Esther grew whiter and whiter, and her face became more and more pinched. And one day she was not in her place. But neither Erzik nor Sarah missed her. Another day and another, she was absent, and on the following day they buried her. The rabbi brought a letter to Erzik. “She said it was for your wedding.” Carefully folded in a clean sheet of note paper lay three double eagles; it was Esther’s fortune. _Die Liebe ist eine alte Geschichte._ Erzik and Sarah have been married a year, and they still sit side by side in the sweatshop. Spring has come again, and the sewing machines whirr and buzz and drone and hum, and through it all you can hear that foolish old song. When they look up from their work and their eyes meet, they smile. They are content with their lot in life, and they love each other. The story runs in my head like an old song, and when the sky is blue, and the birds sing, the melody is sweet beyond all words. Sometimes, when the sky is grey and the air is heavy with a coming storm, it seems as if there is a note of sadness in the song, as if a heart were crying. But the sunshine makes it right again. THE STORY OF SARAI It was the idle hour of the mart, and the venders of Hester Street were busy brushing away the flies. Mother Politsky had arranged her patriarchal-looking fish for at least the twentieth time, and was wondering whether it might not be better to take them home than to wait another hour in the hope of a chance customer being attracted to her stand. Suddenly a shadow fell across the fish. She looked up and beheld a figure that looked for all the world as if it had just stepped out of the pages of the Pentateuch. The venerable grey beard, the strong aquiline nose, the grave blue eyes, and, above all, the air of unutterable wisdom, completed a picture of one of Israel’s prophets. “God be with the Herr Rabbi!” greeted Mother Politsky. The rabbi poked a patriarchal finger into the fish, and grunted in approbation of their firmness. “Are they fresh?” he asked, giving no heed to her salutation. “They were swimming in the sea this very day, Herr Rabbi. They could not be fresher if they were alive. And the price is—oh, you’ll laugh at me when I tell you—only twelve cents a pound.” The rabbi laughed, displaying fine, wide teeth. “Come, come, my good mother. Tell me without joking what they cost. This big one, and that little one over there.” “But, Herr Rabbi, you surely cannot mean that that is too much! Well, well—an old friend—eleven cents, we’ll say. Will you take the big one or the little one?” The rabbi was still smiling. “My dear mother, you remind me of Sarai.” “And who was she?” asked Mother Politsky with interest. “Sarai was the beautiful daughter of the famous Rabbiner Emanuel ben Achad, who lived many hundreds of years ago. She was famed for her beauty, and likewise for her exceeding shrewdness. Yes, Sarai was very, very clever.”