the first
time in so long a while, a short and tempered bit of sunshine that came
through the shaded windows and across the clean, white floors, it was as
if I saw things, now, as I had never seen them--face to face.

I must not return immediately to college, the doctors said. There must
be another fortnight of convalescence, with absolute rest for my eyes.
They gave me my choice as to where I wanted to go--and I chose the
settlement. I should be among friends, down there; I should have the
sunny roof-garden to loiter in--and Jewish faces everywhere about me.

It was good old Trevelyan, squinting and stuttering and strangely moved,
who called for me in his car and took me away from the hospital. He had
wanted me to go to his Adirondack lodge, instead, and resigned me into
Mr. Richards' care at the settlement as if he were consigning me
reluctantly to one of the Inferno's inner limbos.

It was then the second day of the Jewish New Year. The whole teeming
neighborhood was in holiday garb and mood. From the roof that night Mr.
Richards and I stood watching the streets and their carnival crowds,
swarming indistinctly under the lamps and about the corners.

"The little people," quoted Mr. Richards, "God and the little people...."

"They are not little when they have God," I answered.

He nodded. "I was wrong in what I said in that argument of ours. Do you
remember? I said they didn't need their religion--that it was working
more harm than good among the younger generation. I've learned, now....
There isn't a person on earth that doesn't need it--all that he can get
of it--and these little people of the East Side most of all."

From below there rose to us the clang and clatter of traffic, the
indescribable rustle of the crowd, the shriek of a demon fire engine,
many streets away. But, above it all, we heard singing, on the floor
below us, of a solemn chant in rehearsal. It was the settlement Choral
Society, singing the plaintive "Kol Nidre"--and when the parts swelled
into unison, all other sounds seemed suddenly engulfed in the rich,
melancholy texture of the harmony.

Mr. Richards smiled. "There it is, you see: the grim, sad faith of the
Jewish people. It is all they have had in all their wanderings--but it
is everything."

* * * * *

The cut across my forehead healed quickly. Resting from all tasks, my
eyes regained their strength without relapse.

I had visitors. Several of the