"This is your house, brother; we are your slaves." It was a familiar Russian salutation.
"No," said the stranger, quickly stretching out his hand.
"No slaves in this land, thank God! but brothers all." "Your brothers truly," said Simon, dropping on his knee and kissing the outstretched hand.

"Lena," he called to his wife, who stood modestly at the other side of the room, "this is the Elder of our Brotherhood." Lena came forward, dropped on her knees and kissed the outstretched hand.
"Come, Margaret," she cried, drawing her little girl of six toward the stranger, "come and salute the master." Little Margaret came forward and offered her hand, looking up with brave shyness into the stranger's face.
"Shame! shame!" said Lena, horrified.

"Kneel down! Kneel down!" "She does not understand how to salute," said her father with an apologetic smile.
"Aha, so," cried the stranger, looking curiously at the little girl.

"Where did you learn to shake hands ?" "In school," said the child in English.
"In school ?" replied the stranger in the same language.
"You go to school.

What school ?" "The public school, sir." "And do they not teach you to kneel when you salute in the public school ?" "No, sir, we never kneel." "What then do you learn there ?" "We sing, and read, and write, and march, and sew." "Aha!" cried the stranger delighted.