"And where is Bobby?" inquired the young lady visitor.

 

Debby's joyous face clouded.

 

"Bobby is dead," she said softly. "He died four years ago, come next _Shevuos_."

 

"I'm so sorry," said Esther, pausing in her tea-drinking with a pang of genuine emotion. "At first I was afraid of him, but that was before I knew him."

 

"There never beat a kinder heart on God's earth," said Debby, emphatically. "He wouldn't hurt a fly."

 

Esther had often seen him snapping at flies, but she could not smile.

 

"I buried him secretly in the back yard," Debby confessed. "See! there, where the paving stone is loose."

 

Esther gratified her by looking through the little back window into the sloppy enclosure where washing hung. She noticed a cat sauntering quietly over the spot without any of the satisfaction it might have felt had it known it was walking over the grave of an hereditary enemy.

 

"So I don't feel as if he was far away," said Debby. "I can always look out and picture him squatting above the stone instead of beneath it."

 

"But didn't you get another?"

 

"Oh, how can you talk so heartlessly?"

 

"Forgive me, dear; of course you couldn't replace him. And haven't you had any other friends?"

 

"Who would make friends with me, Miss Ansell?" Debby asked quietly.

 

"I shall 'make out friends' with you, Debby, if you call me that," said Esther, half laughing, half crying. "What was it we used to say in school? I forget, but I know we used to wet our little fingers in our mouths and jerk them abruptly toward the other party. That's what I shall have to do with you."

 

"Oh well, Esther, don't be cross. But you do look such a real lady. I always said you would grow up clever, didn't I, though?"

 

"You did, dear, you did. I can never forgive myself for not having looked you up."

 

"Oh, but you had so much to do, I have no doubt," said Debby magnanimously, though she was not a little curious to hear all Esther's wonderful adventures and to gather more about the reasons of the girl's mysterious return than had yet been vouchsafed her. All she had dared to ask was about the family in America.

 

"Still, it was wrong of me," said Esther, in a tone that brooked no protest. "Suppose you had been in want and I could have helped you?"

 

"Oh, but you know I never take any help," said Debby stiffly.

 

"I didn't know that," said Esther, touched. "Have you never taken soup at the Kitchen?"

 

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing. Do you ever remember me going to the Board of Guardians? I wouldn't go there to be bullied, not if I was starving. It's only the cadgers who don't want it who get relief. But, thank God, in the worst seasons I have always been able to earn a crust and a cup of tea. You see I am only a small family," concluded Debby with a sad smile, "and the less one has to do with other people the better."

 

Esther started slightly, feeling a strange new kinship with this lonely soul.

 

"But surely you would have taken help of me," she said. Debby shook her head obstinately.

 

"Well, I'm not so proud," said Esther with a tremulous smile, "for see, I have come to take help of you."

 

Then the tears welled forth and Debby with an impulsive movement pressed the little sobbing form against her faded bodice bristling with pin-heads. Esther recovered herself in a moment and drank some more tea.

 

"Are the same people living here?" she said.

 

"Not altogether. The Belcovitches have gone up in the world. They live on the first floor now."

 

"Not much of a rise that," said Esther smiling, for the Belcovitches had always lived on the third floor.

 

"Oh, they could have gone to a better street altogether," explained Debby, "only Mr. Belcovitch didn't like the expense of a van."

 

"Then, Sugarman the _Shadchan_ must have moved, too," said Esther. "He used to have the first floor."

 

"Yes, he's got the third now. You see, people get tired of living in the same place. Then Ebenezer, who became very famous through writing a book (so he told me), went to live by himself, so they didn't want to be so grand. The back apartment at the top of the house you used once to inhabit,"--Debby put it as delicately as she could--"is vacant. The last family had the brokers in."

 

"Are the Belcovitches all well? I remember Fanny married and went to Manchester before I left here."

 

"Oh yes, they are all well."

 

"What? Even Mrs. Belcovitch?"

 

"She still takes medicine, but she seems just as strong as ever."

 

"Becky married yet?"

 

"Oh no, but she has won two breach of promise cases."

