neighborhood. Even a girl would be better than no one, he thought; not
a mere baby like his little sister, but a girl old enough to play with
him, to visit the Indians dwelling a little beyond the Wall, to wander
with him to the other end of the settlement and stand upon the sea
shore, searching for shells or lying upon the shining sands and
weaving fantastic dream stories, too foolish for older and wiser folks
to hear.

The boy fell to dreaming now, sitting there in the warm sunshine, for
he was a quiet, thoughtful lad, unaccustomed to playing with youths of
his own age, given to day-dreams and fairy legends. Today, as he half
reclined on the settle near the window, his busy young brain painted a
picture so strange that even Samuel himself had to smile over it; for
as he gazed through the window with half-closed lids, the dusty road
and little Dutch houses faded away and he seemed to see a shining,
white street with tall buildings on either side, and many, many
people--more than he had ever seen in his life, even in Amsterdam
across the seas--hurrying to and fro. He had heard his father say,
nodding gravely over his pipe, that some day little New Amsterdam
would be one of the greatest sea ports in the world. Jacob Aboaf had
hooted at his friend's prophecy; but as he recalled it today, Samuel
did not laugh. His day dream was very real to him, and when his mother
came into the room she found him staring through the window with a
strange smile about his mouth.

Frau Barsimon was a busy woman, with no time for day-dreams and she
was often annoyed (and secretly alarmed) at her son's tendency to
wander off into a world of his own making. Now she shook him, but
gently, and spoke with her usual briskness.

"Samuel, Samuel, have you nothing better to do than sit nodding like
an old spinning woman in the sunshine?"

The boy started guiltily, indicating his open book with a shame-faced
laugh. "Father told me to study--_barmitzvah_," he faltered.

His mother shrugged goodnaturedly. Pious Jewess that she was, she was
often inclined to quarrel with her husband who, she declared, was too
fond of keeping the boy tied to his Hebrew lessons. "He needs a strong
body now," she used to say when demanding an extra play-hour for
Samuel. "When he is older and his head is less stuffed with dreaming
it will be time enough to cram it with your learning. But first let
him play out in the open air until he is tired and the fresh wind has
blo