ith a curious little
laugh which sounded like the rattling of dried peas. I could not bear to
look at him, I don't know why. Every Sabbath afternoon, when I was going
to Tchitchick's, I used to meet Ephraim on the bridge, walking along, in
a black, patched cloak, the sleeves of which hung loosely over his
shoulders. His hands were folded in front of him, and he was singing in
his thin little voice. And the ends of his long cloak kept dangling at
his heels.

"A good Sabbath," I said to him.

"A good Sabbath," he replied. "And where is a boy going?"

"Just for a walk," I said.

"For a walk? All alone?" he asked. And he looked straight into my eyes
with such a little smile that it was hard to guess what he meant by
it--whether he thought that it was very brave of me to be walking all
alone or not. Was it, in his opinion, a wise thing to do, or a foolish?

* * *

On one occasion, when I was going to Tchitchick's house, I noticed that
Ephraim Log-of-wood was looking at me very curiously. I stopped on the
bridge and gazed into the water. Ephraim also stopped on the bridge, and
he also gazed into the water. I started to go back. He followed me. I
turned round again, to go forward, and he also turned round in the same
direction. A few minutes later, he was lost to me. When I was sitting at
Tchitchick's table, drinking tea, we heard the black dog barking loudly
at some one, and tearing at his rope. We looked out of the window, and I
imagined I saw a low-sized, black figure with short little legs,
running, running. Then it disappeared from view. From his manner of
running, I could have sworn the little creature was Ephraim Log-of-wood.

And thus it came to pass--

I came home late that Sabbath evening. It was already after the
"_Havdalah_." My face was burning. And I found Ephraim Log-of-wood
sitting at the table. He was talking very rapidly, and was laughing with
his curious little laugh. When he saw me, he was silent. He started
drumming on the table with his short little fingers. Opposite him sat my
father. His face was death-like. He was pulling at his beard, tearing
out the hairs one by one. This was a sure sign that he was in a temper.

"Where have you come from?" my father asked of me and looked at
Ephraim.

"Where am I to come from?" said I.

"How do I know where you are to come from?" said he. "You tell me where
you have come from. You know better than I."

"From the House of Learning," said I.

"And whe