sky.
Large drops of rain began to fall and with a startling peal of thunder
the tempest broke in its fury. The pitiless wind sweeping through the
land from the bleak northern steppes brought cold and desolation in its
train. The poor children were drenched to the skin. They clung to each
other and painfully made their way across the miry fields to the
highway, the ancient road of the Tartar Khans.

At last Jacob succumbed to the awful strain and sank to the ground.

"Let me die," moaned the child.

"Oh, dear brother; you must live! We will find our way back to Togarog
to papa and mamma. How they would grieve if I came back alone."

The child shook his head mutely to this appeal, but rise he could not.
Mendel was in despair.

A bright flash lit up the landscape and