ual, in
which there are no rich and no poor, no masters and no servants, no
sheep and no shears, no cats, rats, no piggy-wiggy--------" "Te-te-te!"
say I, "where have you learned such fine language? a new speech," say I,
"with new words. Why not open the hen-house, and let out the hens?
Chuck--chuck--chuck, hurrah for freedom!" Upon which she blazes up as if
I had poured ten pails of hot water over her. And now for it! As only
_they_ can! Well, one must sit it out and listen to the end. The worst
of it is, there is no end. "Look here," say I, "hush!" say I, "and now
let be!" say I, and beat upon my breast. "I have sinned!" say I, "I have
transgressed, and now stop," say I, "if you would only be quiet!" But
she won't hear, and she won't see. No, she says, she will know why and
wherefore and for goodness' sake and exactly, and just how it was, and
what it means, and how it happened, and once more and a second time, and
all over again from the beginning!

I beg of you--who set the whole thing going? A--woman!

ELIEZER DAVID ROSENTHAL

Born, 1861, in Chotin, Bessarabia; went to Breslau, Germany, in 1880,
and pursued studies at the University; returned to Bessarabia in 1882;
co-editor of the Bibliothek Dos Leben, published at Odessa, 1904, and
Kishineff, 1905; writer of stories.

SABBATH

Friday evening!

The room has been tidied, the table laid. Two Sabbath loaves have been
placed upon it, and covered with a red napkin. At the two ends are two
metal candlesticks, and between them two more of earthenware, with
candles in them ready to be lighted.

On the small sofa that stands by the stove lies a sick man covered up
with a red quilt, from under the quilt appears a pale, emaciated face,
with red patches on the dried-up cheeks and a black beard. The sufferer
wears a nightcap, which shows part of his black hair and his black
earlocks. There is no sign of life in his face, and only a faint one in
his great, black eyes.

On a chair by the couch sits a nine-year-old girl with damp locks, which
have just been combed out in honor of Sabbath. She is barefoot, dressed
only in a shirt and a frock. The child sits swinging her feet, absorbed
in what she is doing; but all her movements are gentle and noiseless.

The invalid coughed.

"Kche, kche, kche, kche," came from the sofa.

"What is it, Tate?" asked the little girl, swinging her feet.

The invalid made no reply.

He slowly raised his head with both h