rt of a prayer-book it is that Pethachiah has."

I knew beforehand that on the anniversary of the death of my father, I
could get from my mother anything I asked for, even to the little plate
from heaven, as the saying is. And my heart beat with joy.

When we got to the synagogue, we found Pethachiah with his pack still
unopened. You must know Pethachiah was a man who never hurried. He knew
very well he was the only man at the fair. His customers would never
leave him. Before he opened his pack and spread out his goods, it took a
year. I trembled, I shook. I could hardly stand on my feet. And he did
not care. It was as if we were not talking to him at all.

"Let me see what sort of a prayer-book it is you have," said my mother.

Pethachiah had plenty of time. The river was not on fire. Slowly,
without haste, he opened his pack, and spread out his wares--big Bibles,
little prayer-books for men, and for women, big Psalm books and little,
and books for all possible occasions, without an end. Then there were
books of tales from the "_Talmud_," tales of the "_Bal-shem-tov_," books
of sermons, and books of devotion. I imagined he would never run short.
He was a well, a fountain. At last he came to the little books, and
handed out the one I wanted.

"Is this all?" asked my mother. "Such a little one."

"This little one is dearer than a big one," answered Pethachiah.

"And how much do you want for the little squirrel?--God forgive me for
calling it by that name."

"You call a prayer-book a squirrel?" asked Pethachiah. He took the book
slowly out of her hand; and my heart was torn.

"Well, say. How much is it?" asked my mother. But Pethachiah had plenty
of time. He answered her in a sing-song:

"How much is the little prayer-book? It will cost you--it will cost
you--I am afraid it is not for your purse."

My mother cursed her enemies, that they might have black, hideous
dreams, and asked him to say how much.

Pethachiah stated the price. My mother did not answer him. She turned
towards the door, took my hand, and said to me:

"Come, let us go. We have nothing to do here. Don't you know that
'_Reb_' Pethachiah is a man who charges famine prices?"

I followed my mother to the door. And though my heart was heavy, I still
hoped the Lord would pity us, and Pethachiah would call us back. But
Pethachiah was not that sort of a man. He knew we should turn back of
our own accord. And so it was. My mother turned round, and a