a
being afraid to go further, the poor boy said, in a hoarse, guttural
voice:

"Morejne!"

Meir looked back. A friendly smile brightened his face when he saw
the boy. The dark, dull eyes of the child were raised to his face,
and from the gray sleeve a small, thin hand was stretched toward him.

"Hala," said Lejbele.

Meir looked around for a huckster's stand. Along the street stood
several miserable barrows, by which the women, their thin bodies
scantily clad in rags, were selling loaves of bread, hard as stone,
and some heads of onion, as well as a black, unappetising preparation
made of honey and poppy-seed.

From Meir's white hand to the dark, thin hand of the child again
passed a big hala. Lejbele raised it to his mouth with both hands,
and, turning, he walked slowly and gravely down the middle of the
street toward his home.

After a while Meir reached the square of the town. It seemed to him
that he came back to the light of day from a dark cavern. The
sunlight flooded everything around, dried the mud, and kindled golden
sparks in the windows of the houses. In the yard of the pious. Reb
Jankiel, some large, new structure was being erected. The red-haired
owner inspected the workmen personally, evidently satisfied with the
increase of his wealth. The noise of axes and the gnashing of the
saws filled the air, and in front of the low inn stood a couple of
carriages belonging to passing guests. Further along the street stood
Morejne Calman in the piazza of his house, shining in his satin
halat. With one hand he held to his smiling mouth a cigar, and with
the other he caressed the golden hair of a two-year-old child, who
sat on a bench holding a loaf of bread abundantly spread with honey,
which he had smeared all over his plump face, casting the while
admiring glances at his magnificent father.

In the court-yard of the Ezofowich mansion there was plenty of noise,
sunlight, and gaiety. In the centre two broad-shouldered workmen were
sawing wood for the winter, and in the soft sawdust several
cleanly-dressed children were playing. At the well a buxom and merry
servant girl was drawing water, joking with the workmen, and through
the open windows of the house could be seen Raphael's and Abraham's
grave heads--they were talking over business affairs with great
animation--and Sarah, standing by the fireplace, and pretty Lija, who
stood before a mirror smoothing her luxuriant tresses.

When Meir entered the gate,