And I am convinced that God will not forsake you. He does not forsake the weakest fly. The Almighty alone can help you, you must pray to Him, and I, for my part, when next I am, God willing, at _his_ house[120] (long life to him), I shall make a special offering in your behalf. That _must_ help. As to the peas, the business is off. Before there was time to turn, Gabriel, the tenant, had brought several cartloads from your part of the country--he has made a fortune. He is about to marry a son and has actually given a dowry! It so pleased God that you should not be able to afford a stamp, your answer was belated, and Gabriel is the winner. And as to what you write about your child being poorly, you must consult the Röfeh. Don't fancy it in danger. Keep up your spirits. I have done my part: I got up quite early, went to the great house-of-study, dropped a coin into the collecting box of Meïr Baal-Ness, wrote on the east wall "for complete recovery," in big letters, and as soon as we have made a little money I will send some candles to the Shool. I will also tell the Rebbe, and _not_ explain that your husband is no follower of _his_. And you know that I am quite a son of the house. From me, thy brother MENACHEM MENDIL. My wife, Eva Gütel, sends you a very friendly greeting; the bride, another. One of these days, God willing, you will receive an invitation to the wedding, and may it bring us all good luck. MENACHEM MENDIL, the above. THIRD LETTER To my beloved sister-in-law and worthy relative, the excellent woman, Mistress Hannah. I beg to inform you that from this time on _I_ shall receive your letters, and not my tender-hearted husband, and _I_--I will burn them. Secondly, my dear sister-in-law, between ourselves, it was great forwardness on your part to fall upon us just before the wedding, turning our days into nights, and now you wish to blight our married life with discord. You must fancy that you are still boarding with my father-in-law, a spoiled only daughter that has never learned manners; and just because you can't have the moon to play with, you are ready to scratch people's eyes out, turn the world upside down, and your cries pierce the heavens. I can hear you now, tapping with your feet, and the bang of your fist on the table, while your ninny of a husband goes into the corner, wags his sheep's head, and his ear-locks shake like Lulavim; and father-in-law, may he forgive me, lets the spoiled child have her way. Dear sister-in-law Hannah! It is time to awaken from sleep, to forget the empty dreams, and to realize the kind of world one is in. My father-in-law of blessed memory has long lain in his grave--there is an end to boarding. You can only be spoiled by your husband now, and I--show you twice five fingers.