"Reb Kozlover, you've made a mistake!"
Mattes answered not a word. The little fellow with the freckles pushed his way up to him, and imitating the young man's intonation, repeated, "Reb Kozlover, you've made a mistake!"
Feivke looked wildly round at the bystanders, at his father. Then he suddenly advanced to the freckled boy, and glared at him with his black eyes.
"You, you—kob tebi biessi!" he hissed in Little-Russian.
The laughter and commotion increased; there was an exclamation: "Rascal, in a holy place!" and another: "Aha! the Kozlover smith's boy must be a first-class scamp!" The prayer-leader thumped angrily on his prayer-book, because no one was listening to him.
Feivke escaped once more behind the inn, but the whole company of boys followed him, headed by Leibrutz the driver.
"There he is, the Kozlov lazy booby!" screamed the freckled boy. "Have you ever heard the like? He actually wanted to fight again, and in our house! What do you think of that?"
Leibrutz went up to Feivke at a steady trot and with the gesture of one who likes to do what has to be done calmly and coolly.
"Wait, boys! Hands off! We've got a remedy for him here, for which I hope he will be thankful."
So saying, he deliberately took hold of Feivke from behind, by his two arms, and made a sign to the boy with yellow hair.