fine and earthy.

But the real struggle was to come later. They went to
temple at ten, Theodore with his beloved violin tucked
carefully under his arm. Bella Weinberg was waiting at the
steps.

"Did you?" she asked eagerly.

"Of course not," replied Fanny disdainfully. "Do you
think I'd eat old breakfast when I said I was going to fast
all day?" Then, with sudden suspicion, "Did you?"

"No!" stoutly.

And they entered, and took their seats. It was fascinating
to watch the other members of the congregation come in, the
women rustling, the men subdued in the unaccustomed dignity
of black on a week day. One glance at the yellow pews was
like reading a complete social and financial register. The
seating arrangement of the temple was the Almanach de Gotha
of Congregation Emanu-el. Old Ben Reitman, patriarch among
the Jewish settlers of Winnebago, who had come over an
immigrant youth, and who now owned hundreds of rich farm
acres, besides houses, mills and banks, kinged it from the
front seat of the center section. He was a magnificent old
man, with a ruddy face, and a fine head with a shock of
heavy iron-gray hair, keen eyes, undimmed by years, and a
startling and unexpected dimple in one cheek that gave him a
mischievous and boyish look.