"Don't go to sleep sitting there, papa; you'll take cold."
Mr. Katzenstein's fingers, that were never straight, closed over the veined back of his wife's hand.
"In a minute I go to bed."
"If she had known what was coming when he asked her last night it might be different; but now it's too late, and everything is for the best."
"Yes, mamma."
"She's happy—and that's the main thing."
"Time flies," he said, with his eyes on the flames. "Only yesterday she was a baby!"
"Ain't it so, papa? We had 'em, and we suffered for 'em, and now we give 'em up; that's what it means to raise a family."
"Salcha," he said, his fingers stroking hers gently, "we're getting old—ain't it, old lady?"
"Yes," she said, rocking rhythmically; "twenty-eight years now! We've had good times, and we've had bad times."