ling like a lamb, and recited in a low voice,
"Hear, O Israel!" and the Confession, thought on the graves of Israel,
and fancied that now, now he lies in the abyss of the waters, now, now
comes a fish and swallows him, like Jonah the prophet when he fled to
Tarshish, and he remembers Jonah's prayer, and sings softly and with
tears:

"Affofuni mayyim ad nofesh--the waters have reached unto my soul; tehom
yesoveveni--the deep hath covered me!"

Fishel the teacher sang and wept and thought pitifully of his widowed
wife and his orphaned children, and Prokop rowed for all he was worth,
and sang _his_ little song:

"O thou maiden with the black lashes!"

And Prokop felt the same on the water as on dry land, and Fishel's
"Affofuni" and Prokop's "O maiden" blended into one, and a strange song
sounded over the Bug, a kind of duet, which had never been heard there
before.

"The black year knows why he is so afraid of death, that Jew," so
wondered Prokop Baranyuk, "a poor tattered little Jew like him, a
creature I would not give this old boat for, and so afraid of death!"

The shore reached, Prokop gave Fishel a shove in the side with his boot,
and Fishel started. The Gentile burst out laughing, but Fishel did not
hear, Fishel went on reciting the Confession, saying Kaddish for his own
soul, and mentally contemplating the graves of Israel!

"Get up, you silly Rebbe! We're there--in Chaschtschevate!"

Slowly, slowly, Fishel raised his head, and gazed around him with red
and swollen eyes.

"Chasch-tsche-va-te???"

"Chaschtschevate! Give me the ruble, Rebbe!"

Fishel crawls out of the boat, and, finding himself really at home, does
not know what to do for joy. Shall he run into the town? Shall he go
dancing? Shall he first thank and praise God who has brought him safe
out of such great peril? He pays the Gentile his fare, takes up his
bundle under his arm and is about to run home, the quicker the better,
but he pauses a moment first, and turns to Prokop the ferryman:

"Listen, Prokop, dear heart, to-morrow, please God, you'll come and
drink a glass of brandy, and taste festival fish at Fishel the
teacher's, for Heaven's sake!"

"Shall I say no? Am I such a fool?" replied Prokop, licking his lips in
anticipation at the thought of the Passover brandy he would sip, and the
festival fish he would delectate himself with on the morrow.

And Prokop gets back into his boat, and pulls quietly home again,
singing a little son