ore
her. He scarcely ever permits her to stir abroad and then only when
she is followed by one of his faithful black slaves." He arose with
his characteristic abruptness, and walking to the chest of drawers
across from the fire-place, changed his black silken skull cap to the
broad-brimmed hat of his Dutch neighbors. "Forget what I have said,"
he told his son, briefly. "We live here only on sufferance and must
guard our tongues. But you are a good lad and I know I need never
regret having confided in you. And now study your _barmitzvah_
portion. Even if the folk from the 'St. Catarina' are deported before
your birthday and there is no _minyan_ here and we can have no real
feast in your honor, I would have you do your sainted grandfather
credit and please your mother who has waited so long for the day when
you should be old enough to be considered a man among our people." For
a moment his hand lay kindly upon the boy's shoulder; then, with a
shrug as though to shake off any foolish tenderness for the son he
loved so dearly, he passed out of the house.

Samuel watched him from the window until his stolid, heavy-set figure
disappeared down the winding road. Then, finding his portion in the
Hebrew book which his father treasured so highly in those days when
printed Hebrew books were still a rarity, he sank down on the settle
and tried to concentrate on the task which his father had left for
him. But more than once his dark eyes glanced from the heavy Hebrew
characters to the pleasant scene that lay beyond the window; a scene
one would never associate with crowded, bustling New York of our own
day; the low, comfortable looking houses of the Dutch burghers,
nestling under the great trees; the well-scoured windows blinking like
so many sleepy eyes in the warm spring sunshine. It was a day for
dreaming and adventure, not for study.

For a little while the boy sat with his head resting upon the low
window sill, his young mind busy with half-formed fancies, most of
them circling about his talk with his father concerning the unhappy
passengers of the 'St. Catarina.' Would the unfortunates be obliged to
seek shelter elsewhere, or would they be allowed to dwell in New
Amsterdam? If so, perhaps in time other Jewish families might come,
bringing with them boys of his own age, among whom he might find a
real playfellow. He sighed a little wistfully at the thought, for he
had no close friends among the sturdy young Dutch lads of the