he dog, seeing my raised hand, jumped up as if he had been scalded
again, took his tail between his legs and ran away--away.

"Shah! Sirko!" I said trying to soothe him with soft words. "Why do you
run away like that, fool? Am I doing you any harm?"

A dog is a dog. His tongue is dumb. He knows nothing of pity for the
living.

My father saw me running after the dog and he pounced down on me.

"Go into '_Cheder_,' dog-beater."

Then I was the dog-beater.

* * *

It was all about two little birds--two tiny little birds that two boys,
one big and one small, had killed. When the two little birds dropped
from the tree they were still alive. Their feathers were ruffled. They
fluttered their wings, and trembled in every limb.

"Get up, you hedgehog," said the big boy to the small boy. And they took
the little birds in their hands and beat their heads against the
tree-trunk, until they died.

I could not contain myself, but ran over to the two boys.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"What's that to do with you?" they demanded in Russian. "What harm is
it?" they asked calmly. "They are no more than birds, ordinary little
birds."

"And if they are only birds? Have you no pity for the living--no mercy
for the little birds?"

The boys looked curiously at one another, and as if they had already
made up their minds in advance to do it, they at once fell upon me.

When I came home, my torn jacket told the story, and my father gave me
the good beating I deserved.

"Ragged fool!" cried my mother.

I forgave her for the "ragged fool," but why did she also beat me?

* * *

Why was I beaten? Does not our teacher himself tell us that all
creatures are dear to the Lord? Even a fly on the wall must not be hurt,
he says, out of pity for the living. Even a spider, that is an evil
spirit, must not be killed either, he tells us emphatically.

"If the spider deserved to die, then the Lord Himself would slay him."

Then comes the question: Very well, if that is so, then why do the
people slaughter cows and calves and sheep and fowls every day of the
week?

And not only cows and other animals and fowls, but do not men slaughter
one another? At the time when we had the "_Pogrom_," did not men throw
down little children from the tops of houses? Did they not kill our
neighbours' little girl? Her name was Peralle. And how did they kill
her?

Ah, how I loved that little girl. And how that little girl loved me!
"Uncle Beb