.A/. UN1V . OF CALIF. LIBRARY- LOS AS ANDREAS FIRED, THE COUNT'S FIGURE TOTTERED AND FELL BACKWARD OVER THE CLIFF BY GRACE STAIR BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE OORHAM PRESS COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY RICHARD G. BADGER All Rights Reserved Made in the United States of America The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 2132804 A BIRD OF PASSAGE A BIRD OF PASSAGE CHAPTER I SOMEWHERE below stairs in a narrow stone house on the Bendler Strasse a bell jangled, and in the second floor back-parlor a group of children stopped their play to listen. Amid shouts and squeals of mirth, they opened the door just as their mother, on the other side, was about to turn the handle, and into the room came a slim little thing in a plaid dress, blue coat and hat. Her coppery- brown hair was flying and her brown eyes danced as she flung her arms around the girl in "grown-up" clothes, who was her own age. "Bertha !" There were more squeals and exclamations while the other children jumped up and down and clapped their hands in an honest effort to make the general clamor proportionate to the warmth of the visitor's wel- come. This little girl they knew to be Olga von Kranz, who had been sent from Russia to spend the winter at their sister Bertha's school in Berlin. Now school was over and Olga was to visit her friend for a few days be- fore being taken to Russia for the summer. Bertha reached for the blue hat. "I'm playing lady and there's a long skirt for you. Come on, hurry up !" 7 8 A Bird of Passage "So, so! Is that the way to speak to a little guest?" interrupted Frau Kaufmann. "And not so much noise, darlings." The children only laughed more than ever. "Well, have a good time at your play. After a while we will have a little tea party in honor of Olga." "Oh, goody, goody, goody !" they chorused again. And soon they were settled down to play, Ernest, the brother, drilling leaden soldiers on the carpet, "Ein, zwei; ein, zwei!" and Cousin Rena helping the two little ones with a picture puzzle. Bertha and Olga pretended to be grown-up ladies calling upon one another. Presently a man's firm steps sounded on the stair out- side. Herr Kaufmann! Would he pass on, or would he come in to see the children? Involuntarily they ceased playing to look at one another. The foot-steps stopped, the door opened, and Ernest sprang to his feet in salute before the tall, stem-faced man who appeared. Gravely the little girls made formal curtsies. Herr Kaufmann, in a genial mood, laughed in kindly fashion. "So! You are all playing happily here, eh?" he asked, in the hard, deep voice so well suited to his personality. "Yes, father," answered Bertha. "Olga is Frau Rath. She's calling on me." "Wie gehts, Frau Rath?" he responded, bowing to the child, who thrilled at this distinction. "And what do you do with the soldaten, Ernest?" "I'm having the spring manoeuvers, father. This is the Emperor. He's come to see the other soldiers march." "Nun! How would all of you like to come with me and see a review to-morrow? But first you shall answer me a A Bird of Passage 9 few questions. You must not forget your lessons through the summer, you know." The children did not seem sur- prised, having apparently anticipated some such condi- tion to their pleasure. *Bertha, on what day was the glorious battle of Sedan?" "September 2, 1870, papa." "Sehr gut ! Ernest, name one of the enemy generals at the Battle of Sedan." But from Ernest came no quick reply. As the rest looked at him, his face flushed to the roots of his blond curls. He sent an appealing glance at his father, and saw no help nor mercy in a face grown more than usually stern. With the toe of his brown boot he dug into the carpet. "Stop doing that!" snapped Herr Kaufmann. "I am waiting." "I don't know, father," faltered Ernest at last, ven- turing another glance. Quick as the eye could follow, Herr Kaufmann struck his son's face a resounding thwack, and white marks of his fingers appeared on the pink cheeks as the boy's head was jerked back by the surprise and vigor of the blow. A faint cry escaped between his lips. "What ! You are going to cry, too ?" shouted Herr Kaufmann. "A son of mine does not know the name of Prussia's vanquished, and cries when you ask him! I wager you do not know the name of His Imperial Ma- jesty, even. Here! I'll give you something to cry about." The other hand flew up against Ernest's head 10 A Bird of Passage