Who can tell what influence causes the downtrodden blade to raise itself once more! Is it the vivifying breath of the west wind, or a mysterious power sent forth from the bosom of Mother Earth? It was a touching sight to see how those two children, crushed as they were beneath the weight of a twofold blow, raised their heads again, and in their very desolation found new-born strength. And it filled the Ghetto with wonder. For what were they but the offspring of a gambler? Or was it the spirit of Gudule, their mother, that lived in them? After Gudule’s death, her eldest brother, the then owner of the grange, came over to discuss the future of his sister’s children. He wished Ephraim and Viola to go with him to his home in Lower Bohemia, where he could find them occupation. The children, however, were opposed to the idea. They had taken no previous counsel together, yet, upon this point, both were in perfect accord,—they would prefer to be left in their old home. “When father comes back again,” said Ephraim, “he must know where to find us. But to you, Uncle Gabriel, he would never come.” The uncle then insisted that Viola at least should accompany him, for he had daughters at home whom she could assist in their duties in the house and on the farm. But the child clung to Ephraim, and with flaming eyes, and in a voice of proud disdain, which filled the simple farmer with something like terror, she cried: “Uncle, you have enough to do to provide for your own daughters; don’t let ME be an additional burden upon you; besides, sooner would I wander destitute through the world than be separated from my brother.” “And what do you propose to do then?” exclaimed the uncle, after he had somewhat recovered from his astonishment at Viola’s vehemence. “You see, Uncle Gabriel,” said Ephraim, a sudden flush overspreading his grief-stricken features, “you see I have thought about it, and I have come to the conclusion that this is the best plan. Viola shall keep house, and I … I’ll start a business.” “YOU start a business?” cried the uncle with a loud laugh. “Perhaps you can tell me what price I’ll get for my oats next market day? A business!… and what business, my lad?” “Uncle,” said Ephraim, “if I dispose of all that is left us, I shall have enough money to buy a small business. Others in our position have done the same… and then…” “Well, and then?” the uncle cried, eagerly anticipating his answer. “Then the Sechûs of our mother will come to our aid.” Ephraim said softly. The farmer’s eyes grew dim with moisture; his sister had been very dear to him. “As I live!” he cried, brushing his hand across his eyes, “you are true children of my sister Gudule. That’s all _I_ can say.”