"Reb Moshe, that poor child has never seen wine in his life, and suffers hunger and flogging every day; it is not easy for him to remember whether to bless first the day and then the wine."
But Reb Moshe did not hear that speech, because both his hands were busy belabouring the head and shoulders of his pupil, who, without crying out, tried to avoid the blows by ducking on the floor. Suddenly a pair of strong hands pushed the melamed aside, and he, losing his footing, fell down, carrying with him the rickety table.
"Reb Moshe!" called out the same sarcastic and angry voice.
"Is this not an Israelitish child that you wreak your spite upon it?
Is it not a poor man's child and our brother?"
His face burning with indignation, he bent down, and raising the child in his arms, turned towards the door.
"Reb Moshe, you drive all intelligence out of the children's heads, kill all the feeling in their hearts; I heard them laughing when you beat Lejbele."
Saying this, he disappeared with the child in his arms.
Only then did Reb Moshe awaken from the stupefaction into which the sudden assault had plunged him, and disengaging his burly frame from under the table, he shouted:
"Assassin! murderer!" and turning towards his scholars, yelled: "Get hold of him! stone him!"
But he addressed empty benches; the books lay scattered about and the seats turned upside down. The scholars, seeing their master prostrate under the table, and one of their companions rescued by main force, had all rushed, partly from fright and partly from a wish for liberty, through the door and dispersed about the town like a flight of birds released from a cage.