I crept back to the house, to my sleeping-place. I lay down again, but could not sleep. I tossed about from side to side, but could not fall asleep. It was already day when I dozed off. I dreamt of a moon, I dreamt of iron rods, and I dreamt of little knives. I got up very early, said my prayers with pleasure, with delight, ate my breakfast while standing on one foot, and marched off to "_Cheder_." "Why are you in such a hurry for '_Cheder_'?" cried my father to me. "What is driving you? You will not lose your knowledge if you go a little later. You will have time enough for mischief. You scamp! You epicurean! You heathen! Tkeh-heh-heh-heh!" * * * "Why so late? Just look at this." The teacher stopped me, and pointed with his finger at my comrade, Berrel the red one, who was standing in the corner with his head down. "Do you see, bandit? You must know that from this day his name is not Berrel the red one, as he was called. He is now called a fine name. His name is now Berrel the thief. Shout it out, children. Berrel the thief! Berrel the thief!" The teacher drew out the words, and put a little tune into them. The pupils repeated them after him, like a chorus. "Berrel the thief--Berrel the thief!" I was petrified. A cold wave passed over my body. I did not know what it all meant. "Why are you silent, you heathen, you?" cried the teacher, and gave me an unexpected smack in the face. "Why are you silent, you heathen? Don't you hear the others singing? Join in with them, and help them. Berrel the thief--Berrel the thief!" My limbs trembled. My teeth rattled. But, I helped the others to shout aloud "Berrel the thief! Berrel the thief!" "Louder, heathen," prompted the teacher. "In a stronger voice--stronger." And I, along with the rest of the choir, sang out in a variety of voices, "Berrel the thief--Berrel the thief!" "Sh--sh--sh--a--a--ah!" cried the teacher, banging the table with his open hand. "Hush! Now we will betake ourselves to pronouncing judgment." He spoke in a sing-song voice. "Ah, well, Berrel thief, come over here, my child. Quicker, a little quicker. Tell me, my boy, what your name is." This also was said in a sing-song. "Berrel." "What else?" "Berrel--Berrel the thief." "That's right, my dear child. Now you are a good boy. May your strength increase, and may you grow stronger in every limb!" (Still in the same sing-song.) "Take off your clothes. That's right. But can't you do it quicker? I beg of you, be quick about it. That's right, little Berrel, my child." Berrel stood before us as naked as when he was born. Not a drop of blood showed in his body. He did not move a limb. His eyes were lowered. He was as dead as a corpse. The teacher called out one of the older scholars, still speaking in the same sing-song voice: "Well, now, Hirschalle, come out from behind the table, over here to me. Quicker. Just so. And now tell us the story from beginning to end--how our Berrel became a thief. Listen, boys, pay attention."