t of his body his thin bones would crack and break into
pieces.

He worked hard until the shirt grew wet with sweat about his
shoulders. After each especially daring feat he looked into the
children's faces with an artificial, weary smile, and it was
unpleasant to see his dull eyes, grown large with pain. Their strange
and unsteady glance was not like that of a child.

The lads encouraged him with loud outcries. Many imitated him, rolling
in the dust and shouting for joy, pain and envy. But the joyous
minutes were soon over when the boy, bringing his exhibition to an
end, looked upon the children with the benevolent smile of a
thoroughbred artist and stretching forth his hand said:

"Now give me something."

We all became silent, until one of the children said:

"Money?"

"Yes," said the lad.

"Look at him," said the children.

"For money, we could do those tricks ourselves."

The audience became hostile toward the artist, and betook itself to
the field, ridiculing and insulting him. Of course, none of them had
any money. I myself, had only seven kopecks about me. I put two coins
in the boy's dusty palm. He moved them with his finger and with a
kindly smile said: "Thank you."

He went away, and I noticed that his shirt around his back was all in
black blotches and was clinging close to his shoulder-blades.

"Hold on, what is it?"

He stopped, turned about, scrutinised me and said distinctly, with the
same kindly smile:

"You mean the blotches on my back? That's from falling off the
trapeze. It happened on Easter. My father is still lying in bed, but I
am quite well now."

I lifted his shirt. On his back, running down from his left shoulder
to the side, was a wide dark scratch which had now become dried up
into a thick crust. While he was exhibiting his tricks the wound broke
open in several spots and red blood was now trickling from the
openings.

"It doesn't hurt any more," said he with a smile. "It doesn't hurt, it
only itches."

And bravely, as it becomes a hero, he looked in my eyes and went on,
speaking like a serious grown-up person:

"You think--I have been doing this for myself? Upon my word--I have
not. My father ... there is not a crust of bread in the house, and my
father is lying badly hurt. So you see, I have to work hard. And to
make matters worse, we are Jews, and everybody laughs at us.
Good-bye."

He spoke with a smile, cheerfully and courageously. With a nod of his
curly head