"Speak low, Benjy," said Esther. "Grandmother's asleep." "All right, Esther. I don't want to wake her, I'm sure. I was up here just now, and couldn't make out a word she was jabbering." "I know. She's losing all her teeth, poor thing." "No, it, isn't that. She speaks that beastly Yiddish--I made sure she'd have learned English by this time. I hope _you_ don't speak it, Esther." "I must, Benjy. You see father and grandmother never speak anything else at home, and only know a few words of English. But I don't let the children speak it except to them. You should hear little Sarah speak English. It's beautiful. Only when she cries she says 'Woe is me' in Yiddish. I have had to slap her for it--but that makes her cry 'Woe is me' all the more. Oh, how nice you look, Benjy, with your white collar, just like the pictures of little Lord Launceston in the Fourth Standard Reader. I wish I could show you to the girls! Oh, my, what'll Solomon say when he sees you! He's always wearing his corduroys away at the knees." "But where is everybody? And why is there no fire?" said Benjamin impatiently. "It's beastly cold." "Father hopes to get a bread, coal and meat ticket to-morrow, dear." "Well, this is a pretty welcome for a fellow!" grumbled Benjamin. "I'm so sorry, Benjy! If I'd only known you were coming I might have borrowed some coals from Mrs. Belcovitch. But just stamp your feet a little if they freeze. No, do it outside the door; grandmother's asleep. Why didn't you write to me you were coming?" "I didn't know. Old Four-Eyes--that's one of our teachers--was going up to London this afternoon, and he wanted a boy to carry some parcels, and as I'm the best boy in my class he let me come. He let me run up and see you all, and I'm to meet him at London Bridge Station at seven o'clock. You're not much altered, Esther." "Ain't I?" she said, with a little pathetic smile. "Ain't I bigger?" "Not four years bigger. For a moment I could fancy I'd never been away. How the years slip by! I shall be _Barmitzvah_ soon." "Yes, and now I've got you again I've so much to say I don't know where to begin. That time father went to see you I couldn't get much out of him about you, and your own letters have been so few." "A letter costs a penny, Esther. Where am I to get pennies from?" "I know, dear. I know you would have liked to write. But now you shall tell me everything. Have you missed us very much?" "No, I don't think so," said Benjamin. "Oh, not at all?" asked Esther in disappointed tones. "Yes, I missed _you_, Esther, at first," he said, soothingly. "But there's such a lot to do and to think about. It's a new life." "And have you been happy, Benjy?" "Oh yes. Quite. Just think! Regular meals, with oranges and sweets and entertainments every now and then, a bed all to yourself, good fires, a mansion with a noble staircase and hall, a field to play in, with balls and toys--" "A field!" echoed Esther. "Why it must be like going to Greenwich every day."