The day before the Festival, father came home a little earlier from his work, to untie the palm-branch. He had put it away very carefully in a corner, warning Leibel not to attempt to go near it. But it was useless warning him. Leibel had his own troubles. The top of the citron haunted him. Why had he wanted to bite it off? What good had it done him to taste it when it was bitter as gall? It was for nothing he had spoiled the citron, and rendered it unfit for use. That the citron could not now be used, Leibel knew very well. Then what had he done this for? Why had he spoiled this beautiful creation, bitten off its head, and taken its life? Why? Why? He dreamt of the citron that night. It haunted him, and asked him: "Why have you done this thing to me? Why did you bite off my head? I am now useless--useless." Leibel turned over on the other side, groaned, and fell asleep again. But he was again questioned by the citron. "Murderer, what have you against me? What had my head done to you?" * * * The first day of the Feast of Tabernacles arrived. After a frosty night, the sun rose and covered the earth with a delayed warmth, like that of a step-mother. That morning Moshe-Yankel got up earlier than usual to learn off by heart the Festival prayers, reciting them in the beautiful Festival melody. That day also Basse-Beila was very busy cooking the fish and the other Festival dishes. That day also Zalmen the carpenter came to our Tabernacle to make a blessing over the citron and palm before any one else, so that he might be able to drink tea with milk and enjoy the Festival. "Zalmen wants the palm and the citron," said my mother to my father. "Open the cupboard, and take out the box, but carefully," said my father. He himself stood on a chair and took down from the top shelf the palm, and brought it to the Tabernacle to the carpenter. "Here, make the blessing," he said. "But be careful, in Heaven's name be careful!" Our neighbour Zalmen was a giant of a man--may no evil eye harm him! He had two hands each finger of which might knock down three such Leibels as I. His hands were always sticky, and his nails red from glue. And when he drew one of these nails across a piece of wood, there was a mark that might have been made with a sharp piece of iron. In honour of the Festival, Zalmen had put on a clean shirt and a new coat. He had scrubbed his hands in the bath, with soap and sand, but had not succeeded in making them clean. They were still sticky and the nails still red with glue. Into these hands fell the dainty citron. It was not for nothing Moshe-Yankel was excited when Zalmen gave the citron a good squeeze and the palm a good shake. "Be careful, be careful," he cried. "Now turn the citron head downwards, and make the blessing. Carefully, carefully. For Heaven's sake, be careful!" Suddenly Moshe-Yankel threw himself forward, and cried out, "Oh!" The cry brought his wife, Basse-Beila, running into the Tabernacle.