Late that night the full moon rose, and Sabinka, with its two rows of huts, its hills and dales and lakes, lay transformed in silver light. In the shadow of the fences a woman went stealing along. Climbing, here forcing a way through the bars, running a step where the shadow broke, and again lingering where it resumed, she reached a small hut standing in the full light. She rapped on the door and shook the latch impatiently. “Open, Deborah!” she whispered. “It is I, Katherina.” A tall, thin woman with a white kerchief about her head came out on the threshold. “So late, Katherina!” “Yes, and I must hurry back. Here.” Katherina took a large ball of thread from her _swita_ pocket. “You are to knit a pair of stockings for my daughter Natalka’s wedding,” she whispered. “But mind, Jewess,” her voice rose suspiciously, “you are to return to me what is left of the thread.” “We are not thieves!” came from Deborah in a tone hurt, yet patient. “Well, perhaps not,” Katherina said, softening slightly. “Perhaps not. But all Jews are swindlers.” “We are what we are forced to be.” Restraint and infinite patience were in Deborah’s voice. Hesitating an instant, she turned suddenly. “Look, Katherina, would you not much rather come along the road, in the light of day, to order stockings for Natalka, instead----” “Do you mean to insinuate, Jewess?” Katherina flamed. “No, no,” Deborah hastened to assure her. “I am not insulting you. I am not blaming you. I just want you to see, Katherina, how one may be forced to become what one does not want to be.” “Well,” said Katherina, somewhat mollified, “I suppose so. I suppose Jews, like people, have their troubles.” Carefully she put her hand into her bosom and counted slowly six eggs into the apron Deborah held out. “There,” she said, brushing her hands with an air as if the transaction was quite satisfactorily completed. “My dear Katherina!” Deborah exclaimed, “you expect me to knit a pair of stockings for six eggs?” “How much then?” Katherina’s voice was suspicious again and cross. “Twelve, Katherina; at least twelve. This is not winter, you know.” “In the next village----” “I know,” Deborah broke in. “In the next village lives a Jewess who knits a pair of stockings for six eggs. Don’t believe it, Katherina. It’s a fairy-tale. Anyway, I cannot do it. We have to live, too. And little Miriam is growing up. There is no chance for a penniless girl here, a girl without a dowry.” Deborah’s voice came brooding. Katherina put her hand into her _swita_ again. The trouble of a dowry she could easily understand. “Here, Deborah,” she said sympathetically, “here are twelve eggs. But remember every inch of the thread you are to return. And don’t let your blind mother-in-law knit the stockings. She might drop a stitch!” A whispered good night followed, and Katherina stole forth into the shadows again.