think that if you
left these narrow, dirty streets, and looked about in the world, you
might find a better way of living; even if you worked like peasants
on the soil your life would be easier."

He said this in an absent way, not so much addressing the two men
before him as the noisy crowd without. But when Shmul heard these
words, he twice jumped into the air, and twisted his cap upon his
head.

"Morejne!" he cried out, "what ugly words come from your lips.
Morejne, do you wish to turn Israel upside down?"

"Shmul," said Meir angrily, "it is true. When I look at your misery,
and the misery of your families, I should like to turn things upside
down."

"Ai! ai!" cried the impressible and lively Shmul, holding his head
with both hands. "I would not believe what the people said of you,
and called them liars; but now I see myself that you are a bad
Israelite, and the covenant and customs of your forefathers are no
longer dear to you."

Meir started, and drew himself up.

"Who dares to say that I am a bad Israelite?" he exclaimed.

Shmul's excited face took a quieter but more solemn expression, and
he came close to Meir. Nobody would hear him, as the inmates of the
room had gone into the street, and Johel retired into his corner to
finish his meal. All the same, he spoke in an impressive whisper, as
if about to disclose a terrible secret.

"Morejne, it is no use asking who said it. People whisper, like the
leaves on a tree. Who is to say which special leaf has whispered, or
which mouth? Everybody speaks ill of you. They say you break the
Sabbath, read accursed books, sing abominable songs, and incite young
men to rebellion, that you do not pay due respect to the learned and
wealthy members of the community, and,"--here he seemed to hesitate,
and added in a still lower voice--"and that you live in friendship
with the Karaitish girl."

Meir listened like one turned to stone. He had grown very pale, and
his eyes were flashing.

"Who dames to say that?" he repeated in a choking voice.

"Morejne!" replied Shmul, waving both hands, "you were sent for a
week into the Bet-ha-Midrash to do penance. When the poor people in
this street heard of it, there was a great commotion. Some wanted to go
to your grandfather Saul and to the Rabbi to ask them not to put you to
shame. The woodcutter Judel wanted to go, the carrier Baruch--well, the
tailor Shmul, too. But soon afterwards people began to talk, and we heard
why you h