an was full of grief at remaining thus forlorn in her old
age, and she longed more than ever for her children after having hoped
so surely that she would be with them soon. She could not understand
Yossef's reason for suddenly changing his mind with regard to her
coming; but it never occurred to her for one minute to doubt her
children's affection. And we, when we had read the treasured bundle of
letters from Yossef and Rivkeh, we could not doubt it, either. There was
love and longing for the distant mother in every line, and several of
the letters betrayed a spirit of bitterness, a note of complaining
resentment against the hard times that had brought about the separation
from her. And yet we could not help thinking, "Out of sight, out of
mind," that which is far from the eyes, weighs lighter at the heart. It
was the only explanation we could invent, for why, otherwise, should the
mother have to remain alone among strangers?

All these considerations moved me to interfere in the matter without the
old woman's knowledge. She could read Yiddish, but could not write it,
and before we made friends, her letters to the children were written by
a shopkeeper of her acquaintance. But from the time we got to know her,
I became her constant secretary, and one day, when writing to Yossef for
her, I made use of the opportunity to enclose a letter from myself. I
asked his forgiveness for mixing myself up in another's family affairs,
and tried to justify the interference by dwelling on our affectionate
relations with his mother. I then described, in the most touching words
at my command, how hard it was for her to live forlorn, how she pined
for the presence of her children and grandchildren, and ended by telling
them, that it was their duty to free their mother from all this mental
suffering.

There was no direct reply to this letter of mine, but the next one from
the son to his mother gave her to understand that there are certain
things not to be explained, while the impossibility of explaining them
may lead to a misunderstanding. This hint made the position no clearer
to us, and the fact of Yossef's not answering me confirmed us in our
previous suspicions.

Meanwhile our old friend fell ill, and quickly understood that she would
soon die. Among the things she begged me to do after her death and
having reference to her burial, there was one particular petition
several times repeated: to send a packet of Hebrew books, which had be