Slowly she spake, nor in his face looked she. “My lord, long years ago a friend of mine Left with me jewels, costly, rare, and fine, Bidding me guard them carefully till he
Again should call for them. The other day He sent his messenger. But I have learned To prize them as my own! Have I not earned A right to keep them? Speak, my lord, I pray!”
“Strange sense of honor hath a woman’s heart!” The rabbi answered hotly. “Now, good lack! Where are the jewels? I will send them back Ere yet the sun upon his course may start!
Show me the jewels!” Up she rose as white As any ghost, and mutely led the way Into the turret-chamber whence the ray Seen from afar had blessed the rabbi’s sight.
Then with slow, trembling hands she drew aside The silken curtain from before the bed Whereon, in snowy calm, their boys lay dead. “There are the jewels, O, my lord!” she cried.
A CHILD’S THOUGHT
Softly fell the twilight; In the glowing west Purple splendors faded; Birds had gone to rest; All the winds were sleeping; One lone whip-poor-will Made the silence deeper, Calling from the hill.
Silently, serenely, From his mother’s knee, In the gathering darkness, Still as still could be, A young child watched the shadows; Saw the stars come out; Saw the weird bats flitting Stealthily about;
Saw across the river How the furnace glow, Like a fiery pennant, Wavered to and fro; Saw the tall trees standing Black against the sky, And the moon’s pale crescent Swinging far and high.
Deeper grew the darkness; Darker grew his eyes As he gazed around him, In a still surprise. Then intently listening, “What is this I hear All the time, dear mother, Sounding in my ear?”