n he not know about it?" cried my father
angrily. "All the morning he hears me shouting--The knife! The knife!
The knife! The house is turned upside down for the knife, and he asks
'Where? What knife?' Go away. Go and wash yourself, you
good-for-nothing, you. You dunce, dunce! Tkeh-heh-heh!"

I thank Thee, Lord of the Universe, that they did not search me. But
what was I to do next? The knife had to be hidden somewhere, in a safe
place. Where was I to hide it? Ah! In the attic. I took the knife
quickly from my pocket, and stuck it into my top-boot. I ate, and I did
not know what I was eating. I was choking.

"Why are you in such a hurry? What the devil ...?" asked my father.

"I am hurrying off to school," I answered, and grew red as fire.

"A scholar, all of a sudden. What do you say to such a saint?" he
muttered, and glared at me. I barely managed to finish my breakfast, and
say grace.

"Well, why are you not off to '_Cheder_,' my saint?" asked my father.

"Why do you hunt him so?" asked my mother. "Let the child sit a minute."

I was in the attic. Deep, deep in a hole lay the beautiful knife. It lay
there in silence.

"What are you doing in the attic?" called out my father. "You
good-for-nothing! You street-boy! Tkeh-heh-heh-heh!"

"I am looking for something," I answered. I nearly fell down with
fright.

"Something? What is the something? What sort of a thing is that
something?"

"A--a bo--ok. An--an old '_Ge--gemar--ra_.'"

"What? A '_Gemarra_'? In the attic? Ah, you scamp you! Come down at
once. Come down. You'll get it from me. You street-boy! You dog-beater!
You rascal! Tkeh-heh-heh-heh!"

I was not so much afraid of my father's anger as that the pocket-knife
might be found. Who could tell? Perhaps some one would go up to the
attic to hang out clothes to dry, or to paint the rafters? The knife
must be taken down from there, and hidden in a better place. I went
about in fear and trembling. Every glance at my father told me that he
knew, and that now, now he was going to talk to me of the guest's knife.
I had a place for it--a grand place. I would bury it in the ground, in a
hole near the wall. I would put some straw on the spot to mark it. The
moment I came from "_Cheder_" I ran out into the yard. I took the knife
carefully from my pocket, but had no time to look at it, when my father
called out:

"Where are you at all? Why don't you go and say your prayers? You
swine-herd you! You are a water-c