against the door post beside him. The moon was shining exactly as it had shone one year before, the river was sparkling as it had sparkled then, the street was just as white, and the same black shadow was lying on the silver ground beside the miller. And something flashed across his memory.
"Listen to me, Kharko!"
"What do you want?"
"What day of the week is it?"
"Monday."
"It was Saturday last year, do you remember?"
"Saturdays are as thick as flies."
"I mean the Day of Atonement one year ago."
"Oh, that's what you're thinking of! Yes, it was Saturday last year."
"When will the Day of Atonement be this year?"
"I can't say when it will be. There's no Jew near here now, so I don't know."
"Look at the sky. It's clear and bright, just as it was that night."
And the miller glanced in terror at the window of the Jewish hut, afraid of seeing again those Hebrew children nodding their heads and humming their prayers for their daddy whom Khapun was carrying away over the hills and dales.
But no! All that was over. Probably not a bone was left of Yankel by now; his orphans had wandered away into the wide world, and their hut
