. . . . .
The cap which "Reb" Henzel wore was the sort of cap worn in the time of Napoleon the First. Over there in France, these caps were long out of fashion. But in our village there was still one to be found—only one, and it belonged to "Reb" Henzel. The cap was long and narrow. It had a slit and a button in front, and at the back two tassels. I always wanted these tassels. If the cap had fallen into my hands for two minutes—only two, the tassels would have been mine.
"Reb" Henzel had spread out his whole stock-in-trade. He took up a citron with his two fingers, and gave it to father to examine.
"Take this citron, 'Reb' Moshe-Yankel. You will enjoy it."
"A good one?" asked my father, examining the citron on all sides, as one might examine a diamond. His hands trembled with joy.
"And what a good one," replied "Reb" Henzel, and the tassels of his cap shook with his laughter.
Moshe-Yankel played with the citron, smelled it, and could not take his eyes off it. He called over his wife to him, and showed her, with a happy smile, the citron, as if he were showing her a precious jewel, a priceless gem, a rare antique, or an only child—a dear one.
Basse-Beila drew near, and put out her hand slowly to take hold of the citron. But she did not get it.
"Be careful with your hands. A sniff if you like."
Basse-Beila was satisfied with a sniff of the citron. I was not even allowed to sniff it. I was not allowed to go too near it, or even to look at it.