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When they were all three in the church yesterday, the people looked around at them. If the lady would only look this way! Surely she never saw such a beautiful little Slovak! But she did not look. At last, the boy came to himself. Oh, surely, it must be she! surely, herself! Who else would be sitting on his bench? And she had that beautiful cat beside her.
Over the sheepcotes every once in a while sounded the song which they called the lady's: "My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary." The boys taught it to everybody who wanted to learn it, and what Slovak would not like to learn a new song? When Aunty Moravec noticed how they all liked it, she confided to Palko that she still had a whole book of such songs from America.
Mravucsán insisted on having full particulars. They had received a letter from her the day before yesterday, saying she was coming, and Veronica had wanted to meet her at the station. "So that is how it is. And she can't even speak Slovak nor Hungarian! Poor unhappy woman! And what am I to do with her? whom am I to put next her at table? how am I to offer her anything?
If the Slovak hates the Czech he hates the Magyar also, but whether he hates or not he is not very important in Europe, and is bound to find himself in a subordinate national position.
"We're going to have something to eat," he said. "Won't you come with us?" "Sure thing!" said Mike, with alacrity. "I go easy on grub now." Hal introduced "Mr. Edward Warner," who said "How do you do?" He accepted gingerly the calloused paw which the old Slovak held out to him, but he could not keep the look of irritation from his face. His patience was utterly exhausted.
"Yes, that is all right," muttered Samuel, "a stick for my wife, and if she were my wife I would soon bring her to time." "Ho, ho," said Rosenblatt, "it is all the same, sweetheart and wife. They are both much the better for a stick now and then. You are not the kind of man to stand beggar before a portionless Slovak girl, a young man handsome, clever, well-to-do.
He might gather a knot of fellow-grumblers about him; it was to be noted that the camp-marshal had the habit of being on hand at this hour. It was on one of these occasions that Hal first noticed Mike Sikoria, a grizzle-haired old Slovak, who had spent twenty years in the mines of these regions.
Because your grandfather lived there as a great Slovak, you also as a good Slovak will be living. Just learn the language of your father and draw near to that soil which they once cultivated." The boys didn't grasp what he meant. They only felt that he was their friend. The evening came. They had to make a bed for the doctor beside themselves on the hay.
"Sometimes bosses, sometimes bosses' friend sometimes company himself steal them from miners." In North Valley it was the company, the old Slovak insisted. It was no use sending up more than six cars in one day, be declared; you could never get credit for more than six.
From the Slovak villages in the Carpathians to the Greek villages in the Laconian hills they have been crossing the Atlantic in their thousands, to become dockers and navvies, boot-blacks and waiters, confectioners and barbers in Chicago, St. Louis, Omaha, and all the other cities that have sprung up like magic to welcome the immigrant to the hospitable plains of the Middle West.
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