he three pretty little heads are of two brothers and a little sister,
Abramtzig, Moshetzig, and Dvairke. They were brought up by their father
in the true Russian style, petted and spoiled. Their father was Peisa
the box-maker. And if he had not been afraid of his wife, Pessa, and if
he had not been such a terribly poor man, he would have changed his
Jewish name of Peisa into the Russian name of Petya. But, since he was a
little afraid of his wife, Pessa, and since he was extremely poor--may
it remain far from us!--he kept to his own name of Peisa the box-maker,
until the good time comes, when everything will be different, as Bebel
says, as Karl Marx says, and as all the good and wise people say--when
everything, everything will be different. But until the good and happy
time comes, one must get up at the dawn of day, and work far into the
night, cutting out pieces of cardboard and pasting boxes and covers of
books. Peisa the box-maker stands at his work all day long. He sings as
he works, old and new songs, Jewish and non-Jewish, mostly gay-sorrowful
songs, in a gay-sorrowful voice.

"Will you ever give up singing those Gentile songs? Such a man! And how
he loves the Gentiles. Since we have come to this big town, he has
almost become a Gentile."

All three children, Abramtzig, Moshetzig, and Dvairke, were born and
brought up in the same place--between the wall and the stove. They
always saw before them the same people and the same things: the gay
father who cut cardboards, pasted boxes, and sang songs, and the
careworn, hollow-cheeked mother who cooked and baked, and rushed about,
and was never finished her work. They were always at work, both of
them--the mother at the stove, and the father at the cardboards. What
were all the boxes for? Who wanted so many boxes? Is the whole world
full of boxes? That was what the three little heads wanted to know. And
they waited until their father had a great pile of boxes ready, when he
would take them on his head and in his arms--thousands of them--to the
market. He came back without the boxes, but with money for the mother,
and with cakes and buns for the children. He was a good father--such a
good father. He was gold. The mother was also gold, but she was cross.
One got a smack from her sometimes, a dig in the ribs, or a twist of an
ear. She does not like to have the house untidy. She does not allow the
children to play "fathers and mothers." She forbids Abramtzig to pick up
the