No, she could not hurry by this booth, for Marie’s eyes, big but shy, and bright with a beautiful soft blackness, shone so pleadingly from the clear pallor of her ivory-tinted skin, that they could not be resisted. “Oh, Mees President,” cried the girl in her soft musical voice, “I shall tell somethings on you. I likes that you look at mine table—iss it not shmardt, hein? My mamma she says it iss stylish. Shure, und the peoples—oh, they buys und buys lots and lots of sweaters, und mufflers, und the helmets—yiss, ma’am, they have a glad on them, for they go fast mit the wind.” “Yes, isn’t it lovely, Marie,” returned Nathalie, smiling into the limpid eyes, “to think that every one is so patriotic, and so anxious to make the soldier-boys who are to fight for us, happy and comfortable?” “Shure, Mees, that iss because they are lovin’ much mit the liberty. Oh, here comes mine papa. He buys sweater of me. I likes that you speak mit mine papa, Mees,” exclaimed the little Jewess shyly, as her eyes again pleaded with Nathalie. The young president turned, to see a rather crumpled, mussy-looking little man by her side, who stared at her with sudden embarrassment as she quickly extended her hand in a cordial greeting to him. Mr. Katzkamof seized the outstretched hand and shook it nervously, while his bright black eyes beamed with good-natured surprise. “I be glad to meet young Mees,” he cried hurriedly, “who makes mine little girl be so happy. She sing, she smile all the day mit the liberty that you gives to her.” “But _I_ didn’t give it to her,” answered Nathalie quickly. “God gave it to her. I am only trying to show her how to give it to those who haven’t learned what liberty means. But you,” she added quickly, “you are an American,—you love the liberty, too?” The girl raised her eyebrows inquiringly, somewhat frightened at her temerity, for she suddenly remembered that she had heard Edith say that the newsdealer was a fiery socialist. “Yes, Mees, I be an American. I vote for the President. But I no like the war,” the black eyes hardened. “It makes me cold in mine heart. I think it no right for the people to fight mit one und the other, likes the cat und the dog. They spill much of the blood. I am lovin’ mit the peace. I no fight.” “Yes, it is a terrible thing to have to fight and kill one another,” replied the girl sadly. “And the mothers,—oh, I feel so sorry for them, when they have to give up their boys to go and fight. But it must be done,” she added valiantly, although there was a catch in her breath as the thought of Dick came to her. “Oh, no, Mees, if all the people say _no fight_, they be no soldiers, they be no war, we have the peace.” “Yes, but what kind of a peace,” exclaimed the girl. And then a sudden thought looming big. “Ah, Mr. Katzkamof, you love the Christ. Did He not die to make men free? Shall we not die to give liberty to the world?”