tion, like silvery fishes that gleam near the calm surface of the sunlit waters. . . .
Some one knocked softly at the door.
“Aunty?”
Into the room stepped a small, wizened, yellow-faced old woman, in a white cap, with pale-blue, kindly eyes, her sere lips muttering a “Good morning.” She placed a tray with coffee upon a small table near the bed, looked lovingly at the disheveled head upon the pillows, but did not speak.
“Well, Aunty,” began Jiří, “how did you rest? What is the news? Well, how are your poor people?” he asked in a careless manner, as he drank his coffee.
“I dreamt of the country and of your father,—a mixed-up dream, I really do not understand what it all comes from. . . . My poor? I sent yesterday a few rags to the mason’s wife nearby. That woman has five children. Her husband was killed a month ago while at work. . . . So I have now five families upon my hands. . . .”
