“No, no; don’t call her. I don’t vant her to see dot,” said Morris, pointing to “Bill.” Loney staggered from behind the bench, sobbing:
“Oh, Mr. Goldberg! Dora’s stolen! She’s gone!”
“Gone! Gone! Mein Dora gone! Vere?”
“Yes; two men shot him, and took Dora!”
The bereaved father sank down to the bench, sobbing: “Mein Gott! Mein Gott!”
“What are you going to do?” asked Loney, after a while. “Mr. Goldberg, Mr. Goldberg! What are we going to do?”
“I vill search de vorld ofer to find mein chilt.”
Then, as he tried to take his handkerchief from his pocket, the tiny baby-shoe fell from it. This brought a flood of tears and, as he kissed the little shoe over and over again, he sobbed:
“Mein little Dora! Mein little Dora!”
Loney crept to the heartbroken man and passed his thin little arm around the shoemaker’s neck while they mingled their tears.