212 LERNEK
under the hillside. It grows lighter a bright flame shines through the little window-panes. He has not reached the door before it opens, and a shaky, tearful voice, full of melancholy, pain, and woe, breaks the hush a second time this night:
"Bertzi, is it you ? Are you all right ? So late ? Has there been another accident? And the cart and the horse, wu senen?"
"All right, all right ! A happy holiday !"
His voice is rough, hoarse, and muffled.
She lets him into the passage, and opens the inner door.
But scarcely is he conscious of the light, warmth, and cleanliness of the room, when he gives a strange, wild cry, takes one leap, like a hare, onto the "eating-couch" spread for him on the red-painted, wooden sofa, and he lies already in a deep sleep.
II
The whole dwelling, consisting of one nice, large, low room, is clean, tidy, and bright. The bits of furni- ture and all the household essentials are poor, but so clean and polished that one can mirror oneself in them, if one cares to stoop down. The table is laid ready for Passover. The bottles of red wine, the bottle of yellow Passover brandy, and the glass goblets of different colors reflect the light of the thick tallow candles, and shine and twinkle and sparkle. The oven, which stands in the same room, is nearly out, there is one sleepy little bit of fire still flickering. But the pots, ranged round the fire as though to watch over it and encourage it, ex-
