Meir, who could no longer
keep his eyes from the girl's face.

"I would like to get as many as I could of those branches growing
over there," answered the girl.

"What for?"

"I would carry them home. Zeide makes baskets of them, then he sells
them in the market and buys bread, and sometimes fish. For a long
time zeide has had no willow to make baskets, and he grieves."

"Why don't you take them if you need them?"

I am not permitted.

"Why not? Everyone from the town may cut the branches. This meadow
and that grove belong to the whole community of Szybow."

"It doesn't matter; I am not permitted. We don't believe in the
Talmud; we don't light candles on the Sabbath--nothing is allowed
us."

Meir rose suddenly.

"Come," said he to Golda, "I will be with you, and you may cut as
many branches as you like. Don't be afraid of anything."

Golda's face shown with joy. She took from Meir's hand a jack-knife
and rushed toward the pond. Now, when she felt safe under the
protection of a strong arm, when there was hope of giving pleasure to
the old grandfathers she lost the gravity which gave her the
appearance of a matured woman. She ran along, looking from time to
time at Meir who followed her, calling her she-goat, who turned
toward her from the opposite side of the meadow. They stopped on the
shore. The most flexible willow grass grew in the water, a few steps
from the bank. In the twinkling of an eye Golda threw off her low
shoes, and rolling up her dress she entered the water. Meir remained
on the shore and watched the girl, as raising her arms, she began to
swiftly cut the pliable branches. In the mean time she laughed, and
her parted lips disclosed rows of teeth as white and beautiful as
pearls. The glare of the last dazzling rays bathed her swarthy face
with a pinkish light, and gilded the black crown of hair twined above
her brow.

Meir did not lose sight of her, and smiled also. Suddenly Golda set
up a cry.

"What is the matter?" asked Meir.

From the green thicket, in which the girl's figure was hidden, a
joyful voice resounded.

"Meir, what beautiful flowers are here!"

"What flowers?"

The tall figure thrust aside the green bushes, bent toward the shore,
and stretching out her arm handed the young man a broad-leaved yellow
pond lily. Meir bent over a little in order to reach the flower, but
all at once Golda's arm trembled, her pink, face grew pale, and her
eyes dilated with dread.

"The bl