"Yes, but if we tell people not to come, and then when Brum opens his eyes on the Sabbath morning, he can see to read the Sedrah—"
"But I don't want to see to read the Sedrah," said the boy petulantly; "I know it all by heart."
"My blessed boy!" cried Zillah.
"There's nothing wonderful," said the boy; "even if you read the scroll, there are no vowels nor musical signs."
"But do you feel strong enough to do it all?" said the father anxiously.
"God will give him strength," put in the mother. "And he will make his speech, too, won't you, my Brum?"
The blind face kindled. Yes, he would give his learned address. He had saved his father the expense of hiring one, and had departed in original rhetorical ways from the conventional methods of expressing filial gratitude to the parents who had brought him to manhood. And was this eloquence to remain entombed in his own breast?
His courageous resolution lightened the gloom. His parents opened parcels they had not had the heart to touch. They brought him his new suit, they placed the high hat of manhood on his head, and told him how fine and tall he looked; they wrapped the new silk praying-shawl round his shoulders.
"Are the stripes blue or black?" he asked.
"Blue—a beautiful blue," said Jossel, striving to steady his voice.