 

"She must be getting old."

 

"She is a fine young woman, but the young men are afraid of her now."

 

"Then they don't sit on the stairs in the morning any more?"

 

"No, young men seem so much less romantic now-a-days," said Debby, sighing. "Besides there's one flight less now and half the stairs face the street door. The next flight was so private."

 

"I suppose I shall look in and see them all," said Esther, smiling. "But tell me. Is Mrs. Simons living here still?"

 

"No."

 

"Where, then? I should like to see her. She was so very kind to little Sarah, you know. Nearly all our fried fish came from her."

 

"She is dead. She died of cancer. She suffered a great deal."

 

"Oh!" Esther put her cup down and sat back with face grown white.

 

"I am afraid to ask about any one else," she said at last. "I suppose the Sons of the Covenant are getting on all right; _they_ can't be dead, at least not all of them."

 

"They have split up," said Debby gravely, "into two communities. Mr. Belcovitch and the Shalotten _Shammos_ quarrelled about the sale of the _Mitzvahs_ at the Rejoicing of the Law two years ago. As far as I could gather, the carrying of the smallest scroll of the Law was knocked down to the Shalotten _Shammos_, for eighteenpence, but Mr. Belcovitch, who had gone outside a moment, said he had bought up the privilege in advance to present to Daniel Hyams, who was a visitor, and whose old father had just died in Jerusalem. There was nearly a free fight in the _Shool_. So the Shalotten _Shammos_ seceded with nineteen followers and their wives and set up a rival _Chevrah_ round the corner. The other twenty-five still come here. The deserters tried to take Greenberg the _Chazan_ with them, but Greenberg wanted a stipulation that they wouldn't engage an extra Reader to do his work during the High Festivals; he even offered to do it cheaper if they would let him do all the work, but they wouldn't consent. As a compromise, they proposed to replace him only on the Day of Atonement, as his voice was not agreeable enough for that. But Greenberg was obstinate. Now I believe there is a movement for the Sons of the Covenant to connect their _Chevrah_ with the Federation of minor synagogues, but Mr. Belcovitch says he won't join the Federation unless the term 'minor' is omitted. He is a great politician now."

 

"Ah, I dare say he reads _The Flag of Judah_," said Esther, laughing, though Debby recounted all this history quite seriously. "Do you ever see that paper?"

 

"I never heard of it before," said Debby simply. "Why should I waste money on new papers when I can always forget the _London journal_ sufficiently?" Perhaps Mr. Belcovitch buys it: I have seen him with a Yiddish paper. The 'hands' say that instead of breaking off suddenly in the middle of a speech, as of old, he sometimes stops pressing for five minutes together to denounce Gideon, the member for Whitechapel, and to say that Mr. Henry Goldsmith is the only possible saviour of Judaism in the House of Commons."

 

"Ah, then he does read _The flag of Judah_! His English must have improved."

 

"I was glad to hear him say that," added Debby, when she had finished struggling with the fit of coughing brought on by too much monologue, "because I thought it must be the husband of the lady who was so good to you. I never forgot her name."

 

Esther took up the _London Journal_ to hide her reddening cheeks.

 

"Oh, read some of it aloud," cried Dutch Debby. "It'll be like old times."

 

Esther hesitated, a little ashamed of such childish behavior. But, deciding to fall in for a moment with the poor woman's humor, and glad to change the subject, she read: "Soft scents steeped the dainty conservatory in delicious drowsiness. Reclining on a blue silk couch, her wonderful beauty rather revealed than concealed by the soft clinging draperies she wore, Rosaline smiled bewitchingly at the poor young peer, who could not pluck up courage to utter the words of flame that were scorching his lips. The moon silvered the tropical palms, and from the brilliant ball-room were wafted the sweet penetrating strains of the 'Blue Danube' waltz--"

 

Dutch Debby heaved a great sigh of rapture.

 

"And you have seen such sights!" she said in awed admiration.

 

"I have been in brilliant ball-rooms and moonlit conservatories," said Esther evasively. She did not care to rob Dutch Debby of her ideals by explaining that high life was not all passion and palm-trees.

