ainst us?"

Jacob Barsimon laughed grimly, lowering his voice as he answered, for
he was a cautious man and did not care to risk having his words
carried through the town by the little slave girl Minna, now
clattering the breakfast dishes as she moved about the kitchen. "Does
Peter Stuyvesant ever need a reason for his follies?" he asked dryly.
"His head is as hard as his wooden leg and never a new idea has
pierced his brain since the day he was born. He hates our people with
as much reason as our black Minna fears witches and the evil eye. It
is said that he has written to the directors at Amsterdam, begging
that none of the Jewish nation be permitted to infest New Netherlands.
He has used those very words in public places; infest the colony and
be like a plague of hungry locusts. Perhaps he really believes the
evil things he says of our brethren. Even eyes as shrewd as his may be
blinded by hate. And one can understand his bitterness, his hardness
of heart toward all mankind. His post here is not easy, harrassed by
the savages on our borders, the Swedes, even the English, who have
already cast covetous eyes upon this rich port. While his private
life--" the man's stern face grew rather tender--"has not been very
happy. It is said that he left a half-sister in Holland, the one
creature he ever loved or who knew his kindlier side. A few months ago
her husband died and she dared the voyage with her little daughter
that they might make their home with the governor. But the vessel was
lost at sea and she was drowned. Only a sailor or two and several
passengers survived and one of them brought the little girl to Peter
Stuyvesant."

"I heard Minna tell of her," interrupted Samuel. "She says that once
she helped the governor's cook carry the Sunday dinner home from
market and she saw little Katrina playing on the great stairway of
Peter Stuyvesant's house. Minna says she has long golden curls and her
eyes are blue--blue as the little flowers that grow near the Wall
every spring. I wonder we never see her, father!"

Barsimon sat down on the low settle beside the window and lighted his
long pipe, puffing thoughtfully and gazing into the smoke as he spoke.
"I would not have you repeat this, son, for it may be but idle gossip.
But it is reported that since her mother's death the child has become
the idol of the governor's hard, old heart. He is filled with foolish
fears that he may lose her as cruelly as he lost her mother bef