ne at the musician's
house that day.

After they had eaten everything, Naphtali winked to the children that
they should take their instruments in their hands. And he treated me,
all over again to a piece--"his own composition." This "composition" was
played with so much excitement and force that my ears were deafened and
my brain was stupefied. I left the house intoxicated by Naphtali
"_Bezborodka's_" "composition." The whole day at school, the teacher and
the boys and the books were whirling round and round in front of my
eyes. And my ears were ringing with the echoes of Naphtali's
"composition." At night I dreamt that I saw Paganini riding on the
Ashmodai, and that he banged me over the head with his fiddle. I awoke
with a scream, and a headache, and I began to pour out words as from a
sack. What I said I do not know. But my older sister, Pessel, told me
afterwards that I talked in heat, and that there was no connection
between any two words I uttered. I repeated some fantastic
names--"Composition." "Paganini," etc.... And there was another thing my
sister told me. During the time I was lying delirious, several messages
were sent from Naphtali the Musician to know how I was. There came some
barefoot boy who made many inquiries about me. He was driven off, and
was told never to dare to come near the house again....

"What was the musician's boy doing here?" asked my sister. And she
tormented me with questions. She wanted me to tell her. But I kept
repeating the same words:

"I do not know. As I live, I do not know. How am I to know?"

"What does it look like?" asked my mother. "You are already a young man,
a grown-up man--may no evil eye harm you! They will be soon looking for
a bride for you, and you go about with fine friends, barefoot young
musicians. What business have you with musicians? What was Naphtali the
Musician's boy doing here?"

"What Naphtali?" I asked, pretending not to understand. "What musician?"

"Just look at him--the saint!" put in my father. "He knows nothing about
anything. Poor thing! His soul is innocent before the Lord! When I was
your age I was already long betrothed. And he is still playing with
strange boys. Dress yourself, and go off to school. And if you meet
Hershel the Tax-collector, and he asks you what was the matter with you,
you are to tell him that you had the ague. Do you hear what I am saying
to you? The ague!"

I could not for the life of me understand what business Hers