t, and those who are
falling today. And for the Scrolls of the Law that were torn, and for
the ... Oh! oh! oh! Help! Help! Who has me by the ear?"

Two good thumps and two good smacks in the face at the one time sobered
me on the instant. I saw before me a man who, I could have sworn, was
Okhrim, the gardener.

* * *

Okhrim the gardener had for years cultivated fields outside the town. He
rented a piece of ground, made a garden of it, and planted in it melons
and pumpkins, and onions and garlic and radishes and other vegetables.
He made a good living in this way. How did I know Okhrim? He used to
deal with us. That is to say, he used to borrow money off my mother
every Passover eve, and about "_Succoth_" time, he used to begin to pay
it back by degrees. These payments used to be entered on the inside
cover of my mother's prayer-book. There was a separate page for Okhrim,
and a separate account. It was headed in big writing, "Okhrim's
account." Under these words came the entries: "A '_rouble_' from Okhrim.
Another 'rouble' from Okhrim. Two 'roubles' from Okhrim. Half a
'_rouble_' from Okhrim. A sack of potatoes from Okhrim," and so on....
And though my mother was not rich--a widow with children, who lived by
money-lending--she took no interest from Okhrim. He used to repay us in
garden-produce, sometimes more, sometimes less. We never quarrelled with
him.

If the harvest was good, he filled our cellar with potatoes and
cucumbers to last us all the winter. And if the harvest was bad, he used
to come and plead with my mother:

"Do not be offended, Mrs. Abraham, the harvest is bad."

My mother forgave him, and told him not to be greedy next year.

"You may trust me, Mrs. Abraham, you may trust me," Okhrim replied. And
he kept his word. He brought us the first pickings of onions and garlic.
We had new potatoes and green cucumbers before the rich folks. I heard
our neighbours say, more than once, that the widow was not so badly off
as she said. "See, they bring her the best of everything." Of course, I
at once told my mother what I had heard, and she poured out a few curses
on our neighbours.

"Salt in their eyes, and stones in their hearts! Whoever begrudges me
what I have, let him have nothing. I wish them to be in my position next
year."

Naturally, I at once told my neighbours what my mother had wished them;
and, of course, for these words they were enraged against her. They
called her by a name I was ashamed