the strange child. He felt something like annoyance rise within him; an angry word rose to the lips of the usually good tempered man. But it remained unsaid; he was unable to remove his eyes from the child's face.
"As I live," he muttered, "she has Gudule's very eyes."
And with another thumping slap on his leg, he merrily exclaimed:
"All right, we'll leave it so then. . . . If Ephraim does n't repay me, I'll take you, you wild thing . . . for you've stood surety for your brother, and then I'll take you away, and keep you with me at home. Do you agree . . . you little spit-fire, eh?"
"Yes, uncle!" cried Viola.
"Then give me a kiss, Viola."
The child hesitated for a moment, then she laid her cheek upon her uncle's face.
"Ah, now I've got you, you little spit-fire," he cried, kissing her again and again. "Are n't you ashamed now to have snapped your uncle up like that?"
Then after giving Ephraim some further information about the present price of oats, and the future prospects of the crops, with a side-shot at the chances of wool, skins, and other merchandise, he took his leave.
There was great surprise in the Ghetto when the barely fifteen-year-old lad made his first
