ther of so many hours upon my child who can not
sleep till I do, in order that all of us may be unhappy?

* * * * *

The clang and the door open. The mother of the boy.

"Oh, here you are! Excuse me, friends. I was worrying over
Herbert.--Well, how goes it?"

She smiled and stepped into the room: saw them all.

"All well, Mrs. Rabinowich," said Meyer. "We are so glad when your
Herbert comes to play with Florchen."

Mrs. Rabinowich turns the love of her face upon the children who do not
attend her. A grey long face, bitterly pock-marked, in a glow of love.

"Look what your Herbert brought her," Meyer sews and smiles. "A toy. He
shouldn't, now. Such a thing costs money."

Mrs. Rabinowich puts an anxious finger to her lips.

"Don't," she whispers. "If he wants to, he should. It is lovely that he
wants to. There's money enough for such lovely wants.--Well, darling.
Won't you come home to bed?"

Herbert does not attend.

His mother sighed--a sigh of great appeasement and of content.--This is
my son! She turned to where Esther sat with brooding eyes. Her face was
serious now, grey ever, warm with a grey sorrow. Her lips moved: they
knew not what to say.

"How are you, Esther?"

"Oh, I am well, Mrs. Rabinowich. Thank you." A voice resonant and deep,
a voice mellowed by long keeping in the breast of a woman.

"Why don't you come round, some time, Esther? You know, I should always
be so glad to see you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Rabinowich."

"You know--we're just next door," the older woman smiled. "You got time,
I think. More time than I."

"Oh, she got time all right!" The sharp words flash from the soft mouth
of Meyer, who sews and seems in no way one with the sharp words of his
mouth. Esther does not look. She takes the words as if like stones they
had fallen in her lap. She smiles away. She is still. And Lotte
Rabinowich is still, looking at her with a deep wonder, shaking her
head, unappeased in her search.

She turns at last to her boy: relieved.

"Come Herbert, now. Now we really got to go."

She takes his hand that he lets limply rise. She pulls him gently.

"Good night, dear ones.--Do come, some time, Esther--yes?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Rabinowich."

Meyer says: "Let the boy come when he wants. We love to have him."

His mother smiles.--Of course: who would not love to have him? Good
heart, fine boy, dear child. "It's long past bedtime. Naughty!" She
kisses him.

He