e is now called a fine name. His
name is now Berrel the thief. Shout it out, children. Berrel the thief!
Berrel the thief!"

The teacher drew out the words, and put a little tune into them. The
pupils repeated them after him, like a chorus.

"Berrel the thief--Berrel the thief!"

I was petrified. A cold wave passed over my body. I did not know what it
all meant.

"Why are you silent, you heathen, you?" cried the teacher, and gave me
an unexpected smack in the face. "Why are you silent, you heathen? Don't
you hear the others singing? Join in with them, and help them. Berrel
the thief--Berrel the thief!"

My limbs trembled. My teeth rattled. But, I helped the others to shout
aloud "Berrel the thief! Berrel the thief!"

"Louder, heathen," prompted the teacher. "In a stronger
voice--stronger."

And I, along with the rest of the choir, sang out in a variety of
voices, "Berrel the thief--Berrel the thief!"

"Sh--sh--sh--a--a--ah!" cried the teacher, banging the table with his
open hand. "Hush! Now we will betake ourselves to pronouncing
judgment." He spoke in a sing-song voice.

"Ah, well, Berrel thief, come over here, my child. Quicker, a little
quicker. Tell me, my boy, what your name is." This also was said in a
sing-song.

"Berrel."

"What else?"

"Berrel--Berrel the thief."

"That's right, my dear child. Now you are a good boy. May your strength
increase, and may you grow stronger in every limb!" (Still in the same
sing-song.) "Take off your clothes. That's right. But can't you do it
quicker? I beg of you, be quick about it. That's right, little Berrel,
my child."

Berrel stood before us as naked as when he was born. Not a drop of blood
showed in his body. He did not move a limb. His eyes were lowered. He
was as dead as a corpse.

The teacher called out one of the older scholars, still speaking in the
same sing-song voice:

"Well, now, Hirschalle, come out from behind the table, over here to me.
Quicker. Just so. And now tell us the story from beginning to end--how
our Berrel became a thief. Listen, boys, pay attention."

And Hirschalle began to tell the story. Berrel had got the little
collecting box of "Reb" Mayer the "Wonder-worker," into which his mother
threw a "_kopek_," sometimes two, every Friday, before lighting the
Sabbath candles. Berrel had fixed his eyes on that box, on which there
hung a little lock. By means of a straw gummed at the end, he had
managed to extract the "_kopeks_" fro