My mother cursed her enemies, that they might have black, hideous dreams, and asked him to say how much. Pethachiah stated the price. My mother did not answer him. She turned towards the door, took my hand, and said to me: "Come, let us go. We have nothing to do here. Don't you know that '_Reb_' Pethachiah is a man who charges famine prices?" I followed my mother to the door. And though my heart was heavy, I still hoped the Lord would pity us, and Pethachiah would call us back. But Pethachiah was not that sort of a man. He knew we should turn back of our own accord. And so it was. My mother turned round, and asked him to talk like a man. Pethachiah did not stir. He looked at the ceiling. And his pale face shone. We went off, and returned once again. "A curious Jew, Pethachiah," said my mother to me afterwards. "May my enemies have the plague if I would have bought the prayer-book from him. It is at a famine price. As I live, it is a sin. The money could have gone for your school-fees. But it's useless. For the sake of tomorrow, the anniversary of your father's death--peace be unto him!--I have bought you the prayer-book, as a favour. And now, my son, you must do me a favour in return. Promise me that you will say your prayers faithfully every day." Whether I really prayed as faithfully as I had promised, or not, I will not tell you. But I loved the little book as my life. You may understand that I slept with it, though, as you know, it is forbidden. The whole "_Cheder_" envied me the little book. I minded it as if it were the apple of my eye. And now, this "_Chanukah_"--woe unto me!--I carried it off with my own hands to Moshe the carpenter's boy, who had long had his eye on it. And I had to beg of him, for an hour on end, before he bought it. I almost gave it away for nothing--the little prayer-book. My heart faints and my face burns with shame. Sold! And to what end? For whose sake? For Benny's sake, that he might win off me another few "_kopeks_." But how is Benny to blame if he wins at play? "That's what a spinning-top is for," explained Benny, putting into his purse my last few "_groschens_." "If things went with you as they are going with me, then you would be winning. But I am lucky, and I win." And Benny's cheeks glowed. It is bright and warm in the house. A silver "_Chanukah_" lamp is burning the best oil. Everything is fine. From the kitchen comes a delicious odour of freshly melted goose-fat. "We are having fritters tonight," Benny told me in the doorway. My heart was weak with hunger. I flew home in my torn sheep-skin. My mother had come in from her shop. Her hands were red and swollen with the cold. She was frozen through and through, and was warming herself at the stove. Seeing me, her face lit up with pleasure. "From the synagogue?" she asked. "From the synagogue," was my lying answer. "Have you said the evening prayer?" "I have said the evening prayer," was my second lie to her.