 

"I am so glad," said Debby affectionately. "I have often wished to myself, only a make-believe wish, you know, not a real wish, if you understand what I mean, for of course I know it's impossible. I sometimes sit at that window before going to bed and look at the moon as it silvers the swaying clothes-props, and I can easily imagine they are great tropical palms, especially when an organ is playing round the corner. Sometimes the moon shines straight down on Bobby's tombstone, and then I am glad. Ah, now you're smiling. I know you think me a crazy old thing."

 

"Indeed, indeed, dear, I think you're the darlingest creature in the world," and Esther jumped up and kissed her to hide her emotion. "But I mustn't waste your time," she said briskly. "I know you have your sewing to do. It's too long to tell you my story now; suffice it to say (as the _London Journal_ says) that I am going to take a lodging in the neighborhood. Oh, dear, don't make those great eyes! I want to live in the East End."

 

"You want to live here like a Princess in disguise. I see."

 

"No you don't, you romantic old darling. I want to live here like everybody else. I'm going to earn my own living."

 

"Oh, but you can never live by yourself."

 

"Why not? Now from romantic you become conventional. _You've_ lived by yourself."

 

"Oh, but I'm different," said Debby, flushing.

 

"Nonsense, I'm just as good as you. But if you think it improper," here Esther had a sudden idea, "come and live with me."

 

"What, be your chaperon!" cried Debby in responsive excitement; then her voice dropped again. "Oh, no, how could I?"

 

"Yes, yes, you must," said Esther eagerly.

 

Debby's obstinate shake of the head repelled the idea. "I couldn't leave Bobby," she said. After a pause, she asked timidly: "Why not stay here?"

 

"Don't be ridiculous," Esther answered. Then she examined the bed. "Two couldn't sleep here," she said.

 

"Oh yes, they could," said Debby, thoughtfully bisecting the blanket with her hand. "And the bed's quite clean or I wouldn't venture to ask you. Maybe it's not so soft as you've been used to."

 

Esther pondered; she was fatigued and she had undergone too many poignant emotions already to relish the hunt for a lodging. It was really lucky this haven offered itself. "I'll stay for to-night, anyhow," she announced, while Debby's face lit up as with a bonfire of joy. "To-morrow we'll discuss matters further. And now, dear, can I help you with your sewing?"

 

"No, Esther, thank you kindly. You see there's only enough for one," said Debby apologetically. "To-morrow there may be more. Besides you were never as clever with your needle as your pen. You always used to lose marks for needlework, and don't you remember how you herring-boned the tucks of those petticoats instead of feather-stitching them? Ha, ha, ha! I have often laughed at the recollection."

 

"Oh, that was only absence of mind," said Esther, tossing her head in affected indignation. "If my work isn't good enough for you, I think I'll go down and help Becky with her machine." She put on her bonnet, and, not without curiosity, descended a flight, of stairs and knocked at a door which, from the steady whirr going on behind it, she judged to be that of the work-room.

 

"Art thou a man or a woman?" came in Yiddish the well-remembered tones of the valetudinarian lady.

 

"A woman!" answered Esther in German. She was glad she learned German; it would be the best substitute for Yiddish in her new-old life.

 

"_Herein_!" said Mrs. Belcovitch, with sentry-like brevity.

 

Esther turned the handle, and her surprise was not diminished when she found herself not in the work-room, but in the invalid's bedroom. She almost stumbled over the pail of fresh water, the supply of which was always kept there. A coarse bouncing full-figured young woman, with frizzly black hair, paused, with her foot on the treadle of her machine, to stare at the newcomer. Mrs. Belcovitch, attired in a skirt and a night-cap, stopped aghast in the act of combing out her wig, which hung over an edge of the back of a chair, that served as a barber's block. Like the apple-woman, she fancied the apparition a lady philanthropist--and though she had long ceased to take charity, the old instincts leaped out under the sudden shock.

 

"Becky, quick rub my leg with liniment, the thick one," she whispered in Yiddish.

 

"It's only me, Esther Ansell!" cried the visitor.

