From another pocket he produced a piece of slightly-faded blue ribbon. Then twisting the ribbon through the ring at the top of the crucifix, he tied it securely round Blume’s neck, tucking it under her pinafore. This accomplished, he gave a sigh—which was almost a chuckle—of relief.
The action disturbed the child, who awoke with a feeble cry of pain. For the moment she could not quite take in her surroundings, and blinked at the daylight in bewilderment. When she recollected what had happened, she began to cry, fearing her mother’s anger on account of the broken bottle of oil; but her uncle assured her that the accident had been explained, and that her mother would be back directly, grieved to find her in pain.
Strelitzki lit his pipe and professed to read the newspaper; at the same time watching the little girl out of the corner of his eye. Her feet still smarted painfully, and she moved her position frequently in order to obtain greater ease. In doing so, the crucifix slipped out, and hung suspended from her neck above her pinafore.
“Hello!” exclaimed Strelitzki. “Where did you get that?”
Blume examined it with wide-open eyes. She had not the faintest idea of the meaning of the symbol, or, indeed, that it was a symbol at all; but the blue ribbon and silver figure pleased her, and in her childish mind she considered it a fine ornament, to be put on a par with her mother’s lozenge-shaped earrings, and only to be worn on Shabbos[17] and Yomtov.[18]
“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully, wishing it had escaped her uncle’s observation.
“Nonsense!” said Jacob Strelitzki. “Of course, you must know. I expect Miss Celia—the lady with the carroty-golden hair—gave it to you when she changed your things, didn’t she?”
That seemed very likely, so Blume agreed to it. She did not remember Miss Celia giving it to her, it is true; but she had given her a box of chocolates and a “Cinderella” picture-book, so no doubt the ornament came from her as well.
“Yes,” she assented, readily. “Miss Celia gave it to me.”
Strelitzki grunted satisfaction. “Well, tuck it under your frock,” he advised. “Or some one may want to take it off you. If your mammy should find it when she puts you to bed, say that Miss Celia said you were to keep it and not give it away.”