"'_Kaballa_,' little fool, is a thing that is useful. By means of '_Kaballa_' I can make myself invisible to you, whilst I can see you. By means of '_Kaballa_' I can draw wine from a stone, and gold from a wall. By means of '_Kaballa_' I can manage that we two shall rise up into the clouds, and even higher than the clouds." * * * To rise up in the air with Busie, by means of "_Kaballa_," into the clouds, and higher than the clouds, and fly with her far, far over the ocean--that was one of my best dreams. There, on the other side of the ocean, live the dwarfs who are descended from the giants of King David's time. The dwarfs who are, in reality, good-natured folks. They live on sweets and the milk of almonds, and play all day on little flutes, and dance all together in a ring, romping about. They are afraid of nothing, and are fond of strangers. When a man comes to them from our world, they give him plenty to eat and drink, dress him in the finest garments, and load him with gold and silver ornaments. Before he leaves, they fill his pockets with diamonds and rubies which are to be found in their streets like mud in ours. "Like mud in the streets? Well!" said Busie to me when I had told her all about the dwarfs. "Do you not believe it?" "Do you believe it?" "Why not?" "Where did you hear it?" "Where? At school." "Ah! At school." The sun sank lower and lower, tinting the sky with red gold. The gold was reflected in Busie's eyes. They were bathed in gold. * * * I want very much to surprise Busie with Sheika's tricks which I can imitate by means of "_Kaballa_." But they do not surprise her. On the contrary, I think they amuse her. Why else does she show me her pearl-white teeth? I am a little annoyed, and I say to her: "Maybe you do not believe me?" Busie laughs. "Maybe you think I am boasting? Or that I am inventing lies out of my own head?" Busie laughs louder. Oh, in that case, I must show her. I know how. I say to her: "The thing is that you do not know what '_Kaballa_' means. If you knew what '_Kaballa_' was you would not laugh. By means of '_Kaballa_,' if I like, I can bring your mother here. Yes, yes! And if you beg hard of me, I will bring her this very night, riding on a stick." All at once she stops laughing. A cloud settles on her beautiful face. And I imagine that the sun has disappeared. No more sun, no more day! I am afraid I went a little too far. I had no right to pain her--to speak of her mother. I am sorry for the whole thing. I must wipe it out. I must ask her forgiveness. I creep close to her. She turns away from me. I try to take her hand. I wish to say to her in the words of the "Song of Songs": "'Return, return, O Shulamite!' Busie!" Suddenly a voice called from the house: "Shemak! Shemak!" I am Shemak. My mother is calling me to go to the synagogue with father. * * *