ce to have such
treasures. Aren't you afraid to speak to him when he comes in?"

"A man is never afraid," answered twelve-year-old Hushiel, stoutly.
"He may not remember me, but I am my father's son and he will do us
kindness for his sake." He stopped suddenly as Mr. Mordecai Noah
entered the room.

The master of the house was about forty, with deep, kindly eyes and a
heavy mane of black hair brushed back from his benevolent forehead. He
carried himself with the dignity befitting an author and statesman who
was, perhaps, the most distinguished Jew in America in 1825. Yet in
spite of his touch of hauteur there was a real kindliness in the
manner in which he held out his hands to the strangers and bade them
welcome.

"You have come a long way," he said, with a quick glance at their
foreign garb. "Let me make you welcome to America." He drew them to
one of the carved settles he had brought from England and seated
himself in the great armchair before it, smiling at the quaint picture
little Peninah made, her slippered feet dangling high above the floor.
"And how can I serve you?" he asked graciously.

Hushiel felt his shyness disappearing before the great man's courtesy.
"We are from Tunis," he answered, "and you may remember me, though I
was but a tiny lad when you were the American consul there and visited
my father about ten years ago. My father was Rabbi Reuben Faitusi," he
added, not a little disappointed as the loved name failed to awaken
any memories in the eyes of the man before him.

"I met so many rabbis while I was in the East," apologized Mr. Noah,
"that the name means nothing to me for a moment. But if I were to meet
your father again I am sure I should know him at once," he ended
politely.

"My father died six months ago," answered the boy, "my mother when she
was born," and he nodded toward Peninah, who sat clutching his sleeve
in her pretty bashfulness. "Before he died he told me how you visited
our house and spoke long and bitterly of the persecution of our
brethren which you had encountered through Europe and Africa on your
travels. My father knew of what you spoke only too well, for the lot
of our people has often been a harsh one in Tunis. And we have
suffered for a long time." He drew himself up proudly. "My father's
house are of the Tunsi, who some believe have been in the land for
centuries--even before the First Temple was destroyed. And he told me
what it meant for him to listen to the words