"Morejne."

Lejbele stood before him, his mournful eyes raised to his, and
stretched out a roll of paper. It seemed as if the sight of the
papers reminded Meir of something, roused him from sleep, and told
him to do something that was sacred and important. He passed both
hands over his forehead, and then took the Senior's legacy from the
child's hands, and at the touch of it he raised his head, and his
eyes seemed to regain their old power and courage. He looked at the
town waking up from sleep, and murmured something in a low
voice--something about Israel, its greatness in the past, and its
great sins, and that he would never desert it, and not give back
curses for curses; that he would carry the covenant of peace to other
nations, drink at the source of wisdom, and come back sometime-sometime,
he repeated, thinking of the far future; and with a last look embracing the
poor little hut, as if in farewell to his short and pure dream of love,
he slowly ascended the hill.

The child, standing motionless near the door, looked after the
retreating figure of the young man. His wide open eyes became
suffused with tears. When Meir was about half-way up the hill, one
convulsive sob burst from the child, and he began to run. At first he
moved very fast, but finding they were about a dozen steps apart, he
slackened his speed, and tucking his hands under his sleeves, walked
slowly and gravely after him.

Thus walking, one after the other, the excommunicated youth and the
child of the poor man, they disappeared beyond the hill, where they
beheld a broad, sandy road leading into the wide, unknown world.

Has the humiliated, excommunicated, and despised youth reached the
aim after which he strove so ardently? Has he found in the world
people ready to open their hearts and doors, and help him on the road
to learning?

Has he, or will he come back, and bring with him forgiveness, and
that light, by the power of which the soil on which now grows nought
but thorns--will it produce cedars of Lebanon? I do not know.

The story is too recent to have its end yet--for stories like this
have no end. But as it is similar to many of the same kind of
stories, reader! of whatever race, or country, or religion, if you
meet this obscure apostle on your way, give him cordially and quickly
your brotherly hand in friendship and help.

THE END.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of An Obscure Apostle, by Eliza Orzeszko

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