ntly,
half-wistfully. "When your uncle sends for me, I will come," he said,
and, bowing in a manner that would have delighted his careful mother,
he left the room. Katrina was about to follow him, but her uncle
called her back rather sternly.

"Nay, do not pout, my pretty," he told her, "for I will try to find
you a worthier playfellow than the son of a Jew trader."

Samuel walked home slowly through the April twilight. In the harbor he
could see the dim outlines of the 'St. Catarina,' which had in truth
brought the Jewish wanderers to a home in New Amsterdam. But Samuel
was not thinking of the wanderers who, after their months of weary
waiting, could look toward the future with hopeful eyes; nor did he
feel relieved that, since they were not to be deported, the newcomers
would surely come to his _barmitzvah_ party. At that moment he thought
only of the golden-curled fairy princess who would never romp and play
with him again.

A PLACE OF REFUGE

_How the Wanderer Came to Rhode Island._

It was bitter cold. The icy wind howling through the forest caught up
the snow and whirled it in great eddies against the trees. Reuben
Mendoza, staggering through the blinding snowflakes, hugged his little
son Benjamin closer to his heart, and prayed desperately that the
storm might cease or that he might soon come to a place of refuge. His
own limbs were aching with fatigue and cold. He had eaten nothing
since early morning and was faint with hunger. Wearied and heartsick,
he would have been glad to lie down upon the ground, to sink into
sleep, perhaps a painless death, with the snow drifting above him; but
he knew that he must struggle on for the sake of the child he was
warming in his bosom.

Suddenly Benjamin, half asleep and numb with the cold, stirred a
little and complained drowsily that he was hungry. His father paused
for a moment and pressed his lean, bearded face against the child's
rosy cheeks. "Be patient, little one," he comforted him, "for soon we
shall find a lodging for the night. Surely, no one would turn even a
Jew away in a storm like this."

Again he plodded on, footsore and discouraged. The wind lashed him
like a whip, and, when he raised his head, the snow cut across his
forehead like stripes of fire. His lips moving almost mechanically in
prayer, Reuben faltered through the storm, until at last utterly
exhausted he stumbled to the ground. He tried to gain his feet again,
for he thought he saw a