After dinner, when she was helping to wash
the dishes, she said, tossing her head: "You
got many things for cook. If I got all things
like you, I make much better."

She was a conceited, boastful old thing, and
even misfortune could not humble her. I was
so annoyed that I felt coldly even toward
Antonia and listened unsympathetically when
she told me her father was not well.

"My papa sad for the old country. He not
look good. He never make music any more.
At home he play violin all the time; for wed-
dings and for dance. Here never. When I
beg him for play, he shake his head no. Some
days he take his violin out of his box and make
with his fingers on the strings, like this, but
never he make the music. He don't like this
kawn-tree."

"People who don't like this country ought
to stay at home," I said severely. "We don't
make them come here."

"He not want to come, nev-er!" she burst
out. "My _mamenka_ make him come. All the
time she say: 'America big country; much
money, much land for my boys, much hus-
band for my girls.' My papa, he cry for leave
his old friends what make music with him. He

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