It was quite late; people were coming back from the Afternoon Service, and those who do not smoke on Sabbath, raised their eyes to the sky. But Reb Shloimeh had forgotten in what sort of world he was living. He sat with wrinkled forehead and drawn brows, listening attentively, seeing nothing before him but the teacher's face, only catching up his every word.
"You are still talking?" asked the old lady, in astonishment, rubbing her eyes.
Reb Shloimeh turned his head toward his wife with a dazed look, as though wondering what she meant by her question.
"Oho!" said the old lady, "you only laugh at us women!"
Reb Shloimeh drew his brows closer together, wrinkled his forehead still more, and once more fastened his eyes on the teacher's lips.
"It will soon be time to light the fire," muttered the old lady.
The teacher glanced at the clock. "It's late," he said.
"I should think it was!" broke in the old lady. "Why I was allowed to sleep so long, I'm sure I don't know! People get to talking and even forget about tea."
Reb Shloimeh gave a look out of the window.
"O wa!" he exclaimed, somewhat vexed, "they are already coming out of Shool, the service is over! What a thing it is to sit talking! O wa!"