a tall, heavy man came into the light, and
approached the two. Johel was powerfully built, but he looked broken
down and troubled. His jacket, without sleeves, was dirty and ragged,
his bare feet cut and bruised, the fiery red hair matted, and the
mouth swollen. There was something defiant in his looks, and yet he
seemed as if he could not look anybody straight in the face. He went
near the table to take a pinch of onion to season the bread he was
holding in his hand.

"Meir," he said, "you are an old acquaintance. I drove your uncle
Raphael when he went to fetch you, a poor little orphan, and I drove
you and him to Szybow."

"I have seen you since," said Meir. "You were a decent carrier then,
and had four horses."

The inmate of the poorhouse smiled.

"It is true," he said; "bad luck pursued me. I wanted to make a great
geschaft (business), but it did not turn out as I thought it would,
and then another misfortune befell me."

"The second misfortune, Johel, was a crime. Why did you take the
horses out of the gentleman's stables?"

The questioned man laughed cynically.

"Why did I take them out? I wanted to sell them, and make a lot of
money."

Shmul shook his head pityingly.

"Ah! ah!" he sighed. "Johel is a poor man--a very poor man. He has
been in prison three years, and now cannot find work, but is obliged
to seek shelter in the poorhouse."

Johel sighed deeply, but soon raised his head almost defiantly.

"That cannot be helped," he said. "Perhaps I shall soon see my way to
make a big profit."

The words of the vagrant recalled to Meir's mind the short interview
he had witnessed at the window of the poorhouse between Johel and
Jankiel Kamionker. At the same time, he was struck by the expression
of the tailor's face, which twitched all over as if under the
influence of great excitement. His eyes sparkled and his hands
trembled.

"Who knows," he exclaimed, "what may happen in the future? Those that
are poor one day may become rich the next. Who knows? The poor tailor
Shmul may yet build a house on the Market Square, and set up in
business for himself."

Meir smiled sadly. The groundless hopes of these poor outcasts
stirred his compassion. He looked absently around, and through the
windows at the fields beyond.

"You, Shmul," he said, "will certainly not build big houses; nor you,
Johel, make heavy profits. Is it to be thought of? You are too many,
and there is not enough for you all. I sometimes