The boy looked surprised. “Your family!” he echoed.

And Jurgis started toward him. “I⁠—this is my house!” he cried.

“Come off!” said the boy; then suddenly the door upstairs opened, and he called: “Hey, ma! Here’s a fellow says he owns this house.”

A stout Irish woman came to the top of the steps. “What’s that?” she demanded.

Jurgis turned toward her. “Where is my family?” he cried, wildly. “I left them here! This is my home! What are you doing in my home?”

The woman stared at him in frightened wonder, she must have thought she was dealing with a maniac⁠—Jurgis looked like one. “Your home!” she echoed.

“My home!” he half shrieked. “I lived here, I tell you.”