 

"What! Esther!" cried Mrs. Belcovitch. "_Gott in Himmel!"_ and, throwing down the comb, she fell in excess of emotion upon Esther's neck. "I have so often wanted to see you," cried the sickly-looking little woman who hadn't altered a wrinkle. "Often have I said to my Becky, where is little Esther?--gold one sees and silver one sees, but Esther sees one not. Is it not so, Becky? Oh, how fine you look! Why, I mistook you for a lady! You are married--not? Ah well, you'll find wooers as thick as the street dogs. And how goes it with the father and the family in America?"

 

"Excellently," answered Esther. "How are you, Becky?"

 

Becky murmured something, and the two young women shook hands. Esther had an olden awe of Becky, and Becky was now a little impressed by Esther.

 

"I suppose Mr. Weingott is getting a good living now in Manchester?" Esther remarked cheerfully to Mrs. Belcovitch.

 

"No, he has a hard struggle," answered his mother-in-law, "but I have seven grandchildren, God be thanked, and I expect an eighth. If my poor lambkin had been alive now, she would have been a great-grandmother. My eldest grandchild, Hertzel, has a talent for the fiddle. A gentleman is paying for his lessons, God be thanked. I suppose you have heard I won four pounds on the lotter_ee_. You see I have not tried thirty years for nothing! If I only had my health, I should have little to grumble at. Yes, four pounds, and what think you I have bought with it? You shall see it inside. A cupboard with glass doors, such as we left behind in Poland, and we have hung the shelves with pink paper and made loops for silver forks to rest in--it makes me feel as if I had just cut off my tresses. But then I look on my Becky and I remember that--go thou inside, Becky, my life! Thou makest it too hard for him. Give him a word while I speak with Esther."

 

Becky made a grimace and shrugged her shoulders, but disappeared through the door that led to the real workshop.

 

"A fine maid!" said the mother, her eyes following the girl with pride. "No wonder she is so hard to please. She vexes him so that he eats out his heart. He comes every morning with a bag of cakes or an orange or a fat Dutch herring, and now she has moved her machine to my bedroom, where he can't follow her, the unhappy youth."

 

"Who is it now?" inquired Esther in amusement.

 

"Shosshi Shmendrik."

 

"Shosshi Shmendrik! Wasn't that the young man who married the Widow Finkelstein?"

 

"Yes--a very honorable and seemly youth. But she preferred her first husband," said Mrs. Belcovitch laughing, "and followed him only four years after Shosshi's marriage. Shosshi has now all her money--a very seemly and honorable youth."

 

"But will it come to anything?"

 

"It is already settled. Becky gave in two days ago. After all, she will not always be young. The _Tanaim_ will be held next Sunday. Perhaps you would like to come and see the betrothal contract signed. The Kovna _Maggid_ will be here, and there will be rum and cakes to the heart's desire. Becky has Shosshi in great affection; they are just suited. Only she likes to tease, poor little thing. And then she is so shy. Go in and see them, and the cupboard with glass doors."

 

Esther pushed open the door, and Mrs. Belcovitch resumed her loving manipulation of the wig.

 

The Belcovitch workshop was another of the landmarks of the past that had undergone no change, despite the cupboard with glass doors and the slight difference in the shape of the room. The paper roses still bloomed in the corners of the mirror, the cotton-labels still adorned the wall around it. The master's new umbrella still stood unopened in a corner. The "hands" were other, but then Mr. Belcovitch's hands were always changing. He never employed "union-men," and his hirelings never stayed with him longer than they could help. One of the present batch, a bent, middle-aged man, with a deeply-lined face, was Simon Wolf, long since thrown over by the labor party he had created, and fallen lower and lower till he returned to the Belcovitch workshop whence he sprang. Wolf, who had a wife and six children, was grateful to Mr. Belcovitch in a dumb, sullen way, remembering how that capitalist had figured in his red rhetoric, though it was an extra pang of martyrdom to have to listen deferentially to Belcovitch's numerous political and economical fallacies. He would have preferred the curter dogmatism of earlier days. Shosshi Shmendrik was chatting quite gaily with Becky, and held her finger-tips cavalierly in his coarse fist, without obvious objection on her part. His face was still pimply, but it had lost its painful shyness and its readiness to blush without provocation. His bearing, too, was less clumsy and uncouth. Evidently, to love the Widow Finkelstein had been a liberal education to him. Becky had broken the news of Esther's arrival to her father, as was evident from the odor of turpentine emanating from the opened bottle of rum on the central table. Mr. Belcovitch, whose hair was gray now, but who seemed to have as much stamina as ever, held out his left hand (the right was wielding the pressing-iron) without moving another muscle.

