“Weel, Dochtor, as I make it out, those two came pushin’ in, and claimed Albert and Victoria for their bairns. They’ve lately come from overseas, a month since, they claim, and being held sick in the ship’s hospital, sent on the bairns to his brother, being Potowski there, for safe keeping, but whoever undertook to find _him_ left them at the wrang hoose! To-day the man and woman got freedom, and comin’ on and not findin’ their bairns, took on like crazy ones, till Potowski here pieced twa and twa together and fetched them o’er here!” “What does he say?” asked father of me, as Potowski began to bow to the ground and gabble in broken yet understandable English. “He says that if the good grandmother there would like to keep the children, he does not doubt his sister would let her, if she would give money to bring over two more of the six that remain in Poland!” I stammered, my breath fairly leaving me as I realized that Albert and Victoria, with the English complexions and Guelph noses, who were developing either the speech of York or Lancaster, were in reality little Polish Jews! doubtless set within the Saunders’ window to save the Potowskis a month’s care of them. At the same moment the truth flashed through father’s brain. “Get out, every one of you, before I get the constable to arrest you for fraud!” he shouted in tones wholly new to him; recovering himself and turning on the Potowskis, “I could make you pay this kind woman here for a month’s board for the youngsters, together with several other things,” he added threateningly, as they did not seem any too willing to go. “I’d not like to go that far,” whispered Timothy, pulling at father’s coat sleeve; “the bairns hae served their uses, and earned their keep, I’m thinkin’.” But at threat of the law the women, the most aggressive of the quartet, seized the children and scuttled out of the yard like so many rabbits, fearing lest Martha should remove the new frocks they wore, the men slinking along close to heel. Then Timothy released a long breath like escaping steam and said that he must go to the milking, adding, “An’, Dochtor, will you see if you can do aught for the woman? She’s sadly fashed by all this business.” As he passed Martha, Timothy tried to pull the apron from her face, but she held it only the tighter, whispering, “If ever again ye wish to send a money gift to Jennie Fergus, I’m more than willing, the poor young woman.” “Martha,” said father, when everything was still once more, “I wish that you would go to bed and take a good sleep, and I will send Effie up to set the house straight.” “I couldn’t sleep the week gone,” she sobbed, yet trying to control herself; “my head’s that empty it reels when I lay me down, and now thinking of the disrespect I’ve put upon our Queen, lays double weight on my chest, and no disrespect was intended.”