"The boy's right," laughed Mr. Kohn. "Come in here, Morris, if your father'll let you, and I'll tell you all about the flag I'm sending Mr. Lincoln next week before he leaves his home in Springfield for Washington." Morris, needing no second invitation, gladly deserted his books and slipped into the parlor, curling up in one corner of the horsehair sofa as he attempted to be as little in the way as possible. For he didn't want his mother, should she happen to come into the room, to send him back to his lessons again.
"It is a large American flag," explained Mr. Kohn, "woven of the finest silk. And across it I've had inscribed in Hebrew the command given to Joshua when he took command of the Israelites after the death of Moses." He turned to Morris, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. "I suppose you can tell your father what that was," he said, very seriously. "What?" as Morris, really embarrassed, shook his head. "I thought you really learned more in Rabbi Adler's school. Suppose you get your Bible and show us how well you can translate the passage."
Doubtful of his skill as translator, but sure that kindly Mr. Kohn who had been one of the early cantors of the congregation and "knew everything about Hebrew" would lend him a hand at the hard places, Morris turned to the first chapter of Joshua, and, with a little prompting translated the command given to the Jewish leader:
"Have I not commanded thee?" he read. "Be strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest." He looked up, his boyish spirit thrilled with the words. "I like that," he exclaimed naively, "it's so—so—alive—not a bit like the Bible."
"So that's what's written on your flag?" commented Mr. Rosenfelt. "Well, no matter what happens, I guess we won't have to worry over our Mr. Lincoln. He'll be 'strong and of good courage,' alright, and make us glad we sent him on to Washington. Morris, go into the dining room now and study your lessons. Are you going to take the flag to Mr. Lincoln yourself before he leaves Springfield?" he asked, turning back to Mr. Kohn, as Morris unwillingly went back to his lessons for the next morning.
"No. I can't leave my work just now," answered Mr. Kohn, who was city clerk. "But I'm sending it with a friend who will be in Springfield before Mr. Lincoln leaves. I want him to have a real going-away present to tell him what the Jews of Illinois think of their new president."
Then the talk drifted to other matters, but Morris went to bed his heart filled with envy for the man who should take the flag to Mr. Lincoln. He knew that there wasn't the slightest chance for him to go to Springfield; his mother would remember all the dreadful stories she had ever heard of little boys being kidnapped while taking railway journeys alone; his father would tell him he couldn't spare the money for such a trip and that Morris couldn't afford to lose a day of school. Then, if he couldn't go to Springfield, it would be almost as good to send a present to Mr. Lincoln such as Mr. Kohn planned to do—but what could a little boy with a limited amount of pocket money send a man just elected to be president of the United States. He even crept out of bed very stealthily, not caring to arouse his ever-wakeful mother in the next room—to look over the treasures in the top drawer of his little dresser; the finest stamp collection ever possessed by any boy who attended his school, he thought proudly; a box of shells and lucky stones gathered on the lake shore last vacation; a prize book given him at school for perfect attendance, which Morris never cared to read, as it seemed to be the tale of a very good little boy who always stood at the head of his class and never disobeyed his parents; a set of fishing tackle discarded by his older brother, Harry. Treasures, though they were, Morris would have sent any or all of them with Mr. Kohn's flag as a going-away gift to the new president, already enshrined in so many hearts; but, boy though he was, he knew that a grown up man would not care for his poor presents. He even lifted his little blue bank and rattled it softly; but he did not take the trouble to pry it open, for he knew that for all its jingling, the pennies inside would not amount up to more than a dollar. Disappointed, yet determined not to let Mr. Kohn outdo him in the matter, Morris crept back to bed.
The next morning he found his plans for Mr. Lincoln's present far more fascinating than his lessons as he sat in the basement schoolroom provided for the children of the congregation. One of the school's non-Jewish teachers had heard his history and geography. In a little while Rabbi Adler would take the classes in Hebrew and German. Morris knew he ought to prepare the lessons so shamefully neglected the night before, but he found it difficult to put his mind on his task.
Fortunately for him, he wasn't called upon during the Hebrew session and managed to escape a scolding for his lack of preparation. So he sat sedately with his eyes glued upon the thick black characters, while his mind pictured the flag with the Hebrew lettering which was to be sent to Springfield. He had seen a good many pictures of Mr. Lincoln and now he tried to imagine how the kindly, homely face would break into a smile at Mr. Kohn's thoughtfulness. Then he roused himself to listen, for now the rabbi was saying something about the lesson that really interested him.
"Of course," said Rabbi Adler, "the Sanctuary Bezalel built in the desert wasn't half so beautiful as the Temple we afterwards raised at Jerusalem. But we were willing to wait. It was always that way with our people—with every nation, too; we must wait for what is worth while and if we wait long enough and work while we are waiting, we will finally achieve what we have been striving for." He paused for a moment, closing his book, as he looked over the class. "Has anyone a question to ask about the lesson?" he ended, in his usual way.