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“So-o-oh, you foolishness like that on the school learns!” she fumed. “Und your teacher she learns you you should like so mil your papa’s breakfast und cats make! She is then fine teacher!”

“She’s a awful nice teacher,” cried Morris, with hot loyalty. “Awful nice. Sooner you seen her sooner you could to be loving mit her too. Ain’t you never comin’ on the school for to see mine teacher?”

“No!” his mother almost shrieked. “No! I seen her on the street once und she had looks off of Krishts. I don’t need no Krishts. You don’t need them neither. They ain’t for us. You ain’t so big like I could to tell you how they makes mit us in Russia. I don’t like you should hold so much over no Krisht. For us they is devils.”

“Teacher ain’t no devil,” cried Morris, and he would have laid down his loyal life to have been able to add now, as he had some months earlier, “she ain’t no Krisht neither,” but he knew that his mother had guessed truly. Teacher was a Christian, she had told him so, and he had sworn to protect her secret.

His mother’s constant though generally smouldering hostility towards Miss Bailey troubled and puzzled him. In fact, many things were beyond his understanding. Night after night he lay in his corner behind the stove and listened while his father and his father’s friends railed against the Christians and the Czar. He had seen strange meetings of grim and intent men, had listened to low reading of strange threats and mad reviling. And always he gathered that the Christian was a thing unspeakable, unknowable, without truth, or heart or trust. A thing to be feared and hated now but, in the glorious future, when the God of Israel should be once more remindful of his people, a thing to be triumphed over and trampled on.

Yet each morning Morris waited at the big school door for the smile of a lady’s face, the touch of a lady’s hand, and each day he learned new gentleness and love, new interests and new wonders under her calm-eyed dominion. And behold, the lady was a Christian, and he loved her and she was very good to him!

For his bright service to the cause of Nature in the matter of the cat, she had decorated him, not with a button or a garter–though neither would have been inappropriate–but with a ring bearing his initials gorgeously entwined. Then proud and happy was Morris Mogilewsky, and wild was the emulation of other members of the First Reader Class. Then serious was Teacher’s account with a jeweller over in Columbia Street and grave her doubts as to Herr Froebel’s blessing on the scheme. But the problem was solved. Of all the busy hours in Room 18’s crowded day, there was none more happy than that devoted to “Nature Study–Domestic Animals and Home Pets.”

And then one morning Morris failed to answer to the roll-call. Never had he been absent since his first day at school, and Miss Bailey was full of uneasiness. Nathan Spiderwitz, Morris’s friend and ally, was also missing, but at half-past nine he arrived entirely breathless and shockingly untidy.

“Nathan,” said Teacher reprovingly, “you are very late.”

“Yiss ma’an. I tells you ‘scuse,” gasped Nathan. “On’y Morris–“

“Where is he?” cried Miss Bailey. “Is there anything the matter with him?”

“Yiss ma’an. He ain’t got no more that golden ring what you gives him over that cat.”

A murmur of commiseration swept through the room. “Oh, poor Morris!” sighed Eva Gonorowsky. “Ain’t that fierce! From sure gold rings is awful stylish und they cost whole bunches of money.”

“Morris is a silly little boy,” said Teacher crossly, for she had been frightened, as it now seemed, to no purpose. “I’ll measure his finger for a new ring when he comes in.”

“He ain’t comin’,” said Nathan briefly.

“Not coming to school simply because he lost a ring! Nonsense! Nathan, you just run back to Morris’s house and tell him he must come. Tell him I’ll give him a new ring and–“