istence.

At last, one fine day, the cantor resolved to get at the truth: he could
bear it no longer.

It was evening, the wife had gone to the market for meat, and the choir
had gone home, only the eldest singer, Yoessel "bass," remained with the
cantor.

The cantor looked at him, opened his mouth and shut it again; it was
difficult for him to say what he wanted to say.

At last he broke out with:

"Yoessel!"

"What is it, cantor?"

"Tell me, are you an honest man?"

Yoessel "bass" stared at the cantor, and asked:

"What are you asking me to-day, cantor?"

"Brother Yoessel," the cantor said, all but weeping, "Brother Yoessel!"

That was all he could say.

"Cantor, what is wrong with you?"

"Brother Yoessel, be an honest man, and tell me the truth, the truth!"

"I don't understand! What is the matter with you, cantor?"

"Tell me the truth: Do you notice any change in me?"

"Yes, I do," answered the singer, looking at the cantor, and seeing how
pale and thin he was. "A very great change----"

"Now I see you are an honest man, you tell me the truth to my face. Do
you know when it began?"

"It will soon be a month," answered the singer.

"Yes, brother, a month, a month, but I felt--"

The cantor wiped off the perspiration that covered his forehead, and
continued:

"And you think, Yoessel, that it's lost now, for good and all?"

"That _what_ is lost?" asked Yoessel, beginning to be aware that the
conversation turned on something quite different from what was in his
own mind.

"What? How can you ask? Ah? What should I lose? Money? I have no
money--I mean--of course--my voice."

Then Yoessel understood everything--he was too much of a musician _not_
to understand. Looking compassionately at the cantor, he asked:

"For certain?"

"For certain?" exclaimed the cantor, trying to be cheerful. "Why must it
be for certain? Very likely it's all a mistake--let us hope it is!"

Yoessel looked at the cantor, and as a doctor behaves to his patient, so
did he:

"Take _do_!" he said, and the cantor, like an obedient pupil, drew out
_do_.

"Draw it out, draw it out! Four quavers--draw it out!" commanded Yoessel,
listening attentively.

The cantor drew it out.

"Now, if you please, _re_!"

The cantor sang out _re-re-re_.

The singer moved aside, appeared to be lost in thought, and then said,
sadly:

"Gone!"

"Forever?"

"Well, are you a little boy? Are you likely to get another voice? At
yo