When Aaron returned, the two Sabbath candles were alight upon the snow-white tablecloth, and on the table a supper was spread--fried fish, white bread, and fresh butter, and in the fender a steaming coffeepot. Rachel was an excellent cook, and had always been famous for her fried and stewed fish, which her husband declared were dishes fit for kings; and, indeed, no one in the land could have desired tastier or more succulent cooking. Aaron washed and said his prayers, and then they sat down to their meal in a state of perfect contentment. The head of the modest household broke two small pieces of bread from the loaf, and dipping them in salt, besought the customary blessing on the bread they were about to eat; then praised the fish, praised the butter, praised the coffee, praised his wife, and after a full meal praised the Lord, in a Song of Degrees, for blessings received: "When the Eternal restored the captivity of Zion, we were as those who dream. Our mouths were then filled with laughter, and our tongues with song." He had-a rich baritone voice, and Rachel listened in pious delight to his intoning of the prayer. The supper things were cleared away, the white tablecloth being allowed to remain because of the lighted candles on it, which it would have been breaking the Sabbath to lift, and then there came a knock at the street door. "That is the woman I engaged," said Rachel, hurrying into the passage. There entered, not Mrs. Hawkins, but a very small girl, carrying a very large baby. The baby might have been eighteen months old, and the girl ten years; and of the twain the baby was the plumper. Without "With your leave" or "By your leave," the small girl pushed past Rachel before the astonished woman could stop her, and presented herself before the no less astonished Aaron Cohen. Her sharp eyes took in the lighted candles, the cheerful fire, and the master of the house in one comprehensive flash. With some persons what is known as making up one's mind is a slow and complicated process, with the small girl it was electrical. She deposited the large baby in Aaron's lap, admonishing the infant "to keep quiet, or she'd ketch it," blew out the candles in two swift puffs, and, kneeling before the grate, proceeded to rake out the coals. So rapid were her movements that the fender was half filled with cinders and blazing coals before Rachel had time to reach the room. "In Heaven's name," cried Aaron, "what is the meaning of this?" "It's all right, sir," said the small girl, in the dark; "I've come for aunty." "Put down the poker instantly!" exclaimed Aaron. "Your aunty, whoever she may be, is not here." "Tell me somethink I don't know," requested the small girl. "This is Mr. Cohen's, the Jew, ain't it?" "It is," replied Aaron, with despairing gestures, for the baby was dabbing his face with hands sticky with remnants of sugarstuff. "Well, wot are yer 'ollering for? I'm only doing wot aunty told me." "And who _is_ your aunty?"