with a force that sent him in a little heap among his valiant lead soldiers. This time the boy did not cry out, but lay still, with his face buried in his arms. The girls cowered in silence, waiting. Herr Kaufmann strode across the room to the book- case, without a glance at the child on the floor. He chose a volume, whipped over a few pages, then spoke sharply., "Bertha! Come here!" The child sidled stealthily toward him, like a dog ex- pecting punishment. "Here, in this book, is something for you children to learn. You will take this and begin at once. Those who can recite it to me to-morrow morning will go to the re- view, but the others will stay home in disgrace. As for Ernest, he will not go at all. He will know the poem by this evening or be caned, and while the rest of you are at the review, he will stay here and write it for me ten times. "What would the Emperor say if he knew that a son of mine was such a dummkopf ?" Then he read sonorously: " *Es war einmal ein jiibel tag, Bei Sedan fiel den grossten schlag. MacMahon war ins Gern gegangen, Der Kaiser und sein Herr gefangen.' "I suppose you know who is meant by 'der Kaiser'?" he looked ominously at the children. "Bertha!" "Please, papa, it was Louis Napoleon, Napoleon the Third," responded her timid voice. Bertha was notori- ously good in history at school. A Bird of Passage 11 "Do you hear that, young man? Your sister should have the soldiers to drill. Hers is the spirit of which Germany is proud. Men and women like her and not dolts like yourself have made the glorious Empire what it is ; they give it promise for the future. "I will leave the book. Begin at once to study the lines, all of you." Handing the book to Bertha and giving Ernest a push with his boot as he went past, Herr Kaufmann left the room. When the door had closed Bertha rushed to her brother and pulled his arms away from his face. Glassy and staring, the boy's eyes were bright with rage and pain and fear. "You heard?" said she, quickly. "Come, you must take the book. We'll all begin saying the poem together. Father is very angry." Ernest sat up and glared about him. A long, sighing sob came up from the depths of his wounded and ag- grieved spirit. "Verdammnte Franzozen !" said he, utter- ing the mighty oath with a solemnity that startled Olga, expecting the timid words of a trembling, penitent boy. "Some day I will kill one of them, or the English swine, to pay me for this." She thought how strange and horri- ble it was to hear such words from the soft red lips of Bertha's brother. Playing was forgotten for the rest of that long dread- ful afternoon, while the children sat around the table, repeating the verses. Olga sat with the others, mechanic- ally learning the lines ; but her child's heart rankled with the unfairness of Ernest's treatment. Her father and mother were both dead and Olga was 12 A Bird of Passage glad that she had no father, if they were all like Heir Kaufmann. Within two or three days, however, the incident seemed to have been forgotten by everyone save Olga. The whole affair was like a summer thunder storm, fierce and black and terrible while it lasted, but leaving no trace when the sun shone again, excepting perhaps where a murder- ous shaft of lightning had marked a growing tree. n Then came Fraulein Weinau, to take Olga to her uncle's estate near the city of Pskov, in southwestern Russia, where Michael Serov managed the extensive prop- erty belonging to his sister Alix in England, Marie and himself. At present Marie's share was being held in trust for her child by Michael and a sister-in-law, the Countess Soscha Hohenwald, attached to the suite of the Archduchess Valerie at the Austrian court. The little girl Olga had been left an orphan at the age of two years when the overturn of a coach on one of the mountain roads in Austria had resulted in the instant death of both her mother and father. Michael was growing tired of staying in Russia, and had announced his desire to sell the land and remove to the south of France, which offered more diversions than horseback-riding, an occasional card game, or a flirtation with a pretty peasant. The wooded hills and picturesque streams of his native country no longer had power to charm him, and summer was no bet- ter than winter, with the added responsibility of caring for a little niece who baffled Serov with the steady gaze of her brown eyes and her searching questions. A Bird of Passage 13 ra Olga had been in