The heat of summer came on, and his youngest-born died in his arms for lack of nourishment. And while his wife sat wringing her hands and the other children were crying, Shatzkin laid the lifeless body upon the bare floor, and, donning his praying cap, raised his voice and chanted: “Great is my affliction, O God of Israel, but Thou knowest best!” And it grew hotter, and the other children succumbed. “You had better send them to the country,” said the doctor, and, seeing Shatzkin staring at him dumbly, “Don’t you understand what I mean?” he asked. Shatzkin nodded. He understood full well and—and that night another died, and Shatzkin bowed his head and cried: “Great is my affliction, O God of Israel, but Thou knowest best!” Within a week the Shatzkins were childless—it was a terrible summer—and when the congregation B’nai Sholom assembled upon the following Sabbath and the rabbi spoke words of comfort, Shatzkin, with his face buried in his hands, murmured: “My sorrow is nigh unbearable, O God of Israel, but Thou knowest best!” And now the heat grew greater, and the sweatshops, with all their people, were as silent as the grave. The men cut the cloth and ironed it, and the women stitched, stitched, stitched, with never a sound, and there was no weeping, for their misery was beyond the healing power of tears. Shatzkin’s wife fell to the floor exhausted, and they carried her to her room above, and sent for a doctor. “The sea air would do her good,” said the doctor. “The sea air,” repeated Shatzkin, stupidly. “The sea air.” “Keep her as cool as you can. I will call again in the morning.” “The sea air,” was all that Shatzkin said. “The sea air.” In the middle of the night the woman cried, “Shatzkin! Shatzkin!” He looked down, for her head lay upon his lap. “Shatzkin!” She was smiling feebly. “The baby—Aaron—Esther—dear Shatzkin——” * * * * * The congregation of B’nai Sholom had assembled for Sabbath eve worship. The rabbi was in the midst of the service. “Blessed be God on high!” he read from the book. “Blessed be the Lord of Israel, who holds the world in the palm of His hand. For He is a righteous God——” “Ho! ho!” shouted a derisive voice. The startled worshippers hastily turned their heads. They beheld a gaunt figure that had risen in the rear of the room, and seemed to be shaking with laughter. It was Shatzkin, but so pale and worn that few recognised him. “Who are you that disturb this holy service?” cried the rabbi. “Have you no fear of God in your heart?” The man ceased laughing and stared the rabbi in the eyes. “No,” he said, slowly. “I have no fear of God.” A terrible hush had fallen upon the assemblage, and the man, looking vacantly from one to another of the faces that were turned to him, said, in a hollow voice: “I am Shatzkin. Does no one remember Shatzkin? I sat here only last week,” and, slowly, “my—wife—went—to—the—seashore!” The rabbi’s face softened.