said,       “and I, for my part, can assure you that I am.”      

       “Grateful? Why?” demanded Halfdan, looking quite unhappy.     

       “For singing OUR national songs, of course. Now, won’t you sing one of your own, please? We should all be so delighted to hear how a Swedish—or Norwegian, is it?—national song sounds.”      

       “Yes, Mr. Birch, DO sing a Swedish song,” echoed several voices.     

       They, of course, did not even remotely suspect their own cruelty. He had,       in his enthusiasm for the day allowed himself to forget that he was not made of the same clay as they were, that he was an exile and a stranger, and must ever remain so, that he had no right to share their joy in the blessing of liberty. Edith had taken pains to dispel the happy illusion, and had sent him once more whirling toward his cold native Pole. His passion came near choking him, and, to conceal his impetuous emotion, he flung himself down on the piano-stool, and struck some introductory chords with perhaps a little superfluous emphasis. Suddenly his voice burst out into the Swedish national anthem, “Our Land, our Land, our Fatherland,”        and the air shook and palpitated with strong martial melody. His indignation, his love and his misery, imparted strength to his voice, and its occasional tremble in the PIANO passages was something more than an artistic intention. He was loudly applauded as he arose, and the young ladies thronged about him to ask if he “wouldn’t please write out the music for them.”      

       Thus month after month passed by, and every day brought its own misery. Mrs. Van Kirk’s patronizing manners, and ostentatious kindness, often tested his patience to the utmost. If he was guilty of an innocent       witticism or a little quaintness of expression, she always assumed it to be a mistake of terms and corrected him with an air of benign superiority. At times, of course, her corrections were legitimate, as for instance, when he spoke of WEARING a cane, instead of CARRYING one, but in nine cases out of ten the fault lay in her own lack of imagination and not in his ignorance of English. On such occasions Edith often took pity on him, defended him against her mother’s criticism, and insisted that if this or that expression was not in common vogue, that was no reason why it should not be used, as it was perfectly grammatical, and, moreover, in 

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