Russia for about a month and a half when one afternoon she was left to amuse herself while Uncle Serov rode about the two or three villages on the estate along the highroad a mile or so to the west of the "great house." Fraulein Weinau, her governess, was spending a week with friends in Pskov, and Sophia, the maid, who was supposed to look after Olga, was busy about her own affairs, so the child had settled herself with a box of colored pencils and some paper at the table in her uncle's library on the second floor. It was rather gloomy there, lighted only by long narrow windows, cur- tained at the sides with red velour and shaded outside by thick pine trees whose branches almost brushed the glass. For a while she drew steadily, sitting with one foot beneath her on a high cushioned chair, but after a time the silence and dim light in the sombre room began to affect her. Two big tears had already formed in the brown eyes, when there was suddenly a furtive, shuffling noise in the direction of her uncle's bedroom, which adjoined the library. The tears splashed unheeded down Olga's cheeks as she turned her head in time to see a small figure scurry past the open bedroom door. Olga wriggled out of the chair and crossed the room noiselessly. From the doorway she was just in time to see a scrawny arm and a thin, dirty hand reach around the corner of the mahogany high-boy at the right of the entrance. Fascinated, she watched the fingers fasten upon a heap of rumpled bank notes and coins lying carelessly on top. 14 A Bird of Passage Stealthily the fingers and their booty disappeared. Olga went hurriedly around the big piece of furniture, nearly knocking over the figure preparing to make a dash across the room for freedom. "What are you doing?" demanded Olga, with her best semblance of stern dignity. "Don't you know it's wrong to take what doesn't belong to you?" Into her mind flashed a picture of Herr Kaufmann standing wrathfully over the prostrate Ernest. Think how he would treat this culprit! Thus addressed, the figure stopped, crouching against the side of the high-boy. Olga saw a girl a trifle older than herself, obviously of the peasantry, and dressed in a pitifully worn frock, with a thin shawl over her head and shoulders. She was barefoot, and there were bruises and streaks of dried blood from scratches along her skinny legs and over her feet. Yet she was not an ugly being, for even her wretchedness could not detract from the glory of two grey eyes that grew wide and beautiful with fear as she looked up at Olga. They held no appeal, save the faint hope of the dumb beast who thinks of pardon even as the descending lash whistles through the air. Olga was surprised at the silence and non-resistance which greeted her outburst. "What were you doing in my uncle's room?" Coming close to the girl, she leaned over and hissed: "I'll call Baba Yaga from the pine woods and she'll eat you alive, if you don't give back that money." No response. Baba Yaga, witch of fable, made no impression on the little peasant's mind; other consequences were more pos- sible than the appearance of a mythical hag, and Uncle A Bird of Passage 15 Serov's name would have been even better than a witch's for inspiring terror. Olga tried another method of attack. "Wouldn't your mother be ashamed of you, if she could see you?" Having no mother herself, she fancied that to make one's mother sorry was a very grave wrong. At the word "mother," the young stoic's fortitude broke and her lower lip quivered. After all she was little more than a frightened child. "This is for her." She stretched out a dirty hand full of rumpled notes and the coins. "Why does your mother let you take money?" asked Olga, indignantly. "Doesn't she know it's wrong? Doesn't your papa give her any?" "Mama doesn't know I've taken anything. Papa had to buy himself a greatcoat and pay the tax, and there isn't any money left. Mama is sick and she needs good soup to drink." She opened the other hand with a ges- ture of despair. "I took this chain first. I meant to sell it to Rindskoff , the old Jew in the village. He never asks where things come from." "Why doesn't your father buy food? And a decent dress for you, and shoes? What does your father do?" "He's your uncle's coachman." "Oh, is Stephan your father?" asked Olga, in amaze- ment and relief. "That's all right, then. I'll just tell my uncle to give you some money." Unreasoning terror filled the face of Marya, daughter of Stephan