id not succumb to temptations. He was a different sort of a
man. What sort of a man he was I do not know--asking his pardon. I only
know that my mother annoys me very much. She reminds me every minute
that I had a father; and throws it into my teeth that she has to pay my
school-fees for me. For this she asks only two things of me--that I
should learn diligently, and say my prayers willingly.

* * *

It could not be said that the widow's boy did not learn well. He was not
in any way behind his comrades. But I cannot guarantee that he said his
prayers willingly. All children are alike. And he was as mischievous as
any other boy. He, like the rest, was fond of running away and playing,
though there is not much to be said of the play of Jewish children. They
tie a paper bag to a cat's tail so that she may run through the house
like mad, smashing everything in her way. They lock the women's portion
of the synagogue from the outside on Friday nights, so that the women
may have to be rescued. They nail the teacher's shoes to the floor, or
seal his beard to the table with wax when he is asleep. But oh, how many
thrashings do they get when their tricks are found out! It may be
gathered that everything must have an originator, a commander, a head, a
leader who shows the way.

Our leader, our commander was Benny "_Polkovoi_." From him all things
originated; and on our heads were the consequences. Benny, of the fat
face and red, fishy eyes, always managed to escape scot free from the
scrapes. He was always innocent as a dove. Whatever tricks or mischief
we did, we always got the idea from Benny. Who taught us to smoke
cigarettes in secret, letting the smoke out through our nostrils? Benny.
Who told us to slide on the ice, in winter, with the peasant-boys?
Benny. Who taught us to gamble with buttons--to play "odd or even," and
lose our breakfasts and dinners? Benny. He was up to every trick, and
taught us them all. He won our last "_groschens_" from us. And when it
came to anything, Benny had disappeared. Playing was to us the finest
thing in the world. And for playing we got the severest thrashings from
our teacher. He said he would tear out of us the desire to play.

"Play in my house? You will play with the Angel of Death," said the
teacher. And he used to empty our pockets of everything, and thrash us
most liberally.

But there was one week of the year when we were allowed to play. Why do
I say allowed? It was a righteous