ng to a shrill Gemoreh-tune.

In the orchard, at the end of the Gass, however, which Avrohom hired of
the Gentiles, he had no need to exchange empty words with anyone.
Avrohom had no large capital, and could not afford to hire an orchard
for more than thirty rubles. The orchard was consequently small, and
only grew about twenty apple-trees, a few pear-trees, and a cherry-tree.
Avrohom used to move to the garden directly after the Feast of Weeks,
although that was still very early, the fruit had not yet set, and there
was nothing to steal.

But Avrohom could not endure sitting at home any longer, where the wife
screamed, the children cried, and there was a continual "fair." What
should he want there? He only wished to be alone with his thoughts and
imaginings, and his quiet "tunes," which were always weaving themselves
inside him, and were nearly stifled.

It is early to go to the orchard directly after the Feast of Weeks, but
Avrohom does not mind, he is drawn back to the trees that can think and
hear so much, and keep so many things to themselves.

And Avrohom betakes himself to the orchard. He carries with him, besides
phylacteries and prayer-scarf, a prayer-book with the Psalms and the
"Stations," two volumes of the Gemoreh which he owns, a few works by the
later scholars, and the Tales of Jerusalem; he takes his wadded winter
garment and a cushion, makes them into a bundle, kisses the Mezuzeh,
mutters farewell, and is off to the orchard.

As he nears the orchard his heart begins to beat loudly for joy, but he
is hindered from going there at once. In the yard through which he must
pass lies a dog. Later on, when Avrohom has got to know the dog, he will
even take him into the orchard, but the first time there is a certain
risk--one has to know a dog, otherwise it barks, and Avrohom dreads a
bark worse than a bite--it goes through one's head! And Avrohom waits
till the owner comes out, and leads him through by the hand.

"Back already?" exclaims the owner, laughing and astonished.

"Why not?" murmurs Avrohom, shamefacedly, and feeling that it is,
indeed, early.

"What shall you do?" asks the owner, graver. "There is no hut there at
all--last year's fell to pieces."

"Never mind, never mind," begs Avrohom, "it will be all right."

"Well, if you want to come!" and the owner shrugs his shoulders, and
lets Avrohom into the orchard.

Avrohom immediately lays his bundle on the ground, stretches himself out
full