Georgovitch. She flung herself at Olga's feet and sobbed wildly, "Don't tell him! Please don't tell him! I'll give you the money and the chain, and my 16 A Bird of Passage mother can die, but don't tell your uncle. Please, please, please !" "What is your name?" "Marya," sobbed the girl. "Well, Marya, don't be so silly! I don't mind asking uncle for money or food for you. He'll help you and your mother will get well." "No, no !" wailed the other, in a perfect agony of fear. "Don't tell him!" Then Olga, without more ado, sat down on the floor beside the weeping Marya. "You must tell me, you know," she said sympathetic- ally. "Only you mustn't be so afraid of my uncle. Why should you? He's a very kind man. Of course he's cross sometimes, but everyone is sometime." "You are of his blood, that's why you say he's kind," said Marya, simply. She had relaxed and was sitting on on the floor beside Olga. Now that the niece of Serov seemed disposed to be merciful, Marya would exchange information for mercy. "If your uncle knew that one of Stephan's family had even come into his house without being asked, he would have my father beaten and me, too. He'd say it was an insult to have his coachman's children running about the place. And as for stealing! He'd kill us for that!" "Oh, no !" cried Olga, in horror. "He wouldn't, either. . . . Doesn't Uncle Serov give your father wages?" "My father has to buy grand clothes to wear when he drives your uncle's carriage, and there's the tax on the land and rent for our house. My mother worked in the fields to earn more, but it made her sick to work so hard in the cold and rain and mud. If your uncle knows A Bird of Passage 17 that I have taken money, he'll beat us and turn .us out of his lands, too." "I don't believe you," said Olga, finally. "My uncle isn't so mean." "Yes, he is. You weren't here when old Ivan, the gar- dener, got caught taking a flower from the hot-house. His wife loved bright colors and he wanted to give her just the littlest plant with flowers on it. Because he took one, he was beaten, and his wife put to work in the fields, yoked with an ox. She was old and feeble, but when she stumbled, they whipped her until she got up and went on. In two weeks she was dead, and then old Ivan threw himself into the river and died, too." Marya drew her- self up on her knees and looked piercingly at Olga. "If you mean to tell your uncle, I shall go out and throw myself in the water now. I'd rather die a million times than see my father beaten and my mother disgraced or hurt." Now it was Olga who was frightened, though she gave no sign of the cold terror that clutched her heart. Could her uncle be so brutal, and to those who were supposed to be under his protection? Surely life should be more sim- ple. One was hungry, and one could have bread for the asking. But no ! Marya had said there was a beating or worse punishment if one asked. Then a resolve grew in Olga's heart. "How much money did you take?" she asked. Without the bank notes, the whole did not exceed three roubles. "That's all right. Put back the paper money, and take the rest. I've got my allowance and when you go I'll put my money up there and nobody will ever know. 18 A Bird of Passage "But won't you take me to see your mother? There'll be time before my uncle comes back." In her child's mind there was a desire to see this new object of interest with- out thought of verifying Marya's statements. It was characteristic of Olga to accept much on faith, once she thought faith was justified. "We must hurry !" Back on the high-boy went the bank notes but the bit of chain slipped unheeded to the floor, and hand in hand the two girls fled through the doorway. rv Meanwhile Michael Serov was riding slowly home through the gathering dusk. He was not in the best temper, and his mood of slow, wordless thought meant danger ahead for the person unfortunate enough to rouse his wrath to the point of expression. Things had gone badly all afternoon. There was the matter of the mili- tary highroad, which needed repairs. The district gov- ernment was going to send a man to superintend the work, and if there was a person harder to keep at peace with the rest of humanity than one of those super- intendents, Serov knew from past experience that he had yet to be found. There would be the devil to pay all the rest of the season until frost set in and stopped the work. Then a hailstorm had smashed the glass on some hot-beds and ruined