Aunt Jo’s Scrap-Bag Vol. 1

acquire my bread in this so hospitable country. At Paris, my friends,
all two, find a refuge, and I go to them in spring if I die not here.
Yes, it is solitary, and my memories are not gay, but I have my work,
and the good God remains always to me, so I content myself with much
hope, and I wait.'

Such genuine piety and courage increased my respect and regard
immensely, and a few minutes later he added to both by one of the little
acts that show character better than words.

He told me about the massacre, when five hundred Poles were shot down by
Cossacks in the market-place, merely because they sung their national
hymn.

'Play me that forbidden air,' I said, wishing to judge of his skill, for
I had heard him practising softly in the afternoon.

He rose willingly, then glanced about the room and gave a little shrug
which made me ask what he wanted.

'I look to see if the Baron is here. He is Russian, and to him my
national air will not be pleasing.'

'Then play it. He dare not forbid it here, and I should rather enjoy
that little insult to your bitter enemy,' said I, feeling very indignant
with everything Russian just then.

'Ah, mademoiselle, it is true we are enemies, but we are also