The old man lies and prays and muses, and looks at the children, and holds his peace.
His face gets paler and more wrinkled, he grows weaker, he feels his strength ebbing away.
Feigele goes on taking money out of the savings-bank, the stamps in her book grow less and less, she knows that soon there will be nothing left.
Old Reb Yainkel wishes in secret that he did not require so much, that he might cease to hamper other people!
He spits blood-drops, and his strength goes on diminishing, and so do the stamps in Feigele's book. The day he died saw the last farthing of Feigele's dowry disappear after the others.
Feigele has resumed her seat by the bright lamp, and sews and sews till far into the night, and with every seam that she sews, something is added to the credit of her new account.
This time the dowry must be a larger one, because for every stamp that is added to the account-book there is a new grey hair on Feigele's black head.
A JEWISH CHILD
The mother came out of the bride's chamber, and cast a piercing look at her husband, who was sitting beside a finished meal, and was making pellets of bread crumbs previous to saying grace.
"You go and talk to her! I haven't a bit of strength left!"