a special crop of lettuce and aspara- gus, of which Serov was inordinately fond. This business of managing property be damned, anyway. Why couldn't he be free to pick up and go to the south of France if he wanted to? The master came at last to the lodge gates where he A Bird of Passage 19 dismounted and left his horse. He strolled up the path, over the lawn toward the house, went in and directly upstairs to his library. "Sophia must have come for the child," he mused, when he saw the empty room and the crayons scattered on the table. "But why the devil doesn't she tidy the place? Mon dieu! This house! These people! No discipline anywhere !" Running his fingers impatiently through his hair, he stalked into the bedroom; but as he crossed the threshold, there was a faint crunching sound. He looked down and saw beneath his foot a bit of gold chain lying on the carpet. ''What's this doing here?" he exclaimed sharply, stoop- ing to pick it up. "I wonder if that child has been mess- ing with my things." Serov had a bachelor's impatience with the ways of children. "I wish to heaven Soscha would take her away for good. One's duty to a dead sister doesn't last forever. Even Alix might better have her than I." He jerked the tasseled bell-rope in the cor- ner, and when his man appeared, said, "Feodor! Have Sophia bring Mademoiselle Olga to me in twenty minutes." Stripping off his riding clothes, he refreshed himself with dashes of cool water and got into fresh things quick- ly. As he stood before the high-boy, tying the cord of his dressing gown, he gave a sudden, searching glance at the top. "I certainly left some coins with that money?" he said, pushing bottles and brushes about. He looked around the room speculatively, remembering the piece of chain. "Somebody started to rob me and got frightened away." In the library he lit the big lamp, pushed aside the 20 A Bird of Passage drawing materials and sat down to read a paper. Time passed and no one came. He waited some ten minutes longer, then flinging down his paper, strode to the bell- rope. Presently Feodor appeared in the doorway. "I thought I told you to have Sophia bring Mademoiselle Olga to me half an hour ago," snarled Serov. "If you please, sir," answered the man, "Miss Olga just came in a few minutes past and Sophia is cleaning her up. She'll be here directly, sir." "Just came in, did you say? I didn't give any orders for her to be out. Who's been letting her roam about the place? Somebody's going to pay for this. j* "You, Feodor, straighten this mess on the table. Pap- ers and pencils and scribblings all around, as though this was a school-room." Serov stood by the long windows, moodily watching the quiet, efficient Feodor and waiting for something with which he might find fault. At the moment Olga's quaint figure in a fresh white dress stood in the doorway, her hair nicely smoothed and tied with a narrow blue ribbon that terminated in a small bow just above her bang. Serov wondered irrelevantly if he would terrify this youngster with her innocent air of awaiting his pleasure. "Where have you been, my fine young lady?" he said severely. "Didn't I leave you at home because I didn't want you out of the house to-day? And no sooner have I left than you run off and stay away for hours. Where were you?" "Please, uncle, I was down near Stephan's cottage. His wife is so sick, and I " "Who told you anything about Stephan's wife?" inter- A Bird of Passage 21 rupted Serov. "You aren't to have anything to do with the family, no matter what happens to them. Are you a lady, or not, to go trailing around alone over the estate, looking in at coachmen's sick wives? You've been left alone here and you've heard the servants talk, haven't you?" Silence from Olga. "Well, anyway, I want you to come here. I want to ask you something. "Were you playing in my room or did you see anyone there?" Olga started guiltily. Here was a dilemma. Without having had time to replace the stolen money she was confronted with this question. Dared she tell Uncle Serov the truth? Could he possibly be brutal enough to do as Marya had said? Olga could not bear to think of that, for the memory of the afternoon in the little log hut of the Georgovitch was too vivid. A sweet-faced woman, the mother, with the kindest eyes Olga had ever seen, and yet such tired eyes. Marya would not let Olga come into the house, lest it should worry her mother to see the master's niece coming so obviously without