The ordeal at Ellis Island was less formidable, for Kreutzer and his daughter, than the gossip of the steerage had led them to expect.  Both were in good health, he had the money which the law requires each immigrant to bring with him, letters avowed his full ability to make a living for himself and daughter, he had not come over under contract.  But poor M’riar!  Her skinny little form, weak eyes, flat chest, barely passed the medical examination; Herr Kreutzer did not understand some of the questions put to her and thus she nearly went on record as being without friends or means of winning her support.  Indeed he did not realize the situation until a uniformed official had begun to lead the screaming child away and then he made things worse by letting his rare German temper rise as he protested.  Had not Anna laid restraining fingers on his arm he might have found himself charged with a serious offense, upon the very threshold of the new land he had journeyed to.

They now formed a thoroughly dismayed, disheartened group of three there under the high, girdered roof of Uncle Sam’s reception chamber for prospective children by adoption.  Anna, alarmed for both the threatened child and angry flute-player, stood, woefully distressed between the two, a hand upon the arm of each and big, alarmed and wondrously appealing eyes fixed on the gruff official, who stirred uneasily beneath the power of their petition; Kreutzer was frightened, also, now that his wrath was passing and he took time to reflect that if he should involve himself with this new government inquiries would certainly be started which would result in the revelation of his whereabouts to those whom he had hoped utterly to evade; M’riar, the cause of all the trouble, wept like a Niobe, quite soundlessly, shaking like an aspen, managing to maintain her weight upon her weakening knees with desperate effort only.

“Sorry, Miss,” said the official, with gruff kindness.  “But law’s law, you know, and she’s against it.”

“Little M’riarrr is against your laws?” said Anna, much surprised.

“She’s likely to become a public charge,” the man said, anxious to defend himself and his government before the lovely girl.  “We’ve got enough of European paupers to support, here in this country, now.”

“But she would live with us,” said Anna.

“Sure—­until you fired her,” said the man with a short laugh.

“Firrred her?” Anna said, inquiringly, not guessing at his meaning.  “Firrred her?  We should be very kind to her.  We would not burn her, hurt her in the slightes’ way.  I promise, sir; I promise.”

The official laughed again.  “Oh, that’s all right, Miss,” he explained.  “I know you wouldn’t hurt her.  That ain’t what I meant.  I meant until you let her go, discharged her, turned her off, decided that you didn’t need her help around the house, found somebody who’d work better for you for less money, or something of that sort.  She’d never get another job.  She’s too skinny and too ignorant.”