Almost dumbfounded, and grieved to the heart, the girl sought refuge in Mrs. Strelitzki’s cottage. Surely Anna would not turn against her, she thought confidently, remembering the many kindnesses she had performed for her in bygone days.
But even Anna Strelitzki, although she did not slam the door in her face, as some of the others had done, received her without the slightest display of cordiality. With embarrassment plainly discernible in her manner, she offered her a seat by the fire, and then bolted the cottage door—a proceeding which struck Celia as decidedly strange. Then, without speaking, she went on with her washing, occasionally glancing furtively at the window, apparently apprehensive of some unpleasant interruption.
“What is the meaning of all this, Anna?” Celia asked passionately. “Why do they shun me as if I were some evil creature? I have done them no harm!”
Mrs. Strelitzki trifled nervously with the corner of her apron, refusing to meet the steady gaze from the girl’s clear eyes.
“M’shumadas!”[16] she exclaimed laconically, evidently deeming the word sufficient explanation in itself, for she relapsed into silence, and went on with her washing. Her manner was certainly strange.
Celia did not quite catch the meaning of the epithet; and, with tightly clenched hands and compressed lips, waited for more. But no sound broke the stillness save the ticking of the clock, and the measured breathing of a sleeping child.
Suddenly the shrill toot of the factory horn, announcing the acquittal of the workers, broke upon their ears. The child woke up with a fretful cry; and the mother, drying her hands, came forward to quiet him.
“Oh, miss, I wish you would go home, if you don’t mind,” she said, turning towards her visitor with an air of apology. “It’s getting near Jacob’s dinner-time; and I dunno what ’ud happen if he were to coom back and find you here. He’d half kill me, I think. He told me to have nowt to do with you.”
“But why? I have done no harm,” the girl repeated, almost piteously. “Is it because I have become a Christian?”
The woman nodded. “M’shumadas—traitress to the Faith,” she said in the tone of one who repeats a watchword. “The people here are all good Jews. They despise m’shumadim. They don’t want you to come and convert their children, or give them tracts out of a black bag.”