over linen breeches and gathered in by a broad belt. I was eyeing
my brother, and he was eyeing me, both of us equally bewildered, for
I was disguised like himself.

A little boy, a real peasant boy, was standing near us. He smiled
at us in a good-natured, hospitable way. It was the chore-boy of
the Jewish quarter. On the Sabbaths of the winter months he kept up
the fires in the Jewish houses; that is why he could jabber a few
words of Yiddish. During the summer he took care of the flocks of
the peasants that lived in the neighborhood.

When I awoke, my mother was with us too. She kissed us amid tears,
gave us some bread and salt, and, departing, strictly forbade us to
speak any Yiddish. "For God's sake, speak no Yiddish," said she,
"you might be recognized! Hide here till the Catcher leaves town."

It was easy enough to say, "Speak no Yiddish"; but did we know how
to speak any other language?

I saw then that I was in a sort of hiding-place--a hiding-place
under the open sky! I realized that I had escaped from houses,
garrets, and cellars, merely to hide in the open field between
heaven and earth. I had fled from darkness, to hide in broad
daylight!

Indeed, it was not light that I had to fear. Nor was it the sun,
the moon, or the sheep. It was only man that I had to avoid.

Mother went away and left us under the protection of the little
shepherd boy. And he was a good boy, indeed. He watched us to the