"Every day before God I sing and cry for my people!"
Meir made a movement of impatience, and at that moment Ber, rising heavily from the bed, laughed in a gloomy manner.
"Sing and cry!" said he to Eliezer, "your dreadful father fills you with such fear that you will never be able to do anything else!"
Then he put his hand on Meir's shoulder and said:
"Only he is daring and will swim against the stream. But the water is stronger than a man. Where will it carry him?"
Leaving Jankiel's house, Meir perceived again in one of the rooms, the same as before, a woman sitting at the cradle of a sleeping baby. Now she was bent over, and with both elbows resting on the edges of the cradle, was slumbering. The light of the small lamp, burning in the stove, fell upon her and threw a purple glimmer on the old caftan which covered her bosom and shoulders. On her head she still wore the holiday cap with crumpled flowers, its red colour contrasting strangely with the yellow, wrinkled face with its low forehead and withered cheeks. She was not yet old but worn out, over worked, spent with fatigue. One glance at her was sufficient to tell that her life lay in the midst of work and humiliation, and that she was not refreshed by even one drop of happiness. Looking at her, it was not difficult to guess that she would not live—like Freida, wife of the heretic Hersh—until her hundredth birthday, and that she would not fall into the eternal sleep little by little, amidst those dear to her heart—the noise made by numerous children and grandchildren. Jenta, the wife of the greedy Reb Jankiel, was slain in spirit and worn out in body.
When the steps of the departing guests, which had for some time mingled with the snoring of several people fast asleep, became silent, Eliezer stood in the low door of his room and looked for a few seconds at his sleeping mother.
"Mother!" he called softly, "why don't you go to bed? Little Hajka is sleeping for a long time, and she will not cry any more. Mother, go to bed and rest."
The whisper of her son reached the slumbering Jenta. She raised her eyelids, turned her sad glance toward the tall youth whose white face shone in the darkness like alabastar, and—what a wonder—her small, half-closed eyes opened, and from the colourless eyeballs shone a light of joy.
"Eliezer, come here!" she whispered. The young man approached and sat on the edge of the bed.