"Look, mamma, see all the people coming!" cried Bessie, pulling Mrs. Barlow nearer to the window. Oaths and imprecations in some unknown tongue thrilled the little group of listeners.
"It's a riot among the Poles," said Mrs. Barlow. Emily and Robert at once joined the group in the bay window.
"There he is!" shouted some one in the crowd, pointing, and immediately the covered heads became a sea of upturned faces—for the parlor was one flight up—foreign faces, inflamed with passion. A hatless father, brandishing a hatchet, led them on. But whither?
"They are breaking in our door!" shrieked Mrs. Barlow. "And Mr. Galuby at their head."
Almost instantly a volley of stones crashed against the side of the house and the windows were riddled. Emily and her mother drew back, with the whimpering little ones, but Robert stood his ground, watching old Galuby hacking at the door like a madman.
"What are you doing?" he called down, raising the sash.
There was a furious ring at the bell, followed by a snap, as if the cord were pulled out. A small pebble sailed through the open window and struck Robert in the cheek. At sight of the blood, though it was no more than a strawberry splash, Emily seized his arm.
"I must go down and stop this, Emily."
"No, Robert; they are savages when they get excited."
"What do they want?"