“Good, brother Shatzkin,” his voice was trembling. “God has tried——” “You lie!” cried Shatzkin, fiercely. “Do not speak to me of God! I have no fear of Him! He killed my youngest-born, and I prayed to Him—on my knees I prayed and cried, ‘Thou knowest best!’ And He killed the others—all the others, and I blessed Him and on my knees I prayed, ‘Thou knowest best!’ And He killed my wife—my darling wife—in my arms He killed her. And I am alone—alone—alone, and I fear no God! Curse—curse—curse! Ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! Why should I fear God?” And throwing a prayer-book to the floor he trampled it under foot, and rushed out into the street. * * * * * For many years there worked in one of the sweatshops on the East Side a shrivelled little man, with keen blue eyes, who was always laughing. From sunrise until midnight he toiled, sometimes humming an old melody, but always with a smile upon his lips. The other workers laughed and chatted merrily in the winter time, and became grave and silent in the summer, but rarely did they pay attention to the old man who seemed always happy. Strangers that visited the place were invariably attracted by the cheerful aspect of the man, but when they spoke to him he would smile and answer: “I must earn money to send my wife to the sea air!” And if they asked, “Who is this man?” they would be told in a whisper of awe: “He has no fear of God!” And then a significant shake of the head. * * * * * The heat of summer is here again. Shatzkin has been dead a long time, and the story is almost forgotten. But in the Ghetto each day his cry is repeated, and through the heat and the foul air there arises from a thousand hearts the tearless murmur: “Great is my affliction, O God of Israel, but Thou knowest best!” THE SUN OF WISDOM “And therefore,” concluded Salvin, stroking his long, grey beard, “we are forced to accept the belief that the object of life is toil. We are the advance guard cutting out the road down which the next generation will travel, who, in turn, will carry the road further along. Our work done—our usefulness ends. We have accomplished our mission, and nothing remains but to make way for our successors.” Young Levine smiled, and rose to go. “You are wrong, my pessimistic brother,” he said, fondly laying his hand upon the old man’s shoulder. “You are wrong. Some day the sun of wisdom may shine upon you and you will learn the truth.” Salvin had been the friend of Levine’s father, and, despite the inequality of their ages, a firm friendship existed between him and the son. He now blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling, and with a smile of amusement gazed at the young man. “And what, O Solomon,” he asked, “may the sun of wisdom have taught you?” Levine’s face lit up.