mother
warned me, my father repeating the words after her, that there is a
bridge to be crossed, and under the little bridge there is a water--a
stream, a stream, a stream.

* * *

We, Busie and I, have long forgotten the little bridge and the river,
the stream. We are going across the broad free Levada, under the blue,
open sky. We run across the green field, fall and roll about on the
sweet-smelling grass. We get up, fall again, and roll about again, and
yet again. We have not yet gathered a single green leaf for the Festival
decorations. I take Busie over the length and breadth of the Levada. I
show off before her with my property.

"Do you see those trees? Do you see this sand? Do you see that little
hill?"

"Are they all yours?" asks Busie. Her eyes are laughing. I am annoyed
because she laughs at me. She always laughs at me. I get sulky and turn
away from her for a moment. Seeing that I am sulky, she goes in front of
me, looks into my eyes, takes my hand, and says to me: "Shemak!" My
sulks are gone and all is forgotten. I take her hand and lead her to my
hill, there where I sit always, every summer. If I like I sit down, and
if I like I rise up with the help of the Lord, by pronouncing His Holy
Name. And I fly off like an eagle, above the clouds, over fields and
woods, over seas and deserts.

* * *

We sit on the hill, Busie and I. (We have not yet gathered a single
green leaf for the Festival.) We tell stories. That is to say, I tell
stories, and she listens. I tell her what will happen at some far, far
off time. When I am a man and she is a woman we will get married. We
will both rise up, by pronouncing the Holy Name, and travel the whole
world. First we will go to all the countries that Alexander the Great
was in. Then we will run over to the Land of Israel. We will go to the
Hills of Spices, fill our pockets with locust-beans, figs, dates, and
olives, and fly off further and still further. And everywhere we will
play a different sort of trick, for no one will see us.

"Will no one see us?" asks Busie, catching hold of my hand.

"No one--no one. We shall see every one, but no one will see us."

"In that case, I have something to ask you."

"A request?"

"A little request."

But I know her little request--to fly off to where her mother is, and
play a little trick on her step-father.

"Why not?" I say to her. "With the greatest of pleasure. You may leave
it to me, little fool. I can do somethin