Of course, the boys at once tore down this proclamation. A second was hung in its place. The boys did not hesitate to hang up a proclamation of their own in its stead. And the men found on their desks fresh letters of accusation against the beadle and the committee-men. In a word, it was a period when the people did nothing else but write. The committee-men wrote proclamations, and the boys, the scamps, wrote letters. This went on until the Days of Mourning arrived--the time of the elections. And there began a struggle between the two factions. On the one side there was Isshur and his patrons, the committee-men; and on the other side, the youngsters, the heathens, the scamps, and their candidates. Each faction tried to attract the most followers by every means in its power. One faction tried impassioned words, enflamed speeches; the other, soft words, roast ducks, dainties, and liberal promises. And just think who won? You will never guess. It was we young scamps who won. And we selected our own committee-men from amongst ourselves--young men with short coats, poor men, beggars. It is a shame to tell it, but we chose working men--ordinary working men. * * * I am afraid you are anxious for my story to come to an end. You want to know how long it is going to last? Or would you rather I told you how our new committee-men made up their accounts with the old beadle? Do you want to hear how the poor old beadle was dragged through the whole village by the youngsters, with shouting and singing? The boys carried in front of the procession the whole treasure of candles, wax, "_Tallissim_" and prayer-books which they had found in the attic of the synagogue. No, I don't think you will expect me to tell you of these happenings. Take revenge of our enemy--bathe in his blood, so to speak? No! We could not do that. I shall tell you the end in a few words. Last New Year I was at home, back again in the village of my birth. A lot, a lot of water had flown by since the time I have just told you of. Still, I found the synagogue on the same spot. And it had the same Ark of the Law, the same curtains, the same reader's-desk, and the same hanging candlesticks. But the people were different; they were greatly changed. It was almost impossible to recognize them. The old people of my day were all gone. No doubt there were a good many more stones and inscriptions in the holy place. The young folks had grown grey. The committee-men were new. The cantor was new. There was a new beadle, and new melodies, and new customs. Everything was new, and new, and new.