chopped pickles, and one full of pickled water-
melon rinds.

"You wouldn't believe, Jim, what it takes
to feed them all!" their mother exclaimed.
"You ought to see the bread we bake on
Wednesdays and Saturdays! It's no wonder
their poor papa can't get rich, he has to buy so
much sugar for us to preserve with. We have
our own wheat ground for flour, -- but then
there's that much less to sell."

Nina and Jan, and a little girl named Lucie,
kept shyly pointing out to me the shelves of
glass jars. They said nothing, but glancing at
me, traced on the glass with their finger-tips
the outline of the cherries and strawberries and
crab-apples within, trying by a blissful expres-
sion of countenance to give me some idea of
their deliciousness.

"Show him the spiced plums, mother.
Americans don't have those," said one of the
older boys. "Mother uses them to make
_kolaches,"_ he added.

Leo, in a low voice, tossed off some scorn-
ful remark in Bohemian.

I turned to him. "You think I don't
know what _kolaches_ are, eh? You're mistaken,
young man. I've eaten your mother's _kol-_

[[381]]

p380 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p381w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p382

v?