eat it. We eat
bread with onion, and we drink goat's-milk. On Sabbath we have fish
only when you, Morejne, come to see us and leave us a silver coin.
All in this street are poor--very poor, but the poorest is hajet
Schmul, with his blind mother, thin wife and eight children."

He shook his head piteously and looked into Meir's face with his dark
eyes which expressed stupefied astonishment at his own misery. Meir,
with his hand still on the head of the sickly child, who was
finishing his bread, listened to the speech of the miserable fellow.
His mouth expressed pity, but the frowning brows and drooped eyelids
gave to his face the expression of angry reverie.

"Schmul," he said, "and why are you so often out of work?"

Schmul became plainly confused, and raised his hand to his head,
disarranging his skull cap which covered his long dishevelled hair.

"I will tell you," continued Meir; "they don't give you work because
from the stuff which they give you to make dresses you cut large
pieces and keep them."

Schmul seized his skull cap in both hands.

"My poor head," he groaned. "Morejne, what have you told me? Your
mouth said a very ugly thing against me."

He jumped, bent nearly to the ground, and then jumped again.

"Nu, it's true, Morejne, I will open my heart to you I used to cut
off and keep pieces of the stuff, and why did I do it? Because my
children were naked. I clothed them with it. And when my blind mother
was sick I sold it and bought a piece of meat for her. Morejne, your
eye must not look angrily on me! Were I as rich as Reb Jankiel and
Morejne Calman--had I as much money as they make from the work of our
hands and the sweat of our brows, I would not steal!"

"And for what are Reb Jankiel and Morejne Calman taking your money?"
began Meir thoughtfully, and he wished to continue, but Schmul
stretched himself and interrupted suddenly:

"Nu, they have a right to it. They are elders over us. What they do
is sacred. When one listens to them it is as if one listened to God
himself."

Meir smiled sadly and put his band into his pocket.

Schmul followed the movement with his eyes, which were animated with
cupidity.

Meir placed on the open window a few silver coins. Schmul seized his
hand and began to kiss it.

"Morejne, you are good. You always help poor people. You pity my
stupid child."

When the enthusiasm of his gratitude had cooled a little, he
stretched himself and began to whisper in Meir's