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!"

Barsimon sat down on the low settle beside the window and lighted his long pipe, puffing thoughtfully and gazing into the smoke as he spoke. "I would not have you repeat this, son, for it may be but idle gossip. But it is reported that since her mother's death the child has become the idol of the governor's hard, old heart. He is filled with foolish fears that he may lose her as cruelly as he lost her mother before her. He scarcely ever permits her to stir abroad and then only when she is followed by one of his faithful black slaves." He arose with his characteristic abruptness, and walking to the chest of drawers across from the fire-place, changed his black silken skull cap to the broad-brimmed hat of his Dutch neighbors. "Forget what I have said," he told his son, briefly. "We live here only on sufferance and must guard our tongues. But you are a good lad and I know I need never regret having confided in you. And now study your barmitzvah portion. Even if the folk from the 'St. Catarina' are deported before your birthday and there is no minyan here and we can have no real feast in your honor, I would have you do your sainted grandfather credit and please your mother who has waited so long for the day when you should be old enough to be considered a man among our people." For a moment his hand lay kindly upon the boy's shoulder; then, with a shrug as though to shake off any foolish tenderness for the son he loved so dearly, he passed out of the house.

Samuel watched him from the window until his stolid, heavy-set figure disappeared down the winding road. Then, finding his portion in the Hebrew book which his father treasured so highly in those days when printed Hebrew books were still a rarity, he sank down on the settle and tried to concentrate on the task which his father had left for him. But more than once his dark eyes glanced from the heavy Hebrew characters to the pleasant scene that lay beyond the window; a scene one would never associate with crowded, bustling New York of our own day; the low, comfortable looking houses of the Dutch burghers, nestling under the great trees; the well-scoured windows blinking like so many sleepy eyes in the warm spring sunshine. It was a day for dreaming and adventure, not for study.

For a little while the boy sat with his head resting upon the low window sill, his young mind busy with half-formed fancies, most of them circling about his talk with his father concerning the unhappy passengers of the 'St. Catarina.' Would the unfortunates be obliged to seek shelter elsewhere, or would they be allowed to dwell in New Amsterdam? If so, perhaps in time other Jewish families might come, bringing with them boys of his own age, among whom he might find a real playfellow. He sighed a little wistfully at the thought, for he had no close friends among the sturdy young Dutch lads of the neighborhood. Even a girl would be better than no one, he thought; not a mere baby like his little sister, but a girl old enough to play with him, to visit the Indians dwelling a little beyond the Wall, to wander with him to the other end of the settlement and stand upon the sea shore, searching for shells or lying upon the shining sands and weaving fantastic dream stories, too foolish for older and wiser folks to hear.

The boy fell to dreaming now, sitting there in the warm sunshine, for he was a quiet, thoughtful lad, unaccustomed to playing with youths of his own age, given to day-dreams and fairy legends. Today, as he half reclined on the settle near the window, his busy young brain painted a picture so strange that even Samuel himself had to smile over it; for as he gazed through the window with half-closed lids, the dusty road and little Dutch houses faded away and he seemed to see a shining, white street with tall buildings on either side, and many, many people—more than he had ever seen in his life, even in Amsterdam across the seas—hurrying to and fro. He had heard his father say, nodding gravely over his pipe, that some day little New Amsterdam would be one of the greatest sea ports in the world. Jacob Aboaf had hooted at his friend's prophecy; but as he recalled it today, Samuel did not laugh. His day dream was very real to him, and when his mother came into the room she found him staring through the window with a strange smile about his mouth.

Frau Barsimon was a busy woman, with no time for day-dreams and she was often annoyed (and secretly alarmed) at her son's tendency to wander off into a world of his own making. Now she shook him, but gently, and spoke with her usual briskness.

"Samuel, Samuel, have you nothing better to do than sit nodding like an old spinning woman in the sunshine?"

The boy started guiltily, indicating his open book with a shame-faced laugh. "Father told me to study—barmitzvah," he faltered.

His mother shrugged goodnaturedly. Pious Jewess that she was, she was often inclined to quarrel with her husband who, she declared, was too fond of keeping the boy tied to his Hebrew lessons. "He needs a strong body now," she used to say when demanding an extra play-hour for Samuel. "When he is older and his head is less stuffed with dreaming it will be time enough to cram it with your learning. But first let him play out in the open air until he is tired and the fresh wind has blown all his nonsense away." She was thinking the same heresy that moment, but all she did was to smile goodhumoredly and pull the boy to his feet. "Out of doors with you," she commanded, gayly, "and I will speak to father. Take a walk—a long one, and when you come back you will be able to study without falling half-asleep over your book."

Samuel needed no urging. A moment later he had kissed his mother good-bye, helped himself to a handful of sugar cookies from her blue crockery jar, and was whistling down the dusty road, feeling strangely anxious for some adventures; adventures as heroic as his father often related before the fire on winter evenings. His mother might have thrown up her hands in despair had she seen the dreamy look in his large eyes. True, he was no longer drowsing on the settle, but as he swung along under the soft spring sky, he saw himself the hero of a hundred fantastic tales—the captain of a trading-vessel bound for the Indies; the commander of a company of daring youths of his own age, all ready to resist the Indians when they should seek to fall upon New Amsterdam; again, a pirate with a plumed hat and a flashing sword. So, lost in dreaming, he wandered on down the quiet streets to the Wall which marked the boundary of the Settlement.

Suddenly realizing that he was tired and hungry, Samuel threw himself upon the grass, and taking his cookies from his pocket, began to munch them contendedly, wondering just what heroic deed he should plan for his next undertaking. But in the middle of a bite he stopped short, sitting up suddenly and rubbing his eyes as though he had been asleep and feared he was still dreaming.

There on the grass beside him sat a little girl, almost his own age he judged;