t would never do, it was plain to me, to make public
confession of his convictions. Such an act would not only break the
hearts of his family, but it would also take the bread from the mouths
of his children, and ruin them forever. My sister and my brother and
I would come to be called the children of Israel the Apostate, just as
Gutke, my playmate, was called the granddaughter of Yankel the
Informer. The most innocent of us would be cursed and shunned for the
sin of our father.

All this I came to understand, not all at once, but by degrees, as I
put this and that together, and brought my childish thoughts to order.
I was by no means absorbed in this problem. I played and danced with
the other children as heartily as ever, but I brooded in my window
corner when there was nothing else to do. I had not the slightest
impulse to go to my father, charge him with his unorthodox conduct,
and demand an explanation of him. I was quite satisfied that I
understood him, and I had not the habit of confidences. I was still in
the days when I was content to _find out_ things, and did not long to
communicate my discoveries. Moreover, I was used to living in two
worlds, a real world and a make-believe one, without ever knowing
which was which. In one world I had much company--father and mother
and sister and friends--and did as others did, and took everything for
granted. In the other world I was all alone, and I had to discover
ways for myself; and I was so uncertain that I did not attempt to
bring a companion along. And did I find my own father treading in the
unknown ways? Then perhaps some day he would come across me, and take
me farther than I had yet been; but I would not be the first to
whisper that I was there. It seems strange enough to me now that I
should have been so uncommunicative; but I remind myself that I have
been thoroughly made over, at least once, since those early days.

I recall with sorrow that I was sometimes as weak in morals as I was
in religion. I remember stealing a piece of sugar. It was long
ago--almost as long ago as anything that I remember. We were still
living in my grandfather's house when this dreadful thing happened and
I was only four or five years old when we moved from there. Before my
mother figured this out for me I scarcely had the courage to confess
my sin.

And it was thus: In a corner of a front room, by a window, stood a
high chest of drawers. On top of the chest stood a tin box, decor