permission. Instead she had peered in through a chink in the logs toward the hard, low bed on which lay the gaunt frame of the peasant woman. There it was that Olga saw the light of love denied to her feebly flame in the grey eyes so like Marya's own. Marya gave her mother an orange that Olga had taken from the din- ing room on their way out. "Merovka, a great lady passed on the highroad to- day," lied the glib-tongued Marya. "I tried to get out of the way, but she saw me scrambling up the bank and tossed me this orange. Her carriage went on out of 22 A Bird of Passage sight, and I brought the orange home to you." Deftly the child was skinning the fruit and pressing out the juice. "You must drink this and get strong. Only don't tell papa about the lady and the orange. He mightn't like to know I had been by the highroad." Merovka had taken the drink like a tired child. Sigh- ing as she smiled faintly at her little daughter, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Then Marya had stolen outside to where Olga waited. "You heard what I said. To-morrow I'll tell her something else when I give her the good things to eat that I can buy with the money." "I must go back," said Olga. "But I'll try to come again. If you want any more help, come and tell me." "Only don't let your uncle know that I was in his house," begged Marya. "Please! For the sake of Merovka and me!" "I promise," Olga had answered. While all this flashed through her mind Serov was wait- ing and watching her face. He took what he saw for ignorance and surprise, however, and turned to Feodor in a rage. "She doesn't know anything about it, you see, so it must be you, you cur!" He came close to the amazed valet. "What do you mean by going into my room and taking money and chains and Heaven knows what else? Taking advantage of my kindness to you, eh? Well, I'll soon teach you a lesson. Have you any money in your clothes?" He ran his hands roughly over the valet's clothing, thrusting his hands into the pockets. A Bird of Passage 23 "Aha !" he sneered, "here is something ! Two gold coins ! And a few kopecs beside. What have you done with the rest? Spent already, I'll venture, or given to that wench of yours." He flung the money on the table. Feodor's serious fine eyes showed resentful gleams. He was known as one of the most respectable young fellows in the neighborhood. Piety and attention to the cere- monies of the church were unusually marked in his be- havior, even among people of a race which possessed these attributes in high degree. "Sir, I haven't taken your money," he began. "Be quiet, dog!" flared Serov. "Not a word from you!" He stalked out into the corridor and bawled over the gallery railing: "Vassily! Vassily! Come here,! Fetch Stephan, and Paul from the garden, and come at once to my room." Stunned by the speed of proceedings, Olga was trying desperately to find words to help the unfortunate Feodor who, realizing the hopelessness of his situation, spoke swiftly, intensely to the child. He must justify himself before someone, even a mite of a girl. "I didn't take any money. Those gold coins are my life's savings. They only came from the exchange at Petersburg last week, and I'm keeping them for the fete day of my patron saint." He crossed himself devoutly. "Then they were to go for the poor." Anguish wrung little Olga's soul. What was this awful consequence of her promise to be silent? What conse- quences more awful would there be if she told while there was still time? "I believe you, Feodor," she said softly, tears filling 24 A Bird of Passage her eyes and sobs choking her. She went to him and took his big hand in hers. "I wish I could help you," she be- gan, then burst into tears and turned away. "What do you mean by frightening that child?" roared Serov, returning to the room. "You'll get enough for what you've done, without trying anything more. "Here ! in here !" And stepping aside, he motioned the servants in from the hall. "Take him out and lock him up in the coach house. We'll soon settle his case." Shrinking into the recess of a window, Olga watched the three men as they hustled poor Feodor out of the room. Vassily, tall and dignified; Stephan, of massive frame with great, powerful-looking hands for managing the strong horses; and the short, squat Paul, blinking from his close-set eyes at the novel scene in which he had a part. To her horror, it was Stephan who seemed most to relish his work of evicting Feodor. Perhaps it