That is what "Fruma with the little eye" said to me. And she added:
"Lord Almighty! Wherever in the world do such children come from?"
. . . . .
It was all about a dog that had been scalded with boiling water by the same "Fruma with the little eye." Ah, how much pain it caused the dog. It squealed, howled and barked with all its might, filling the world with noise. The whole town came together at the sound of his howling, and laughed, and laughed. All the dogs in the town barked out of sympathy, each from his own kennel, and each after his own fashion. One might think that they had been asked to bark. Afterwards, when the scalded dog had finished howling, he moaned and muttered and licked his sores, and growled softly. My heart melted within me. I went over to him and was going to fondle him.
"Here, Sirko!"
The dog, seeing my raised hand, jumped up as if he had been scalded again, took his tail between his legs and ran away—away.
"Shah! Sirko!" I said trying to soothe him with soft words. "Why do you run away like that, fool? Am I doing you any harm?"
A dog is a dog. His tongue is dumb. He knows nothing of pity for the living.
My father saw me running after the dog and he pounced down on me.
"Go into 'Cheder,' dog-beater."