comparative ease of second-best silks. Mrs. Brandeis,
absent from her business throughout this holy day, came
hurrying in at two, to look with a rather anxious eye upon
her pale and resolute little daughter.

The memorial service was to begin shortly after three, and
lasted almost two hours. At quarter to three Bella slipped
out through the side aisle, beckoning mysteriously and
alluringly to Fanny as she went. Fanny looked at her
mother.

"Run along," said Mrs. Brandeis. "The air will be good for
you. Come back before the memorial service begins."
Fanny and Bella met, giggling, in the vestibule.

"Come on over to my house for a minute," Bella suggested.
"I want to show you something." The Weinberg house, a
great, comfortable, well-built home, with encircling
veranda, and a well-cared-for lawn, was just a scant block
away. They skipped across the street, down the block, and
in at the back door. The big sunny kitchen was deserted.
The house seemed very quiet and hushed. Over it hung the
delicious fragrance of freshly-baked pastry. Bella, a
rather baleful look in her eyes, led the way to the
butler's pantry that was as large as the average kitchen.
And there, ranged on platters, and baking boards, and on
snowy-white napkins, was that which made Tantalus's feast
seem a dry and barren snack. The Weinberg's had baked.
It is the custom in the household of Atonement Day fasters
of the old school to begin the evening meal, after the