 

"_Nu_, it gladdens me to see you are better off than of old," he said gravely in Yiddish.

 

"Thank you. I am glad to see you looking so fresh and healthy," replied Esther in German.

 

"You were taken away to be educated, was it not?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And how many tongues do you know?"

 

"Four or five," said Esther, smiling.

 

"Four or five!" repeated Mr. Belcovitch, so impressed that he stopped pressing. "Then you can aspire to be a clerk! I know several firms where they have young women now."

 

"Don't be ridiculous, father," interposed Becky. "Clerks aren't so grand now-a-days as they used to be. Very likely she would turn up her nose at a clerkship."

 

"I'm sure I wouldn't," said Esther.

 

"There! thou hearest!" said Mr. Belcovitch, with angry satisfaction. "It is thou who hast too many flies in thy nostrils. Thou wouldst throw over Shosshi if thou hadst thine own way. Thou art the only person in the world who listens not to me. Abroad my word decides great matters. Three times has my name been printed in _The Flag of Judah_. Little Esther had not such a father as thou, but never did she make mock of him."

 

"Of course, everybody's better than me," said Becky petulantly, as she snatched her fingers away from Shosshi.

 

"No, thou art better than the whole world," protested Shosshi Shmendrik, feeling for the fingers.

 

"Who spoke to thee?" demanded Belcovitch, incensed.

 

"Who spoke to thee?" echoed Becky. And when Shosshi, with empurpled pimples, cowered before both, father and daughter felt allies again, and peace was re-established at Shosshi's expense. But Esther's curiosity was satisfied. She seemed to see the whole future of this domestic group: Belcovitch accumulating gold-pieces and Mrs. Belcovitch medicine-bottles till they died, and the lucky but henpecked Shosshi gathering up half the treasure on behalf of the buxom Becky. Refusing the glass of rum, she escaped.

 

The dinner which Debby (under protest) did not pay for, consisted of viands from the beloved old cook-shop, the potatoes and rice of childhood being supplemented by a square piece of baked meat, likewise knives and forks. Esther was anxious to experience again the magic taste and savor of the once coveted delicacies. Alas! the preliminary sniff failed to make her mouth water, the first bite betrayed the inferiority of the potatoes used. Even so the unattainable tart of infancy mocks the moneyed but dyspeptic adult. But she concealed her disillusionment bravely.

 

"Do you know," said Debby, pausing in her voluptuous scouring of the gravy-lined plate with a bit of bread, "I can hardly believe my eyes. It seems a dream that you are sitting at dinner with me. Pinch me, will you?"

 

"You have been pinched enough," said Esther sadly. Which shows that one can pun with a heavy heart. This is one of the things Shakspeare knew and Dr. Johnson didn't.

 

In the afternoon, Esther went round to Zachariah Square. She did not meet any of the old faces as she walked through the Ghetto, though a little crowd that blocked her way at one point turned out to be merely spectators of an epileptic performance by Meckisch. Esther turned away, in amused disgust. She wondered whether Mrs. Meckisch still flaunted it in satins and heavy necklaces, or whether Meckisch had divorced her, or survived her, or something equally inconsiderate. Hard by the old Ruins (which she found "ruined" by a railway) Esther was almost run over by an iron hoop driven by a boy with a long swarthy face that irresistibly recalled Malka's.

 

"Is your grandmother in town?" she said at a venture.

 

"Y--e--s," said the driver wonderingly. "She is over in he............