ed together for a few
minutes; at last curiosity seemed to be gaining the day, the tumult
subsided, and the praetor began:

"Once upon a time there was a child who had given to him ten little
sheep made of cotton, little foolish toys such as the old women sell in
the market place."

"Get into the Jew's house, we don't want to hear children's stories--"

"Be quiet there!"

"Hush now listen; from the sheep he will go on to the wolves."

"Not wolves--it will be a she-wolf!" some one shouted in the throng.

"Do not mention the horrid things!" laughed Verus, "but listen to
me.--Well, the child set his little sheep up in a row each one close to
the next. He was a weaver's son. Are there any weavers here? You? and
you--ah, and you out there. If I were not my father's son I should like
to be the son of an Alexandrian weaver. You need not laugh!--Well, about
the sheep. All the little things were beautifully white but one which
had nasty black spots, and the little boy could not bear that one. He
went to the hearth, pulled out a burning stick and wanted to burn the
little ugly sheep so as only to have pretty white ones. The lambkin
caught fire and just as the flame had begun to burn the wooden skeleton
of the toy a draught from the window blew the flame towards the other
little sheep and in a minute they were all burned to ashes. Then thought
the little boy, 'If only I had let the ugly sheep alone! What can I
play with now?' and he began to cry. But this was not all, for while
the little rascal was drying his eyes, the flame spread and burnt up the
loom, the wool, the flax, the woven pieces, the whole house--the town
in which he was born, and even, I believe, the boy himself!--Now worthy
friends and Macedonian citizens, reflect a moment. Any man among you who
is possessed of any property may read the moral of my fable."

"Put out the torches!" cried the wife of a charcoal dealer.

"He is right; for by reason of the Jew, we are putting the whole town in
danger!" cried the cobbler.

"The mad fools have already thrown in some brands!"

"If you fellows up there fling any more I will break your ankles for
you," shouted a flax-dealer.

"Don't try any burning," the tailor commanded, "force open the door and
have out the Jew." These words raised a storm of applause and the mob
pressed forward to the Jew's abode. No one listened to Verus any more,
and he slipped down from his slave's shoulders, placed himself in front
of the