school, won't you, Jimmy?" she asked with
a sudden rush of feeling in her voice. "My
father, he went much to school. He know a
great deal; how to make the fine cloth like
what you not got here. He play horn and vio-
lin, and he read so many books that the priests
in Bohemie come to talk to him. You won't
forget my father, Jim?"

"No," I said, "I will never forget him."

Mrs. Shimerda asked me to stay for supper.
After Ambrosch and Antonia had washed the
field dust from their hands and faces at the
wash-basin by the kitchen door, we sat down
at the oil-cloth-covered table. Mrs. Shimerda
ladled meal mush out of an iron pot and poured
milk on it. After the mush we had fresh bread
and sorghum molasses, and coffee with the cake
that had been kept warm in the feathers. An-
tonia and Ambrosch were talking in Bohe-
mian; disputing about which of them had
done more ploughing that day. Mrs. Shi-
merda egged them on, chuckling while she
gobbled her food.

Presently Ambrosch said sullenly in Eng-
lish: "You take them ox tomorrow and try
the sod plough. Then you not be so smart."

His sister laughed. "Don't be mad. I know

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