There was a sudden flash of lightning, which illumined Jacob's bandaged face, pale with fear and fatigue. The trembling boys looked at each other and Jacob began to cry. "Come, Jacob," murmured Mendel, helping his brother to rise. "We shall die if we stay here. May God protect us." Again the waifs plodded on, Mendel supporting his brother and endeavoring to protect him from the cruel wind. Darker grew the sky. Large drops of rain began to fall and with a startling peal of thunder the tempest broke in its fury. The pitiless wind sweeping through the land from the bleak northern steppes brought cold and desolation in its train. The poor children were drenched to the skin. They clung to each other and painfully made their way across the miry fields to the highway, the ancient road of the Tartar Khans. At last Jacob succumbed to the awful strain and sank to the ground. "Let me die," moaned the child. "Oh, dear brother; you must live! We will find our way back to Togarog to papa and mamma. How they would grieve if I came back alone." The child shook his head mutely to this appeal, but rise he could not. Mendel was in despair. A bright flash lit up the landscape and showed the dim outlines of huts not many rods away. "God be thanked!" cried Mendel, fervently. "See, Jacob, there are houses. The village is near. There we can get food and shelter. Come, lean on me and we will be there in a few minutes." "No, go alone; I am too weak." "I will carry you," cried Mendel. "Oh, I can do it; I am strong enough." He attempted to lift the child from the ground, but he had overrated his strength and gave up his task in despair. What was he to do? He could not leave him in the road to perish. If he could but reach the village and summon help. They would not refuse assistance to a dying child, even if he were a Jew. "Jacob," he said, encouragingly, "I am going for help. Don't be afraid; keep up your courage and strength until I come back. The rain will soon stop. Good-by. I shall not be long." Kissing his scarcely conscious brother, the heroic boy bounded in the direction of the village. Though the thunder still rolled and the lightning still flashed, the rain soon ceased and the clouds began to show cheerful patches of blue. Mendel was gone some five minutes when a covered _droshka_ drove up the road as rapidly as the muddy ground would allow. The driver, amply protected by furs, seemed proof against both wind and water, yet he cursed in good round Russian at the inclemency of the weather. Suddenly, a brilliant flash lighted up the road, and he saw a lad near the wheels. With an oath, the driver reined in the frightened horses and jumped to the ground. "What is it, Ivan? Has anything happened?" asked a lady, from the carriage window. "Please your excellency, a little boy lying in the road, half-dead." "Bring him here," commanded the lady, and the child was lifted into the carriage and placed on the seat before them.