"God make thee as brave and true as thine ancestor, the great Prince Pojarsky, who delivered Moscow from the Poles."
"Who was he? I have never heard of him," said Ivan.
"Is that possible? Poor child! did no one ever tell thee that story, so glorious for thee and thine? Know, then, that about two hundred years ago the Poles conquered holy Russia. The whole country was at their feet, in great misery and trouble, and no man dared resist them. Prince Pojarsky lay on his bed in his own castle, sick as it seemed unto death. But God put it into the heart of a poor man working at his trade in Moscow, a butcher named Minim, to save his country. He first went to all the great people of the city and of the surrounding country, and got them to promise men and money. Then he went to Prince Pojarsky, and stood before him like a messenger from God. 'Rise,' he said; 'go forth and conquer the Poles. God will strengthen thee.' 'But soldiers are needed, and arms,' said the prince. 'All are ready,' answered the courageous citizen. The prince arose from his bed of sickness, and, trusting in God, put himself at the head of the men of Moscow. He gained a glorious victory, and the sword of the Poles was broken for ever in Muscovy. That is the man whose name you bear, and whose blood is flowing in your veins, Prince Ivan Pojarsky!"
"He was splendid!" said Ivan with kindling eyes; "I am proud to bear his name."
Petrovitch felt shocked by the disclosure of Ivan's ignorance of the history of his native country, that country which was to himself the object of proud and passionate love.
"Can it be," he said to him the next day—"can it be that no one has ever even told you about the great Czar Peter?"
"I have heard of the Czar Peter," said Ivan: "he ordered all the mujiks to cut off their beards, threatening to cut off their heads if they refused. 'God will make your beards grow again,' he said; 'but will he do the same for your heads?'"
Petrovitch built a long and interesting narrative upon this
