dy was busy preparing for the day's business.

In Ezofowich's house the inmates had risen earlier than usual to-day.
The part of the home occupied by Raphael and Ber with their families
resounded with gay and lively conversation. Various objects of trade,
with their corresponding money value, were mentioned. Sometimes the
calculations were interrupted by remarks in feminine voices, which
occasioned laughter or gay exclamations. Everything showed the peace
and contentment of people who strove after the well-being of their
families and lived in mutual confidence and harmony.

The large sitting-room smelt of pine branches, which were scattered
upon the even more than usually clean floor. On the old-fashioned,
high-backed sofa, before a table spread with fine linen, sat old Saul
and sipped his fragrant tea. The huge samovar had been taken down
from the cupboard and gleamed with red coals and hissed and steamed
in the next room, where a large kitchen fire illuminated the long
table and white, scrubbed benches. The steaming of the samovar, the
great kitchen fire and fresh curtains everywhere, together with the
unusual stir of all the inmates, showed distinctly that many visitors
were expected and preparations made accordingly.

But it was yet early in the day, and Saul sat alone, evidently
relishing the atmosphere of well-being and orderliness and the sounds
of the busy life filling the house from top to basement. It was one
of those moments, not by any means rare in Saul's life, when he
realised the many blessings which the Lord had bestowed upon his
house with which to gladden his old age.

Suddenly the door opened and Meir entered. The happy expression
vanished from Saul's wrinkled face. The sight of his grandson
reminded him of the thorn which lurked amidst the flowers. The very
look of the young man acted as a false or stormy discord in a gay and
peaceful melody. Trouble was depicted on his pale face, and his eyes
looked indignant and angry. He entered boldly and quickly, but
meeting the eyes of his grandfather, he bent his head and his step
became slower. Formerly he was wont to approach his father and
benefactor with the confidence and tenderness of a favourite child.
Now he felt that between him and the old man there arose a barrier,
which became higher and stronger every day, and his heart yearned for
the lost love and for a kind look from the old man, who now met his
eyes with a stern and angry face. He approach