"I shall search for it," said her husband, "and I shall find it, because I am that great-grandson of whom Michael Senior spoke when dying. I shall find that writing—you must help me to find it."
The woman stood erect, beaming with joy.
"Hersh, you are a good man!" she exclaimed. "You are kind to associate me, a woman, with such an important affair and great thoughts."
"Why should I not do it? Are you a bad housekeeper or a bad mother?
You do everything well, and your soul is as beautiful as your eyes."
The white face of the young Hebrew woman became scarlet. She dropped her eyes, but her coral-like lips whispered some words of love and gratitude.
Hersh rose.
"Where shall we search for the writing?" said he thoughtfully.
"Where?" repeated the woman.
"Freida," said the husband, "Michael the Senior could not have hidden his writing in the earth, for he knew that there the worms would eat it, or that it would turn to dust. Is this writing in the earth?"
"No," answered the woman, "it is not there."