ck at heart, and his mouth was dry.

"But, Tate, I won't be able to answer," he let out in despair.

"What, not Amen? Eh, eh, you little silly, that is no great matter.
Where is the difficulty? One just ups and answers!" said his father,
gently, but Feivke heard that the while his father was trying to quiet
him, his own voice trembled.

At the other end of the bridge there appeared the great inn with the
covered terrace, and in front of the building were moving groups of Jews
in holiday garb, with red handkerchiefs in their hands, women in yellow
silk head-kerchiefs, and boys in new clothes holding small prayer-books.
Feivke remained obstinately outside the crowd, and hung about the
stable, his black eyes staring defiantly from beneath the worn-out
leather cap. But he was not left alone long, for soon there came to him
a smart, yellow-haired boy, with restless little light-colored eyes, and
a face like a chicken's, covered with freckles. This little boy took a
little bottle with some essence in it out of his pocket, gave it a twist
and a flourish in the air, and suddenly applied it to Feivke's nose, so
that the strong waters spurted into his nostril. Then he asked:

"To whom do you belong?"

Feivke blew the water out of his nose, and turned his head away in
silence.

"Listen, turkey, lazy dog! What are you doing there? Have you said
Minchah?"

"N-no...."

"Is the Jew in a torn cloak there your father?"

"Y-yes ... T-tate...."

The yellow-haired boy took Feivke by the sleeve.

"Come along, and you'll see what they'll do to your father."

Inside the room into which Feivke was dragged by his new friend, it was
hot, and there was a curious, unfamiliar sound. Feivke grew dizzy. He
saw Jews bowing and bending along the wall and beating their
breasts--now they said something, and now they wept in an odd way.
People coughed and spat sobbingly, and blew their noses with their red
handkerchiefs. Chairs and stiff benches creaked, while a continual
clatter of plates and spoons came through the wall.

In a corner, beside a heap of hay, Feivke saw his father where he stood,
looking all round him, blinking shamefacedly and innocently with his
weak, red eyes. Round him was a lively circle of little boys whispering
with one another in evident expectation.

"That is his boy, with the lip," said the chicken-face, presenting
Feivke.

At the same moment a young man came up to Mattes. He wore a white collar
without a tie