One of his best sketches is the one entitled 'Two Companions.' It is a gem among the many good things he has written,--perfect in form and rounded off as few of his sketches are. It tells of two girls, Rōsele and Perele, who have grown up together as dear friends. When they reach the age of sixteen Rōsele notices that the young students of the gymnasium pay more attention to her beautiful companion than to her. She becomes jealous, suspects the seamstress of purposely favoring her friend with more carefully worked dresses, which enhance her natural beauty, accuses Rōsele of drawing away her gentlemen friends by unfair means, and finally when she finds herself more and more abandoned by her acquaintances, she completely breaks off her relations with the friend of her childhood. They lead a separate existence. At the age of thirty-five Perele is bowed down with sorrows: she has buried a husband and two children, has again married, and her days are taken up in the care of her family and unpleasant discussions with her jealous husband. Rōsele has married a sickly man with whom she has nothing in common. He married her only for her money. Their child is as frail as its father, and Rōsele's days are passed in sordid cares and worry. "So passed another twenty-five years. After a long severe winter there came at last the young, fresh spring in all his glory, with his many attendants of all kinds who warble, whistle, chatter, and clatter, in the trees, in the air, on the earth, and in the grass. The streets are dry, the air is warm.... In an avenue of trees, on the sunlit side of it, two old women are walking together. They are dressed in old-fashioned, long burnouses, and hold umbrellas in their hands against which they lean. Their faces are wrinkled, their heads drooping to one side, and they stop every few steps they take, and speak with their toothless mouths: "'My dear Perele, this has been a long winter!' "'Yes, a frightful winter! Thanks to the Lord it is over. To-day it is good--the sun shines so warmly! But I have put on my burnous for all that! You, Rōsele, have done likewise! No, it is not yet warm enough for us.' "They seated themselves on the nearest bench and continued their conversation: "'I am getting tired; I think we had better go home.' "'Yes, I am getting hungry, for I have eaten to-day only a broth. I cannot eat anything except it be a soft, fresh roll with milk or something like it.' "'I, too....'