"Lord of the world, the poor child grows taller every day," she whispered to my father, but my ears caught every word. "Fine as gold—and what's to be done with her?"
Father answered with a still heavier sigh.
The Röfeh assured us several times that father had nothing serious the matter with him. Worry of mind had gone to his liver, and this had swollen and pressed against the heart; nothing worse. He was to drink milk and not trouble any more, walk out into the street, talk with his friends, and find something to do; but father said his feet refused to carry him. Why, I only knew later.
Early one summer morning I was awakened by the following conversation between my parents:
"Did you knock yourself up in the woods?" asked my mother.
"Looks like it," answered my father. "They were cutting down in twenty places at once. You see, the wood is the nobleman's, but the peasants have certain privileges;[12] they get the twigs that fall and lie about on the ground, and the wood of any tree that is struck by lightning. Well, when the trees are cut down they lose their privileges, and have to buy wood for building and for heating purposes. So, of course, they wanted to stop it and bring down a commissioner. But they set about it too late. Reb Zeinwill no sooner saw them scratching their heads than he gave orders to put on forty axes. It was a Gehenna! They were felling in perhaps twenty different places, and one had to be everywhere. Well, what could you expect? My feet swelled like toadstools."
"Sinner that I am," sighed my mother. "And there was I fancying you had nothing to do."
"Nothing at all," my father smiled sadly; "I was only on my feet from dawn to dark."
"And three rubles a week wages," added my mother, angrily.
"He consented to raise them; meanwhile, you know, the timber raft was sunk, and he told me he was a poor man."