, and play with my knife.

The house is asleep. It is silent around and about. Cautiously I get up;
I am on all fours, like a cat; and I steal out into the yard. The night
is silent. The air is fresh and pure. Slowly I creep over to the spot
where the little knife lies buried. I take it out carefully, and look at
it by the light of the moon. It shines and glitters, like guinea-gold,
like a diamond. I lift up my eyes, and I see that the moon is looking
straight down on my knife. Why is she looking at it so? I turn round.
She looks after me. Maybe she knows whose knife it is, and where I got
it? Got it? Stole it!

For the first time since the knife came into my hands has this terrible
word entered my thoughts. Stolen? Then I am, in short, a thief, a
common thief? In the Holy Law, in the Ten Commandments, are written, in
big letters: "THOU SHALT NOT STEAL."

Thou shalt not steal. And I have stolen. What will they do to me in hell
for that? Woe is me! They will cut off my hand--the hand that stole.
They will whip me with iron rods. They will roast and burn me in a hot
oven. I will glow for ever and ever. The knife must be given back. The
knife must be put back in its place. One must not hold a stolen knife.
Tomorrow I will put it back.

That was what I decided. And I put the knife into my bosom. I imagined
it was burning, scorching me. No, it must be hidden again, buried in the
earth till tomorrow. The moon still looked down on me. What was she
looking at? The moon saw. She was a witness.

I crept back to the house, to my sleeping-place. I lay down again, but
could not sleep. I tossed about from side to side, but could not fall
asleep. It was already day when I dozed off. I dreamt of a moon, I
dreamt of iron rods, and I dreamt of little knives. I got up very early,
said my prayers with pleasure, with delight, ate my breakfast while
standing on one foot, and marched off to "_Cheder_."

"Why are you in such a hurry for '_Cheder_'?" cried my father to me.
"What is driving you? You will not lose your knowledge if you go a
little later. You will have time enough for mischief. You scamp! You
epicurean! You heathen! Tkeh-heh-heh-heh!"

* * *

"Why so late? Just look at this." The teacher stopped me, and pointed
with his finger at my comrade, Berrel the red one, who was standing in
the corner with his head down.

"Do you see, bandit? You must know that from this day his name is not
Berrel the red one, as he was called. H