ack again; up and down,
there and back, many times over. The situation became steadily clearer
to him; he wanted to justify himself, if only with a word, in his
father's eyes; then, again, he felt he must make an end, free himself
once and for all from the paternal restraint, and become a Jewish
author. Only he felt sorry for his father; he would have liked to do
something to comfort him. Only what? Kiss him? Put his arms round his
neck? Have his cry out before him and say, "Tatishe, you and I, we are
neither of us to blame!" Only how to say it so that the old man shall
understand? That is the question.

And the Rav sat in his room, bent over a book in which he would fain
have lost himself. He rubbed his brow with both hands, but a stone lay
on his heart, a heavy stone; there were tears in his eyes, and he was
all but crying. He needed some living soul before whom he could pour out
the bitterness of his heart, and he had already turned to the Rebbetzin:

"Zelde!" he called quietly.

"A-h," sighed the Rebbetzin from her bed. "I feel bad; my foot aches,
Lord of the World! What is it?"

"Nothing, Zelde. How are you getting on, eh?" He got no further with
her; he even mentally repented having so nearly added to her burden of
life.

It was an hour or two before the Rav collected himself, and was able to
think over what had happened. And still he could not, would not, believe
that his son, Sholem, had broken the Sabbath, that he was worthy of
being stoned to death. He sought for some excuse for him, and found
none, and came at last to the conclusion that it was a work of Satan, a
special onset of the Tempter. And he kept on thinking of the Chassidic
legend of a Rabbi who was seen by a Chossid to smoke a pipe on Sabbath.
Only it was an illusion, a deception of the Evil One. But when, after he
had waited some time, no Sholem appeared, his heart began to beat more
steadily, the reality of the situation made itself felt, he got angry,
and hastily left the house in search of the Sabbath-breaker, intending
to make an example of him.

Hardly, however, had he perceived his son walking to and fro in front of
the house-of-study, with a look of absorption and worry, than he stopped
short. He was afraid to go up to his son. Just then Sholem turned, they
saw each other, and the Rav had willy-nilly to approach him.

"Will you come for a little walk?" asked the Rav gently, with downcast
eyes. Sholem made no reply, and followed him.