“And you are a citizen, Anna.”
The band started to play “My Country, ’tis of Thee,” and Ivan and Anna got to their feet. Standing side by side, holding hands, they joined in with the others who had found after long days of journeying the blessed land where dreams come true.
[5] Copyright, 1915, by P.F. Collier and Son, Incorporated.Copyright, 1916, by James Francis Dwyer.
WHOSE DOG—?[6]
By FRANCES GREGG
From The Forum
“Hey—there’s ladies here, move on—you!” The tone was authoritative and old John, the village drunkard, crouched away.
“I warn’t doin’ nothin’,” he clutched feebly at the loose hanging rags that clothed him, “only wanted to see same’s them. Guess this pier’s big enough to hold us all.”
“Halloo, John, have a drink?” A grinning boy held a can of salt water toward him.
The quick maudlin tears sprang to the old man’s eyes. “Little fellers,” he muttered, “little fellers, they oughtn’t ter act that way.”
“Give him a new necktie, he’s gotta go to dinner with the Lodge.” A handful of dank sea-weed writhed around the old man’s neck. “That’s a turtle, that is,” the boy went on, the need for imparting information justifying his lapse from ragging the drunkard. “There—swimming round—it’s tied to that stake. You orter’ve seen it at low tide when it was on the beach. It weighs ninety pounds.”