All being so well, it was time to dismiss the Röfeh; there was no difficulty now about credit—he never reminded us of what was owing him, never sent the "boy," but came himself. Still, it was time this should end. I don't know how much they sent him, but the messenger was my brother Avremele, who was to leave the money on his way to Cheder.
But the "boy" appeared a few days later.
"How, wasn't it enough?" said my father, on seeing him.
"Yes, Reb Yehùdah; I have come to say good-bye."
"To me?" asked my father in surprise.
I had dropped down, when he came in, on the nearest chair, but at these words I stood up; it had flashed across me that I must protect him, not let him be insulted. He hadn't come for that.
"I used to come to see you at one time," he said, with his gentle, melancholy voice, which was like sweet oil to my heart, "now I am leaving for good, so I thought—"
"Well, well, certainly," replied father, quite politely. "Take a seat, young man. It was very nice of you to think of it, very nice, indeed."
"Daughter," he called to me, "we must offer him some refreshment."
He sprang up, pale, with quivering lips and burning eyes, but the next instant his face had taken on its old melancholy expression.