Tim struggled to his feet, embarrassed with the burden of Paulina’s baby, and pulled his forelock.

“And my name,” said the Russian, answering Timothy’s salutation with a profound bow, “is Michael Kalmar, with respect to you and Mr. Vichpatrick.”

Mrs. Fitzpatrick was evidently impressed.

“An’ proud I am to see ye in me house,” she said, answering his bow with a curtsey.  “Tim, ye owl ye!  Why don’t ye hand his honour a chair?  Did ye niver git the air o’ a gintleman before?”

It took some minutes to get the company settled, owing to the reluctance of the Russian to seat himself while the lady was standing, and the equal reluctance of Mrs. Fitzpatrick to take her seat until she had comfortably settled her guest.

“I come to you, Mrs. Vichpatrick, on behalf of my children.”

“An’ fine childer they are, barrin’ the lad is a bit av a limb betimes.”

In courteous and carefully studied English, Kalmar told his need.  His affairs called him to Europe.  He might be gone a year, perhaps more.  He needed some one to care for his children.  Paulina, though nothing to him now, would be faithful in caring for them, as far as food, clothing and shelter were concerned.  She would dismiss her boarders.  There had never been need of her taking boarders, but for the fraud of a wicked man.  It was at this point that he needed help.  Would Mrs. Fitzpatrick permit him to send her money from time to time which should be applied to the support of Paulina and the children.  He would also pay her for her trouble.

At this Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who had been listening impatiently for some moments, broke forth upon him.

“Ye can kape yer money,” she cried wrathfully.  “What sort av a man are ye, at all, at all, that ye sind yer helpless childer to a strange land with a scut like that?”

“Paulina was an honest woman once,” he interposed.

“An’ what for,” she continued wrathfully, “are ye lavin’ thim now among a pack o’ haythen?  Look at that girl now, what’ll come to her in that bloody pack o’ thieves an’ blackguards, d’ye think?  Howly Joseph!  It’s mesilf that kapes wakin’ benights to listen fer the screams av her.  Why don’t ye shtay like a man by yer childer an’ tell me that?”

“My affairs—­” began the Russian, with a touch of hauteur in his tone.

“An’ what affairs have ye needin’ ye more than yer childer?  Tell me that, will ye?”

And truth to tell, Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s indignation blazed forth not only on behalf of the children, but on behalf of the unfortunate Paulina as well, whom, in spite of herself, she pitied.

“What sort av a heart have ye, at all, at all?”

“A heart!” cried the Russian, rising from his chair.  “Madam, my heart is for my country.  But you would not understand.  My country calls me.”

“Yer counthry!” repeated Mrs. Fitzpatrick with scorn.  “An’ what counthry is that?”