e to me. It did not make me go a
single step from the musicians. I loved them all, from Sheika the little
fiddler with his beautiful black beard and his thin white hands, to
Getza the drummer with his beautiful hump, and, if you will forgive me
for mentioning it, the big bald patches behind his ears. Not once, but
many times did I lie hidden under a bench, listening to the musicians
playing, though I was frequently found and sent home. And from there,
from under the bench, I could see how Sheika's thin little fingers
danced about over the strings; and I listened to the sweet sounds which
he drew so cleverly out of the little fiddle.

Afterwards I used to go about in a state of great inward excitement for
many days on end. And Sheika and his little fiddle stood before my eyes
always. At night I saw him in my dreams; and in the daytime I saw him in
reality; and he never left my imagination. When no one was looking I
used to imagine that I was Sheika, the little fiddler. I used to curve
my left arm and move my fingers, and draw out my right hand, as if I
were drawing the bow across the strings. At the same time I threw my
head to one side, closing my eyes a little--just as Sheika did, not a
hair different.

My "_Rebbe_," Nota-Leib, once caught me doing this. It happened in the
middle of a lesson. I was moving my arms about, throwing my head to one
side, and blinking my eyes, and he gave me a sound box on the ears.

"What a scamp can do! We are teaching him his lessons, and he makes
faces and catches flies!"

* * *

I promised myself that, even if the world turned upside down, I must
have a little fiddle, let it cost me what it would. But what was I to
make a fiddle out of? Of cedar wood, of course. But it's easy to talk of
cedar wood. How was I to come by it when, as everybody knows, the cedar
tree grows only in Palestine? But what does the Lord do for me? He goes
and puts a certain thought in my head. In our house there was an old
sofa. This sofa was left us, as a legacy, by our grandfather "_Reb_"
Anshel. And my two uncles fought over this sofa with my father--peace be
unto him! My uncle Benny argued that since he was my grandfather's
oldest son, the sofa belonged to him; and my uncle Sender argued that he
was the youngest son, and that the sofa belonged to him. And my
father--peace be unto him!--argued that although he was no more than a
son-in-law to my grandfather, and had no personal claim on the sofa,
still, s