llage there was still one to be found--only one,
and it belonged to "_Reb_" Henzel. The cap was long and narrow. It had a
slit and a button in front, and at the back two tassels. I always wanted
these tassels. If the cap had fallen into my hands for two minutes--only
two, the tassels would have been mine.

"_Reb_" Henzel had spread out his whole stock-in-trade. He took up a
citron with his two fingers, and gave it to father to examine.

"Take this citron, '_Reb_' Moshe-Yankel. You will enjoy it."

"A good one?" asked my father, examining the citron on all sides, as one
might examine a diamond. His hands trembled with joy.

"And what a good one," replied "_Reb_" Henzel, and the tassels of his
cap shook with his laughter.

Moshe-Yankel played with the citron, smelled it, and could not take his
eyes off it. He called over his wife to him, and showed her, with a
happy smile, the citron, as if he were showing her a precious jewel, a
priceless gem, a rare antique, or an only child--a dear one.

Basse-Beila drew near, and put out her hand slowly to take hold of the
citron. But she did not get it.

"Be careful with your hands. A sniff if you like."

Basse-Beila was satisfied with a sniff of the citron. I was not even
allowed to sniff it. I was not allowed to go too near it, or even to
look at it.

"He is here, too," said my mother. "Only let him go near it, and he will
at once bite the top off the citron."

"The Lord forbid!" cried my father.

"The Lord preserve us!" echoed "_Reb_" Henzel. And the tassels shook
again. He gave father some cotton-wool into which he might nest the
citron. The beautiful perfume spread into every corner of the house. The
citron was wrapped up as carefully as if it had been a diamond, or a
precious gem. And it was placed in a beautiful round, carved, painted
and decorated wooden sugar box. The sugar was taken out, and the citron
was put in instead, like a beloved guest.

"Welcome art thou, '_Reb_' citron! Into the box--into the box!"

The box was carefully closed, and placed in the glass cupboard. The door
was closed over on it, and good-bye!

"I am afraid the heathen"--that was meant for me--"will open the door,
take out the citron, and bite its top off," said my mother. She took me
by the hand, and drew me away from the cupboard.

Like a cat that has smelt butter, and jumps down from a height for it,
straightens her back, goes round and round, rubbing herself against
everything, l