Feeding the Hungry, P. C. Hiebert, 1929

eight year old boy. His name was Nicolai. He was a Roman Catholic and, so far as known, a full orphan. He said his mother, three sisters and two brothers had died of hunger typhus. Later his father succumbed to the same dread disease at a railroad station near by; and the boy, forced to shift for himself, had strayed to this vil- lage. He, too was sick and lying on a thin litter of rank hay on the earth. He had a man’s black felt hat pulled down over head and neck to keep the coarse grass from pricking him. The blue shirt and erstwhile white home- spun trousers held by one support were badly torn and the little body much exposed. His feet were bare. Flies were biting and almost eating him. His pulse was 130; his mind in a whirl with fever. PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 339 “Nicolai, are you ill?” ““Wh-a-at ?” “I say, are you very sick?” “Ek si krank!’ (Low Dutch: I am sick.) There was a red wine bottle beside him; I took that and fetched him a fresh drink. ‘Shall I give you a drink of water?” He evidently did not understand, for after several futile attempts to rise he staggered over the straw toward the door. I called, ‘‘Come here, little man, come and lie down!” Had there been spectators they would have seen a man of six feet two, eyes overflowing, take hold of a burning little hand and lead the child back to his litter. Have you a boy or girl eight years old? Think of them out in the hard world alone hungry, half-clad, delirious like that!—I took out a new white handkerchief with “CEK” in the border—(my own child, Florence, put those initials there)—and gave it to the lad. “Cover that over your face so the wicked flies can’t bite you.” He did so, and tried to pull up his bare feet into his short trouser legs........ Oh, the tragedy of suffering inno- cence haunts me! Two days later—The Mennonite farmer and his good wife had cleaned and fixed up the small harness room and put Nicolai into a snug, home-made, wooden cradle. They had agreed to care for the child, had bor- rowed a clean shirt for him, and had given him a good bath; and he was getting food out of the American Men- nonite Kitchen just like 30,000 others. How glad I was, when reaching headquarters and looking for clothing for little Nicolai, to see what nice things the good people of America were sending over here! 340 FEEDING THE HUNGRY If little Nicolai were an isolated instance it would be sad enough, but there were thousands—some say millions of these wandering, homeless children in the land of the Big Bear. O, the pity of it all! and why? One shudders to think of the future of such a race. But stupendous figures confuse. We must think of the tragedy in terms of individual souls, of our own innocent children. If Nicolai were your own child, what?........ Rev. and Mrs. D. M. Hofer Rev. D. M. Hofer was born at Johannesruh, Mo- lotschna, South Russia, July 24, 1869, and immigrating to America with his p