And then—gevalt! It grew black before Mrs. Ravinsky’s eyes. She collapsed into a pathetic heap to the floor. The “charity lady” opened the oven door and exposed the tell-tale frying-pan and the two eggs!
Eyes of silent condemnation scorched through the terror-stricken creature whose teeth chattered in a vain struggle to defend herself. But no voice came from her tortured throat. She could only clutch at her child in a panic of helplessness.
Without a word, the investigator began to search through every nook and corner and at last she came to the bureau drawer and found butter, eggs, cheese, bread and even a jar of jelly.
“For shame!” broke from the wounded heart of the betrayed Miss Naughton. “You—you ask for charity!”
In the hall below Reb Ravinsky, returning from the synagogue, encountered a delivery boy.
“Where live the Ravinskys?” the lad questioned.
“I’m Reb Ravinsky,” he said, leading the way, as he saw the box of groceries.
Followed by the boy, Reb Ravinsky flung open the door and strode joyfully into the room. “Look only! How the manna is falling from the sky!”
Ignoring Reb Ravinsky, Miss Naughton motioned to the box. “Take those things right back,” she commanded the boy.