e is that of being
nominal Christians? Five or six centuries ago the combined governments
of Europe would have made common cause against the infamous Turk for
much less than the murder of a Christian nation. But to-day there is so
much less of manhood in Europe than there was in the days of chivalry,
that the civilized world is sitting calmly by and permitting this
unspeakable crime to go on at the sweet will of the bloody-handed Turk.
And do you not think that God will hold the nations of Europe to a
strict account for this villainy that marks the closing decade of the
nineteenth century as the blackest page in human history? God will
surely avenge Armenia, and woe to Europe when He treads the wine-press
of His wrath!"

As Will offered no reply, the discussion closed.

CHAPTER XII.

Greenland's Icy Mountains and the Russian Bear.

Upon the morning of the third day from Constance House the wind shifted
almost due west. Silver Cloud was in latitude 65 deg., longitude 70 deg.
13 min., and they were driving rapidly toward Greenland.

"We are still two or three points north of east in our course, and will
let her drive as she goes for the present," said Dr. Jones. "And you
wouldn't mind seeing Greenland's icy mountains, about which you have
sung so many years, would you, girls?"

"O let us see Greenland, by all means, Doctor!" cried Mattie.

"What noted travelers we will be when we get back to Washington," and he
placed an arm about each of their waists and galloped them up and down
the little sitting room several times.

"I do believe that you grow to be more of a boy every year of your
life," panted Mrs. Jones, as she smoothed her rumpled hair.

"You are quite right, Maggie; and what is worse, I do not expect to ever
improve a bit on that line. Give me the heart of a boy while I live. And
now, Professor, I am ready to give you revenge for that last game or two
of chess that went to my credit."

While these two were oblivious to the world in a very closely contested
game, Mrs. Jones sat knitting while Mattie read aloud to her from a late
magazine. Denison and Fred were pacing the balcony for their
"constitutional." Will was working on his oil painting of Jennie Barton,
and so beautifully had he succeeded in bringing out the lovely features,
and trusting, fearless spirit that beamed from a pair of dark blue eyes,
that all the company, even to Sing, expressed their unqualified
admiration.

"Me sabe," sa