The subject was at once too sacred and too terrible for common speech.

Kalman laid down his spoon.
"I remember," he said after a few moments' silence.

A shadow lay upon his face.

"She was a lady, and she died in the snow." His voice sank to a whisper.

"Wasn't it awful, Irma ?" "Yes, Kalman dear," said his sister, sitting down beside him and putting her arms about his neck, "but she had no pain, and she was not afraid." "No," said the boy with a ring in his voice, "she was not afraid; nor was father afraid either." He rose from his meal.
"Why, Kalman," exclaimed his sister, "you are not half done your feast.