ed before
Hyrkanos, because his entrails brought into the world such a son."

Saul listened attentively to the story, half gloomy and half joyful.
He cherished the traditions of his nation, and was delighted to
listen to them, especially when they were spoken by the mouth of his
much-loved grandson. He did not hesitate, however, in his answer. He
half closed his eyes and began:

"If in Jerusalem there was to-day teaching such a famous learned man
of Israel, I would send you to him at once, but the avenging hand of
the Lord is laid on Jerusalem--she is no longer ours. When the day of
the great Messiah shall come, she will again be ours. It is pleasant
and sweet for a son of Israel to die there, but there is no one there
to teach him. And I shall not send you into a foreign world to learn
strange sciences. They are useless to an Israelite. From Edomit you
have already learned as much as it is necessary for you to transact
business in the foreign world, and even for that the great Rabbi has
reproached me. And his reproaches are a shame and a sorrow, for,
although the Rabbi is a wise man, my soul suffers when he comes to my
house to scold me like the melamed scolds the little children in the
heder."

Speaking thus, the old man became morose, and looked gloomily on the
ground. Meir stood before him as though petrified, but in his eyes,
looking into space, there was reflected a bottomless precipice of sad
and rebellious sentiments.

"Zeide," he said finally, half in prayer and half abruptly, "then
permit me to be an artisan. I will live in the same street with the
poor. I will work with them and guard their souls from sin, And when
they ask me something I will always answer them 'Yes' or 'No' When
they lack bread I will divide with them all the bread I have in my
house!"

Again his face burned and the tears shone on his eyelids. But Saul
looked at him in the intensest amazement, and after a while he said:

"When you are two or three years older you will see how stupid you
are in telling me such things. There has been no artisan in the
Ezofowich family and, please God, there never shall be. We are
merchants, from father to son; we have enough money, and each
generation brings more. You shall be a merchant also, because every
Ezofowich must be one."

The last words he spoke in an imperative voice, but after a while he
continued a little more softly:

"I want to show you my favour. If you do not wish to marry Reb
Jan