"I was, but I'm not now."

"M-m-m--wait! Noodle soup. And chicken!"

She had intended to tell of the trial in the Weinberg's
pantry. But now something within her--something fine, born
of this day--kept her from it. But Molly Brandeis, to whom
two and two often made five, guessed something of what had
happened. She had felt a great surge of pride, had Molly
Brandeis, when her son had swayed the congregation with
the magic of his music. She had kissed him good night with
infinite tenderness and love. But she came into her
daughter's tiny room after Fanny had gone to bed, and leaned
over, and put a cool hand on the hot forehead.

"Do you feel all right, my darling?"

"Umhmph," replied Fanny drowsily.

"Fanchen, doesn't it make you feel happy and clean to know
that you were able to do the thing you started out to do?"

"Umhmph."

"Only," Molly Brandeis was thinking aloud now, quite
forgetting that she was talking to a very little girl,
"only, life seems to take such special delight in offering
temptation to those who are able to withstand it. I don't
know why that's true, but it is. I hope--oh, my little
girl, my baby--I hope----"