"It will be enough for us all to live upon, he and Beenah and me. You see his wife died and he has no children."
"You don't really mean to go?" gasped Daniel, unable to grasp the situation suddenly sprung upon him. "How will you get the money to travel with?"
"Read here!" said Mendel, quietly passing him the letter. "He offers to send it."
"But it's written in Hebrew!" cried Daniel, turning it upside down hopelessly.
"You can read Hebrew writing surely," said his father.
"I could, years and years ago. I remember you taught me the letters. But my Hebrew correspondence has been so scanty—" He broke off with a laugh and handed the letter to Miriam, who surveyed it with mock comprehension. There was a look of relief in her eyes as she returned it to her father.
"He might have sent something to his nephew and his niece," she said half seriously.
"Perhaps he will when I get to America and tell him how pretty you are," said Mendel oracularly. He looked quite joyous and even ventured to pinch Miriam's flushed cheek roguishly, and she submitted to the indignity without a murmur.
"Why you're looking as pleased as Punch too, mother," said Daniel, in half-rueful amazement. "You seem delighted at the idea of leaving us."
"I always wanted to see America," the old woman admitted with a smile. "I also shall renew an old friendship in New York." She looked meaningly at her husband, and in his eye was an answering love-light.