ear.

"Morejne, you are good and generous and the grandson of a very rich
man, and I am a poor and stupid hajet, but you are as honey in my
mouth, and I must open my heart to you. You are wrong in quarrelling
with our great Rabbi and with the members of the kahal. Our Rabbi is
a great Rabbi and there is no other like him in the whole world. God
revealed to him great things. He alone understands the Kabala Mashjat
(the highest part of the Kabala, teaching how, by a combination of
letters and words, miracles are performed and the mysteries
penetrated). All the birds fly after him when he calls them. He knows
how to cure all human diseases and all human hearts open to him.
Every breath of his mouth is holy, and when he prays then his soul
kisses God himself. And you, Morejne, you have turned away your heart
from him."

Thus gravely spoke poor Schmul, raising in solemn gesture his black,
needle-pricked index finger.

"And the members of the kahal," continued he, "they are very pious
men and very rich. One should respect them and listen to them also,
and even close one's eyes if they do something wrong. They could
accuse one before God and the people. God will be angry if he hears
their complaint, and will punish you, and the people will say that
you are very bold, and will turn away their faces from you."

It would be difficult to guess the impression made on Meir by
Schmul's humble and at the same time grave, warning. He continually
kept his hand on little Lejbele's head, and looked into the beautiful
fine-featured face of the pale, sick, idiotic and trembling child,
where he saw the personification of that portion of Israel, which,
devoured by misery and disease, nevertheless believed blindly and
worshipped humbly, timidly, and everlastingly.

Then he gave Schmul a slow and friendly nod, and went away. Schmul
followed him several steps.

"Morejne," he moaned, "don't be angry with me for having opened my
heart to you. Be wise. May the learned and rich not complain of you
to God, for the man who is under the ground is better off than he on
whom they shall turn their angry hands."

Then he returned to his hut, and did not notice that Lejbele was not
standing at the wall of the house. When Meir departed, the pale child
followed him. With hands still muffled in the sleeves of his ragged
gown, and with wide opened mouth, the child of Schmul the tailor
followed the tall, beautiful man. At the end of the street only, as