more, until not only the big house, but the
stable and outbuildings were all running-over full of homeless people.
One day, after they had been in this place for two or three weeks, Jan
and Marie were called into the room where sat the sweet-faced lady
whose home they were in. It was like an office, and there were several
other persons there with her.

The sweet-faced lady spoke to them. "Jan and Marie," she said, "how
would you like to go to live with a dear lady in America who would love
you, and take care of you, so you need never be lonely and sad again?"

"But our mother!" gasped Marie, bursting into tears. "We have not found
her!"

"You will not lose her any more by going to America," said the lady,
"for, you see, we shall know all about you here, and if your mother
comes, we shall be able to tell her just where to find you. Meanwhile
you will be safe and well cared for, far away from all the dreadful
things that are happening here."

"It is so far away!" sobbed Marie.

Jan said nothing; he was busy swallowing lumps in his own throat.

"You see, dears," the lady said gently, "you can be together there, for
this woman has no children of her own, and is willing to take both of
you. That does not often happen, and, besides, she is a Belgian; I know
you will find a good home with her."

"You're sure we could be together?" asked Jan.

"Yes," said the lady.

"Because," said Jan, "Mother said I must take care of Marie."

"And she said she'd find us again if she had to swim the sea," said
Marie, feeling of her locket and smiling through her tears.

"She won't have to swim," said the lady. "We will see to that! If she
comes here, she shall go for you in a fine big ship, and so that's all
settled." She kissed their woebegone little faces. "You are going to
start to-morrow," she said. "The good captain of the ship has promised
to take care of you, so you will not be afraid, and I know you will be
good children."

It seemed like a month to Jan and Marie, but it was really only seven
days later that they stood on the deck of the good ship Caspian, as it
steamed proudly into the wonderful harbor of New York. It was dusk, and
already the lights of the city sparkled like a sky full of stars
dropped down to earth. High above the other stars shone the great torch
of "Liberty enlightening the World." "Oh," gasped Marie, as she gazed,
"New York must be as big as heaven. Do you suppose that is an angel
holding a candle