"Have no fear, sir," he said cheerfully.
Reb Shemuel gripped his hand in grateful silence.
"You mustn't think me quite a lost soul," pursued David after a moment of emotion. "You don't remember me, but I had lots of blessings and halfpence from you when I was a lad. I dare say I valued the latter more in those days." He smiled to hide his emotion.
Reb Shemuel was beaming. "Did you, really?" he inquired. "I don't remember you. But then I have blessed so many little children. Of course you'll come to the Seder to-morrow evening and taste some of Hannah's cookery. You're one of the family now, you know."
"I shall be delighted to have the privilege of having Seder with you," replied David, his heart going out more and more to the fatherly old man.
"What Shool will you be going to for Passover? I can get you a seat in mine if you haven't arranged."
"Thank you, but I promised Mr. Birnbaum to come to the little synagogue of which he is President. It seems they have a scarcity of Cohenim, and they want me to bless the congregation, I suppose."
"What!" cried Reb Shemuel excitedly. "Are you a Cohen?"
"Of course I am. Why, they got me to bless them in the Transvaal last Yom Kippur. So you see I'm anything but a sinner in Israel." He laughed—but his laugh ended abruptly. Reb Shemuel's face had grown white. His hands were trembling.
"What is the matter? You are ill," cried David.