and a beautiful
Passover plate--a plate I knew well. It was surrounded by a design of
big green fig leaves.

"Perhaps you would like something to eat, Shemak? It is a long time to
wait until the '_Seder_.'"

That is what my mother said to me, and with so much affection, so much
loyalty and so much passionate devotion. And Busie got up, and with
silent footfalls, brought me a knife and fork--the well-known Passover
knife and fork. Everything was familiar to me. Nothing was changed, nor
different by a hair. It was the same plate with the big green fig
leaves; the same knife and fork with the white bone handles. The same
delicious odour of melted goose-fat came in to me from the kitchen; and
the fresh Passover cake had the same Garden-of-Eden taste. Nothing was
changed by a hair. Nothing was different in the least detail.

Only, in the olden times, we ate together on the Passover eve, Busie and
I, off the same plate. I remember that we ate off the same beautiful
Passover plate that was surrounded by a design of big green fig leaves.
And, at that time, my mother gave us nuts. I remember how she filled our
pockets with nuts. And, at that time, we took hold of one another's
hands, Busie and I. And I remember that we let ourselves go, in the
open. We flew like eagles. I ran; she ran after me. I leaped over the
logs of wood; she leaped after me. I was up; she was up. I was down; she
was down.

"Shemak! How long are we going to run, Shemak?"

So said Busie to me. And I answered her in the words of the "Song of
Songs": "Until the day break, and the shadows flee away."

* * *

This was once on a time, years ago. Now Busie is grown up. She is big.
And I also am grown up. I also am big. Busie is betrothed. She is
betrothed to some one--to some one else, and not to me.... And I want to
be alone with Busie. I want to speak a few words with her. I want to
hear her voice. I want to say to her, in the words of the "Song of
Songs": "Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice."

And I imagine that her eyes are answering my unspoken words, also in the
words of the "Song of Songs." "Come, my beloved, let us go forth into
the fields; let us lodge in the villages.

"Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish,
whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there
will I give thee my loves."

I snatched a glimpse through the window to see what was going on out of
doors. Ah, how love