Part 25 (1/2)

”Yes,” replied his sister, making a little face, ”I danced with him too, but he wants me to dance with no one else, and I don't like that. He makes me afraid, too, just like Rosenblatt.”

”Afraid!” said her brother scornfully.

”No, not afraid,” said Irma quickly. ”But never mind, here is the pudding. I am sorry it is cold.”

”All right,” said the boy, mumbling with a full mouth, ”it is fine.

Don't you be afraid of that Sprink; I'll knock his head off if he harms you.”

”Not yet, Kalman,” said Irma, smiling at him. ”Wait a year or two before you talk like that.”

”A year or two! I shall be a man then.”

”Oh, indeed!” mocked his sister, ”a man of fifteen years.”

”You are only fifteen yourself,” said Kalman.

”And a half,” she interrupted.

”And look at you with your dress and your hair up on your head, and--and I am a boy. But I am not afraid of Sprink. Only yesterday I--”

”Oh, I know you were fighting again. You are terrible, Kalman.

I hear all the boys talking about you, and the girls too. Did you beat him? But of course you did.”

”I don't know,” said her brother doubtfully, ”but I don't think he will bother me any more.”

”Oh, Kalman,” said his sister anxiously, ”why do you fight so much?”

”They make me fight,” said the boy. ”They try to drive me off the corner, and he called me a greasy Dook. But I showed him I am no Doukhobor. Doukhobors won't fight.”

”Tell me,” cried his sister, her face aglow--”but no, I don't want to hear about it. Did you--how did you beat him? But you should not fight so, Kalman.” In spite of herself she could not avoid showing her interest in the fight and her pride in her fighting brother.

”Why not?” said her brother; ”it is right to fight for your rights, and if they bother me or try to crowd me off, I will fight till I die.”

But Irma shook her head at him.

”Well, never mind just now,” she cried. ”Listen to the noise.

That is Jacob singing; isn't it awful? Are you going in?”

”Yes, I am. Here is my money, Irma, and that is for--that brute.

Give it to Paulina for him. I can hardly keep my knife out of him.

Some day--” The boy closed his lips hard.

”No, no, Kalman,” implored his sister, ”that must not be, not now nor ever. This is not Russia, or Hungary, but Canada.”

The boy made no reply.

”Hurry and wash yourself and come out. They will want you to sing.

I shall wait for you.”

”No, no, go on. I shall come after.”