“The president from America should only come to my bitter heart. Let him go fighting himself with the pushcarts how to get the eating a penny cheaper. Let him try to feed his children on the money the charities give me and we’d see if he wouldn’t better send his littlest ones to the shop better than to let them starve before his eyes. Woe is me! What for did I come to America? What’s my life--nothing but one terrible, never-stopping fight with the grocer and the butcher and the landlord ...” Suddenly Sophie’s resentment for her lost morning was forgotten. The crying waste of Hanneh Breineh’s life lay open before her eyes like pictures in a book. She saw her own life in Hanneh Breineh’s life. Her efforts to write were like Hanneh Breineh’s efforts to feed her children. Behind her life and Hanneh Breineh’s life she saw the massed ghosts of thousands upon thousands beating--beating out their hearts against rock barriers. “The inspector said ...” Fannie timidly attempted again to explain. “The inspector!” shrieked Hanneh Breineh, as she seized hold of Fannie in a rage. “Hellfire should burn the inspector! Tell me again about the inspector and I’ll choke the life out from you--” Sophie sprang forward to protect the child from the mother. “She’s only trying to tell you something.” “Why should she yet throw salt on my wounds? If there was enough bread in the house would I need an inspector to tell me to send her to school? If America is so interested in poor people’s children, then why don’t they give them to eat till they should go to work? What learning can come into a child’s head when the stomach is empty?” A clutter of feet down the creaking cellar steps, a scuffle of broken shoes, and a chorus of shrill voices, as the younger children rushed in from school. “Mamma--what’s to eat?” “It smells potatoes!” “Pfui! The pot is empty! It smells over from Cohen’s.” “Jake grabbed all the bread!” “Mamma--he kicked the piece out from my hands!” “Mamma--it’s so empty in my stomach! Ain’t there nothing?” “Gluttons--wolves--thieves!” Hanneh Breineh shrieked. “I should only live to bury you all in one day!” The children, regardless of Hanneh Breineh’s invectives, swarmed around her like hungry bees, tearing at her apron, her skirt. Their voices rose in increased clamor, topped only by their mother’s imprecations. “Gotteniu! Tear me away from these leeches on my neck! Send on them only a quick death!... Only a minute’s peace before I die!” “Hanneh Breineh--children! What’s the matter?” Shmendrik stood at the door. The sweet quiet of the old man stilled the raucous voices as the coming of evening stills the noises of the day. “There’s no end to my troubles! Hear them hollering for bread, and the grocer stopped to give till the bill is paid. Woe is me! Fannie sent home by the inspector and not a crumb in the house!”