ame up. The
second was only just got rid of, when the first sprang up again. I drove
them off with sticks.

"Get out of this. Are you here again, foolish goats? Get off."

The devil knows how they found out we had green fir-boughs. It seems
they told one another, because there gathered around us all the goats of
the town. And I, all alone, had to do battle with them.

The Lord helped us, and we had all the fir-boughs on the roof. The goats
remained standing around us like fools. They looked up with foolish
eyes, and stupidly chewed the cud. I had my revenge of them, and I said
to them:

"Why don't you take the fir-boughs now, foolish goats?"

They must have understood me, for they began to go off, one by one, in
search of something to eat. And we began to decorate the Tabernacle from
the inside. First of all, we strewed the floor with sand; then we hung
on the walls all the wadded quilts belonging to the neighbours. Where
there was no wadded quilt, there hung a shawl, and where there was no
shawl, there was a sheet or a table-cloth. Then we brought out all the
chairs and tables, the candle-sticks and candles, the plates and knives
and forks and spoons. And each of the three women of the house made the
blessing over her own candles for the Feast of Tabernacles.

* * *

My mother--peace be unto her!--was a woman who loved to weep. The Days
of Mourning were her Days of Rejoicing. And since we had lost our own
house, her eyes were not dry for a single minute. My father, though he
was also fretted, did not like this. He told her to fear the Lord, and
not sin. There were worse circumstances than ours, thank God. But now,
in the Tabernacle, when she was blessing the Festival candles, she could
cover her face with her hands and weep in silence without any one
knowing it. But I was not to be fooled. I could see her shoulders
heaving, and the tears trickling through her thin white fingers. And I
even knew what she was weeping for.... It was well for her that father
was getting ready to go to synagogue, putting on his Sabbath coat that
was tattered, but was still made of silk, and his plaited silk girdle.
He thrust his hands into his girdle, and said to me, sighing deeply:

"Come, let us go. It is time we went to synagogue to pray."

I took the prayer-books, and we went off. Mother remained at home to
pray. I knew what she would do--weep. She might weep as much as she
liked, for she would be alone. And it was so. When we