Feigele goes on taking money out of the savings-bank, the stamps in her book grow less and less, she knows that soon there will be nothing left.
Old Reb Yainkel wishes in secret that he did not require so much, that he might cease to hamper other people!
He spits blood-drops, and his strength goes on diminishing, and so do the stamps in Feigele's book. The day he died saw the last farthing of Feigele's dowry disappear after the others.
Feigele has resumed her seat by the bright lamp, and sews and sews till far into the night, and with every seam that she sews, something is added to the credit of her new account.
This time the dowry must be a larger one, because for every stamp that is added to the account-book there is a new grey hair on Feigele's black head.
