“That’s just the way, blessings brighten as they banish, and we are on our way to Wellington. But, Helen, I want to learn a few more Polish words. I am going to count them in on my foreign language list. I flunked in French, that is, I lost two points. Now what do you call meat in Polish?” “Just meat is ‘mieso,’ but there are kinds of meat——” “Oh, one kind will do me. And what is butter?” “Butter is ‘malso.’” “And bread? I should have to have bread.” “Bread is ‘chleb.’” “Then here is my order in a foreign tongue—with personal service of course. That’s the kind you get where they make the pancakes in windows,” and Judith took her share of the casserole supply. “I shall order this way: Donnez-moi sil vous plait, une morceau de chleb, une hunk of mieso, and one ball of malso. There, does not that embrace three perfectly good languages?” asked Judith. Helen laughed merrily at Judith’s absurd mixture. “It would be very funny if they served you that way. The flavors would be very mixed,” she said archly. “Yes, Judy, you would get an allied menu. Better, I think, to win each battle separately, and eat in each country as you go along. Personally, I have a weakness for ‘grub and chow.’ After that selection I make it civilized to the extent of three courses but never five. You see, we have three, Judy. You may have your dessert this time also.” Helen seemed preoccupied, and in spite of the chatter she stopped often and looked intently at Jane. Finally Judith, vanquishing the very last of her eclair, asked teasingly: “What’s on your mind, Helen dear? Met any more big men with long whiskers?” Too late Jane’s tug at Judith’s skirt. Helen dropped knife and fork, and blinked to keep back tears. “Now, Helen dear, I did not mean to make you feel badly. You know, I really like big, foreign-looking men, and I had no idea of ridiculing them,” Judith sobered up instantly. “Oh, it is not that, my friends, but I want to tell you so much. Sometimes I think, what do you think of me? Then again I say, I must try to make plain——” “No, you must not, indeed,” Jane assured her. “Don’t worry your head about what we think, when you know it must be something very nice. We like you and you like us, so why should we go digging up old matters? When you want to tell us more about yourself we shall be very interested, but until you feel like it, we are perfectly content.” Helen’s eyes still seemed about to overflow. Never had she looked so small and helpless, and she now displayed that attitude of diffidence, peculiar to foreigners. Years of oppression leave their indent upon such impressionable characters, and Helka Podonsky, at that moment harked back, body and soul, to her untold life somewhere in Poland. “Oh, thank you. I know how kind you are,” she murmured. “But it must seem very strange. You know I love my people, and I love my country. It is not that—but——”