"And to 'rascals with poppy-seed!'"[133] cries my pupil, joyfully. He is quite willing to be friends, so long as there is no question of "pakád, pakádti."
I am diffident as to accepting, but the boy seizes my hand, and, with a roguish smile on his restless features, he places a chair for me opposite to his sister's.
Has he observed anything? On my side, of course, I mean....
She is always abstracted and lost in her reading. Very likely she looks upon me as an idler, or even worse ... she does not know that I have a sick mother at home!
"It will soon be time for you to dress!" exclaims her father, impatiently.
"Soon, very soon, Tatishe!" she answers hastily, and her pale cheeks take a tinge of color.
The young house-master abandons himself once more to his reflections; my pupil sends a top spinning across the table; the old man lays down his book, and stretches out a hand for his tea.
Involuntarily I glance at the Chanukah light opposite to me in the window.
It burns so sadly, so low, as if ashamed in the presence of the great, silvered lamp hanging over the dining-table, and lighting so brilliantly the elegant tea-service.
I feel more depressed than ever, and do not observe that she is offering me a glass of tea.