"A letter from my Yitzchokel."
The Dayan rose, came up and looked at her, took the letter, and began to read it silently to himself.
"Well done, excellent, good! The little fellow knows what he is saying," said the Dayan more to himself than to her.
Tears streamed from Taube's eyes.
"If only he had lived! if only he had lived!"
"Shechitas chutz ... Rambam ... Tossafos is right ..." went on the Dayan.
"Her Yitzchokel, Taube the market-woman's son," she thought proudly.
"Take the letter," said the Dayan, at last, "I've read it all through."
"Well, and what?" asked the woman.
"What? What do you want then?"