was an expression of the antagonism between servants working in the great house and those employed outside; perhaps it was because Stephan was something of a bully ; perhaps he was only giving vent to rebellion denied other outlet. At any rate, he pinched and jostled Feodor, prodding him along with little kicks, and handling him as he never would have permitted one of the horses to be treated. From time to time he cast fawning side-long glances at the master, to note whether his efforts were being ap- proved. Feodor clenched his teeth and made no sound, gave no struggle. Soon the -shuffling group was out of the room and down the stair. Michael Serov turned to Olga, his rage somewhat molli- A Bird of Passage 25 fied. "You see what comes of being decent to that sort of people ? They only wait for a chance to .rob us of the things that are ours by right, just as the throne be- longs to the Little Father. This ought to help you understand a great deal. Men like Feodor aren't any better than beasts in the field; they haven't even the breeding of a good horse. You've got to treat them ac- cordingly. If I didn't punish Feodor severely for steal- ing, then every person who could get into the house through the servants' quarters or any other way would walk off with anything he liked. And the next thing, they would be ordering us about. So you see, one has to be firm." While he spoke he was conscious of being glad that Soscha need not know the child had witnessed such a brawl. Olga, for her part, still saw the burly Stephan savagely pushing and kicking Feodor. The injustice of it, when of all people Stephan would be most in danger himself if the truth were known. Feodor was to suffer for the wrong-doing of Stephan's own daughter. Olga felt that she must get away from her uncle's presence, so that she could think without danger of saying an incau- tious, unguarded word; for in spite of everything, she was determined to protect "Merovka," who was some- body's mother. "May I go to my room?" said Olga, at last. "Eh?" said Uncle Serov, looking up from the paper he had calmly resumed to read. "Go to your room? Why, yes ! Of course ! Tell Sophia to give you your tea there to-night. Be a good girl and go to bed early." Olga curtsied and went out with quick little steps. CHAPTER II DURING the night a barouche bringing her Aunt Soscha and Soscha's son, Giinther, a young Austrian just at- taining his majority, rolled into the court-yard. The letter announcing their intended visit had been delayed in the post and when Soscha found no one at the train to drive them over from Pskov, a distance of thirty odd miles, she sent a dispatch rider on ahead to prepare Serov for the reception of his guests. Ignorant of the fact that at the very moment her Aunt Soscha, the head of the family in Olga's opinion, was sleeping beneath the same roof as herself, the child had wakened early to lie gazing at the high ceiling of her bedroom, and through the window that looked toward the coach-house set among the trees. Olga shuddered to think of spending a night alone in that gloomy place; but Feodor had been shut up there. What would they do with him to-day, she wondered. Would she be able to see him? Could she or Marya help him at all? Her meditations were interrupted by the arrival of Sophia with breakfast. "What's this, awake so early?" she asked, putting down the tray. "You look tired, Fraulein Olga, or ex- cited. Anything the matter?" "I didn't have very good dreams," answered Olga. "I 26 A Bird of Passage 27 don't want to have my face washed." Sophia had gone to the door to bring in the hot-water pitcher. "Now, now, that's no way to talk! Sit up there and let me wash your face and hands. You mustn't be lazy, especially not to-day." "What's to-day? Nothing's going to happen today, is there?" "Hm ! I should say there is ! Something happened last night." "Oh! Is it something about Feodor? What is it? Have they taken him away already?" "Him? I should say not! What do you want to bother about him for? A thief, that's what he is. Held up as a model all the time because he saved his money to give to the church, and all the time he was probably stealing it right and left. That elegant ikon of silver and carved wood his old mother was so proud of was probably bought with stolen money. But you don't want to think about him when you've got better things to think of. Who do you suppose is in this house, this very minute?" "Fraulein Weinau?" Olga