and that was already--Something!

THE JEWISH GIRL

By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

There was in the charity-school among the other children a little Jewish
girl, so clever and good; the best, in fact, of them all; but one of the
lessons she could not attend--the one when religion was taught, for this
was a Christian school.

Then she held her geography book before her to learn from it, or she did
her sum; but the lesson was quickly learned, the sum was soon done; the
book might be there open before her, but she did not read, she was
listening; and the teacher soon noticed that she was attending more
intently, even, than any of the rest.

"Read your book," the teacher urged, mildly and earnestly; but she
looked at him with her black sparkling eyes, and when he put questions
to her also, she knew more than all the others. She had listened,
understood, and kept his words.

Her father was a poor honest man, and when first he brought her to the
school, he had made the stipulation that she should not be taught the
Christian faith. To let her go away during the Scripture lesson might,
however, have given offence, and raised thoughts of various kinds in the
minds of the other children, and so she stayed; but this could not go on
any longer.

The teacher went to her father, and told him that either he must take
his daughter away from the school, or consent to her becoming a
Christian.

"I cannot bear to see those burning eyes, that yearning, that thirst of
the soul, as it were, after the words of the gospel," said the teacher.

And the father burst into tears. "I know but little myself of our own
religion, but her mother was a daughter of Israel, of strong and firm
faith, and on her dying bed I made a vow that our child should never
receive Christian baptism; that vow I must keep; it is to me as a
convenant with God."

And the little Jewish girl was taken away from the school of the
Christians.

Years rolled by.

In one of the smallest towns of Jutland served as maid in a plain
burgher's house a poor girl of the Mosaic faith; this was Sarah. Her
hair was black as ebony, her eyes dark, and yet brilliant and full of
light, such as you see among the daughters of the East; and the
expression in the countenance of the grown-up girl was still that of the
child who sat on the school-room bench, listening with thoughtful and
wistful eye.

Each Sunday sounded from the church the pealing of the organ to the song
of