rupting herself.) And Manke will be there, too, won't she, mamma dear?
Sarah
No, my darling. Only nice, respectable girls. For you are a respectable child, a decent Jewish daughter. . .
Riflkele
Why not, mamma dear? Manke sketched a David's shield for me on the cover of the Holy Scroll. . . I'm going to embroider it now in silk thread,—a wreath of leaves and a garland of flowers. You'll see how beautiful it'll be, ma. (Points to the pictures on the wall.) A hundred times prettier than these. . .
Sarah, with deep concern.
Woe is me! Don't tell that to your father! He'll scold and fly into a rage when he hears of it.
Rifkele
Why, mamma dear? It's for the Holy Scroll, isn't it?
Sarah
Your father will rave! (Footsteps are heard.) Hush, Rifkele, father is coming.
Yekel, still without.
What? Do they think I'll get down on my knees and beg them? Not on their lives! (En-
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