Jacob Barsimon laughed grimly, lowering his voice as he answered, for he was a cautious man and did not care to risk having his words carried through the town by the little slave girl Minna, now clattering the breakfast dishes as she moved about the kitchen. "Does Peter Stuyvesant ever need a reason for his follies?" he asked dryly. "His head is as hard as his wooden leg and never a new idea has pierced his brain since the day he was born. He hates our people with as much reason as our black Minna fears witches and the evil eye. It is said that he has written to the directors at Amsterdam, begging that none of the Jewish nation be permitted to infest New Netherlands. He has used those very words in public places; infest the colony and be like a plague of hungry locusts. Perhaps he really believes the evil things he says of our brethren. Even eyes as shrewd as his may be blinded by hate. And one can understand his bitterness, his hardness of heart toward all mankind. His post here is not easy, harrassed by the savages on our borders, the Swedes, even the English, who have already cast covetous eyes upon this rich port. While his private life--" the man's stern face grew rather tender--"has not been very happy. It is said that he left a half-sister in Holland, the one creature he ever loved or who knew his kindlier side. A few months ago her husband died and she dared the voyage with her little daughter that they might make their home with the governor. But the vessel was lost at sea and she was drowned. Only a sailor or two and several passengers survived and one of them brought the little girl to Peter Stuyvesant." "I heard Minna tell of her," interrupted Samuel. "She says that once she helped the governor's cook carry the Sunday dinner home from market and she saw little Katrina playing on the great stairway of Peter Stuyvesant's house. Minna says she has long golden curls and her eyes are blue--blue as the little flowers that grow near the Wall every spring. I wonder we never see her, father!"