In a word, my brother Mottel does not go to "_Cheder_" any more. Nevertheless, he does not forget to send the teacher a "_Purim_" present. Having been a pupil of his he sends him a nice poem in Hebrew, illuminated with a "Shield of David," and two paper "_roubles_." With whom does he send this "_Purim_" present? With me, of course. My brother says to me, "Here, hand the teacher this "_Purim_" present. When you come back, I will give you ten '_groschens_.'" Ten "_groschens_" is money. But what then? I want the money now. My brother said I was a heathen. Said I: "It may be I am a heathen. I will not argue about it. But I want to see the money," said I. Who do you think won? He gave me the ten "_groschens_," and handed me the teacher's "_Purim_" present in a sealed envelope. When I was going off, he thrust into my hand a second envelope and said to me, in a quick whisper: "And this you will give to Esther." "To Esther?" "To Esther." Any one else in my place would have asked twice as much for this. But I am not that sort. * * * "Father of the Universe," thought I, when I was going off with the "_Purim_" present, "what can my brother have written to the teacher's daughter? I must have a peep--only just a peep. I will not take a bite out of it. I will only look at it." And I opened Esther's letter and read a whole "Book of Esther." I will repeat what was there, word for word. "FROM MORDECAI TO ESTHER, "And there was a man, a young man in Shushan--our village. His name was Mordecai and he loved a maiden called Esther. And the maiden was beautiful, charming. And the maiden found favour in his eyes. The maiden told this to no one because Mottel had asked her not to. Every day Mottel passes her house to catch a glimpse of Esther. And when the time comes for Esther to get married, Mottel will go with her under the wedding canopy." * * * What do you say to my brother--how he translated the "Book of Esther"? I should like to hear what the teacher will say to such a translation. But how comes the cat over the water? Hush! There's a way, as I am a Jew! I will change the letters, give the teacher's poem to Esther, and Esther's letter to the teacher. Let him rejoice. Afterwards, if there's a fine to do, will I be to blame? Don't all people make mistakes sometimes? Does it not happen that even the postmaster of our village himself forgets to give up letters? No such thing will ever happen to me. I am not that sort. * * * "Good '_Yom-tov_,' teacher," I cried the moment I rushed into "_Cheder_," in such an excited voice that he jumped. "My brother Mottel has sent you a '_Purim_' present, and he wishes you to live to next year." And I gave the teacher Esther's letter. He opened it, read it, thought a while, looked at it again, turned it about on all sides, as if in search of something. "Search, search," I said to myself, "and you will find something."