"Well, how do you feel, Mrs. S.?" I broke the silence.
"Just a minute," was her answer, and she ran into the bedroom from where I heard her sobbing. I took advantage of her absence to ask the other neighbours to go out. They departed reluctantly and stood outside. I tried hard to make friends with the children. Not even my pennies would they accept, and soon they went into the bedroom with their mother—all sobbing together. I looked around the house. The stove was cold. The wind blew in from a broken window. A few crumbs of bread were on the table. A few broken chairs, a big clock, out of order, on the mantelpiece, a picture of a man of about thirty years old in the centre of a wall, this constituted most of the furniture. The whole house was in a state of complete disorder, with not even an attempt at cleanliness. Through the open door of the bedroom I saw two folding beds and the torn mattresses shed their straw all around the house. I felt very uneasy and wished to cut short my visit, but hardly knew how to back out of my position.
"Mrs. S.," I called, "won't you please come out and talk matters over with me? I am pressed for time. It's one o'clock and I have other work to do."
The woman re-entered the kitchen, followed by the children. She had arranged her hair, put on shoes and buttoned her torn waist.
"Sit down," I urged. She did so.
"Now," I started, "what's the matter with your children? Why are they walking naked? It is a very cold day and they are liable to fall sick."
"I am a poor widow," she started plaintively, "what can I do?"
"But listen here," I said, "this does not go! The children must be properly clad."
The woman looked me in the eyes for a few seconds, and then, all of a sudden, she asked me: "Are you a Jew?"
"Yes," I said, "but what has that to do with it?"