o have harbored a Jew--a fugitive
from the military at that--and slowly and painfully Mendel found his way
through the strange city, to the Jewish quarter. Every soldier that
crossed his path inspired him with terror; it might be some one charged
with his recapture. Not until he reached his destination did he deem
himself safe.

To the south-east of the city, stretched along the Dnieper, lay the
Jewish settlement of almost fifteen thousand souls. The most dismal,
unhealthy portion of the town had in days gone by been selected as its
location. The decree of the _mir_ had fixed its limits in the days of
Peter the Great, and its boundaries could not be extended, no matter how
rapidly the population might increase, no matter how great a lack of
room, of air, of light there might be for future generations. The houses
were, therefore, built as closely together as possible, without regard
to comfort or sanitary needs. To each was added new rooms, as the
necessities of the inhabiting family demanded, and these additions hung
like excrescences from all sides of the ugly huts, like toadstools to
decaying logs. Every inch of ground was precious to the ever-increasing
settlement. It was a labyrinth of narrow, dirty streets, of unpainted,
unattractive, dilapidated houses, a lasting monument of hatred and
persecution, of bigotry and prejudice. Mendel gasped for a breath of
fresh air, and, feeling himself grow faint, he hurried onward and
inquired the way to Hirsch Bensef's house. A plain, unpretentious
structure was pointed out and Mendel knocked at the door.

Hirsch himself opened the door. For a moment he stood undecided,
scarcely recognizing in the form before him, his chubby nephew of a week
ago. Then he opened his arms and drew the little fellow to his breast.

"Is it indeed you, Mendel?" he cried. "_Sholem alechem!_ (Peace be with
you!) God be praised that He has brought you to us!" and he led the boy
into the room and closed the door.

"Miriam," he called to his wife, who was engaged in her household duties
in an adjoining room; "quick, here is our boy, our Mendel. I knew he
would come."

Mendel was lovingly embraced by his cheerful-looking aunt, whom he had
never seen, but whom he loved from that moment.

"What ails you, my boy? You look ill; your head is burning," said
Miriam, anxiously.

"Yes, aunt; I fear I shall be sick," answered Mendel, faintly.

"Nonsense; we will take care of that," replied Hirsch. "But where