s familiar enough to the
pioneers, but the two guests could not help staring at the book that
lay at each plate, a worn _Sidur_ (prayer book), the ancient Hebrew
characters looking strangely foreign in the primitive forests of
America. Abram Mordecai saw the two men exchange glances and flushed a
little beneath his tan.

"A foolish thought of mine," he murmured. "When I left my father's
house in Pennsylvania I carried one of these in my pack, wrapped in
the _talith_ (praying shawl), he had brought with him from Germany.
And later I found the two others in the bundle of a Jewish peddlar
murdered by the Indians. The Indian agent at St. Mary's sent me to
ransom him and several other captives taken by the Creeks, but I came
too late. Somehow, I could not bear to throw them away or destroy
them. They have been with me in all my wanderings and more than once
when I thought it about time for the fall holy days have I read the
prayers and wished that I might have a few of my brethren with me to
observe them aright. And tonight--" for a moment the confident,
self-reliant adventurer seemed as embarrassed as a bashful child, "and
tonight I hoped that since there would be three of us at grace, we
might read the benedictions together--if you care to--and I would know
how it feels to be a Jew again."

Barrett laughed, his hearty school boy laugh, as he flung himself
unceremoniously into a chair beside the table. "It's many a day since
I've said or heard a _brocha_ (blessing)," he said, "but I'll go
through it without any book, thank you."

Lyon said nothing, as he took the place Mordecai assigned him at the
foot of the table, but there was a tender look about his grave mouth.
Perhaps he realized how difficult it had been for Mordecai to confess
his loneliness for the customs of his people; but, according to his
wont, he said nothing.

Smiling almost childishly, Mordecai passed a bowl of water to each of
his guests that they might wash their hands, which they did, murmuring
the blessing as they did so. Then, taking his place at the head of the
table, he poured water over his own hands, saying the Hebrew
benediction as he wiped them upon a faded red napkin which lay beside
his _Sidur_. Somehow, after his brief confession, he felt ashamed to
tell his guests that the napkin had belonged to his mother and had
rested beside the neglected _Sidur_ for so many years. Then, breaking
a bit from the bread and handing it to each of the men,