guessed, ducking her head as Sophia washed her ears. "Ouch! Don't dig in so hard! You hurt!" "Here, here, don't wiggle your head! You've got to be all clean to-day, I tell you. . . . No, it isn't Fraulein Weinau. You'll never have her again, I think. Can't you guess who it is any better than that? My goodness, I'd be ashamed!" Olga looked intently at the maid. No, it couldn't be but there was Sophia so smug and important. "I know 28 'A Bird of Passage who it is ! Its my Aunt Soscha, isn't it ? When did she come? I want to see her right away. I want to see her. I wonder if she brought me something from Vienna." "Fraulein Olga! Don't be vulgar! Talking about presents the first thing. I tell you you can't see her until you're cleaned up. You've got to eat your break- fast first." "I won't, either! I'm going to go and get in bed with her. I want to see my Aunt Soscha." Sophia could not understand how welcome this haven of Soscha's presence seemed to the little girl, haunted by Feodor's misfortune. Never before in her life had she wanted so much to be petted and caressed. "You shall see her, liebchen," came a voice from the doorway, and there stood the radiant creature who was Aunt Soscha. "No, no ! You mustn't get out of bed. You'd catch cold." Sophia stepped aside and Soscha was beside the bed leaning down to kiss Olga, who flung her arms about her aunt's neck. There was nobody in the world so beautiful as Aunt Soscha, she thought. No one who had such blue eyes, such white skin, nor such hair, like the finest little wiry threads of red-gold. Sophia's, eyes, too, were wide with admiration. Here was a woman she would like to serve. Even at middle age, there re- mained more than a suggestion of the delicate grace which must have been her's as a girl. About her hovered an air of reserve and formality, a certain sense of keeping aloof ; but this was a quality of the mind too subtle for Olga or her maid to recognize, and only as the child grew older did she come to regard it as one of the keys to the secret A Bird of Passage 29 of her aunt's nature. For Soscha was a creature of courts, to whom the performance of a prescribed action at the prescribed time was more than the breath of life. She had been an intimate of the late Empress Elisabeth of Austria and had become a member of her favorite daughter's suite not many months after the assassin's dagger had taken Elisabeth's life that summer day of 1898 in Geneva. It had been one of the many curious contradictions of Elisabeth's life that she should have chosen for a companion in her determined attempts to flee from the rigors of court rule a woman like the Countess Hohenwald, who delighted in observing every form of etiquette. Nevertheless sincere devotion and sym- pathy on Soscha's part had been recognized by the Em- press, who had all too little of that sort of thing in her life; and more than once Soscha had accompanied her far afield, or had as willingly arisen early in the morning when they were in Vienna to mount a horse and go riding with her through drenching rain along the slippery moun- tain roads. But there was no doubting that Elisabeth had been grateful for this unfaltering readiness to risk accident or death in her service and in obedience to her whims. Tenacity and single-mindedness of purpose were Soscha's fundamental characteristics. Suddenly Olga said to her, "Aunt Soscha! Do you know that there is a man shut up in the coach house?" "No?" Soscha replied, thinking to humor the child. "What is that for?" "I beg your pardon, Madame," interrupted Sophia, "Feodor, the master's valet, stole some money from him. 30 A Bird of Passage They found it out last night, so he's been kept in the coach house until they decide what to do with him. Frau- lein Olga's been talking about it ever since it happened." "I know, but what will they do to him?" asked Olga. Won't the priest save him? Feodor's a good man." "There, there ! This isn't nice for little girls to think about," said Soscha. "We mustn't talk of it any more. Let Sophia help you dress and then we'll go to see your Cousin Giinther. He'll be surprised to find his cousin almost a young lady." While Olga was being dressed, Soscha went quietly about the room, looking into ward- robes and drawers, to Sophia's extreme discomfort. Pres- ently she spoke to the maid. "Do you think Fraulein Olga's clothes can be made ready within a few days? I wish you would come back here in an hour, to talk to me about her things."