The school was empty and the court deserted, except for a few grave looking men who stood in the portico of the Bet-ha-Kahol, and towards them rushed the frantic melamed, panting and tearing his hair. Meir in the meanwhile went swiftly on, with the child in his arms, whose tears fell thick and fast; but the eyes which looked through the tears at Meir were no longer the tears of an idiot.
"Morejne!" whispered Lejbele.
"Morejne!" he repeated, in a still lower voice, "how good you are!"
At the corner of the little street where the tailor lived, Meir put the child down.
"There," he said, pointing at Shmul's house, "go home now."
The child stiffened, put his hands into his sleeves, and remained motionless. Meir smiled and looked into his face:
"Are you afraid?"
"I am afraid," said the motionless boy.
Instead of returning as he had intended, the young man went towards Shmul's hut, followed at a distance by Lejbele. The day was almost over, and so was work in the little street. The pale and ragged inhabitants crowded before their thresholds.
Scarcely had Meir penetrated into the street, where he became aware of a great change in the attitude of the people towards him. Formerly, the grandson of Saul had been greeted effusively on all sides; they had come to him with their complaints, sometimes asked for advice; others had greeted him from their windows with loud voices.