"Stuff and nonsense!" said Berele. "When people die, they let one know—"
"Perhaps they wrote, and the carrier won't give us the letter—"
"Ai, that's chatter enough!" Berele was quite cross. "Shut up, donkey! You make me laugh," he went on, to reassure Yainkele, "they are all alive and well."
Yainkele became cheerful again, and all at once he gave a bound into the air, and exclaimed with eager eyes:
"Berele, do what I say! Let's write by the post!"
"Right you are!" agreed Berele. "Only I've no money."
"I have four kopeks; they are over from the ten I got last night. You know, at my 'Thursday' they give me ten kopeks for supper, and I have four over.
"And I have one kopek," said Berele, "just enough for a post-card."
"But which of us will write it?" asked Yainkele.
"I," answered Berele, "I am the eldest, I'm a first-born son."