sover cake he had hidden away to make
the special blessing over. And I? What had I done then? How much did we
laugh at that time! I remember that, once on a time, years ago, when the
"_Seder_" was ended, the Queen had taken off her royal garment of silk,
and the King had taken off his white robes, and we two, Busie and I, sat
together in a corner playing with the nuts which my mother had given us.
And there, in the corner, I told Busie a story--one of the fairy tales I
had learnt at school from my comrade Sheika, who knew everything in the
world. It was the story of the beautiful Queen's Daughter who had been
taken from under the wedding canopy, bewitched, and put into a palace of
crystal for seven years on end, and who was waiting for some one to
raise himself up into the air by pronouncing the Holy Name, flying above
the clouds, across hills, and over valleys, over rivers, and across
deserts, to release her, to set her free.

* * *

But all this happened once on a time, years ago. Now the Queen's
Daughter is grown up. She is big. And the King's Son is grown up. He is
big. And we two are seated in such a way, so pitilessly, that we cannot
even see one another. Imagine it to yourself! On the right of his
majesty sat the King's Son. On the left of her majesty sat the Queen's
Daughter!... And we recited the "_Haggadah_," my father and I, at the
top of our voices, as once on a time, years ago, page after page, and in
the same sing-song as of old. And my mother and Busie repeated the
words after us, softly, page after page, until we came to the "Song of
Songs." I recited the "Song of Songs" together with my father, as once
on a time, years ago, in the same melody as of old, passage after
passage. And my mother and Busie repeated the words after us, softly,
passage after passage, until the King of the night, tired out, after the
long Passover ceremony, and somewhat dulled by the four cups of raisin
wine, began to doze off by degrees. He nodded for a few minutes, woke
up, and went on singing the "Song of Songs." He began in a loud voice:

"Many waters cannot quench love."....

And I caught him up, in the same strain:

"Neither can floods drown it."

The recital grew softer and softer with us both, as the night wore on,
until at last his majesty fell asleep in real earnest. The Queen touched
him on the sleeve of his white robe. She woke him with a sweet,
affectionate gentleness, and told him he should go to bed. In the