At a word from the minister, the _Shammas_ (sexton) and several members of the congregation quietly removed the velvet curtains from the Ark, taking the silver pointer, the _Ner Tamid_ (perpetual light), all the sacred symbols which had made their worship beautiful for Sabbath after Sabbath during the years of security and peace. The congregation sat motionless, like people in a dream. Laying the Torah aside, Mr. Seixas came forward, his hands raised in blessing. His voice was tremulous with tears as he spoke: "_Yevorekhekha Adonai we-yishm'rekha. Yaer Adonai panov eilekha wi'chunekha. Yisa Adonai panov eilekha weyasem lekha shalom._" (The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.) Then, the Scroll again close to his heart, he passed among the silent worshippers out into the warm September sunshine. One by one the people followed him as he stood before the synagogue where he had hoped to serve so many useful years. His face was grave, but his voice was firm, his bearing unafraid. His young wife, Elkallah, stood proudly beside him. Though threatened with exile, she held her head like a queen. From the synagogue came old Mistress Phillips, leaning upon David's arm. "We will miss you sorely, Mr. Seixas," she said, sadly, "both as rabbi and as neighbor. I--ah, I am too old to leave the city where I was born. But perhaps I will send David to his cousins in Philadelphia." "But I won't stay there," cried the boy, his cheeks flaming with excitement. "I'm going to be a soldier--just like the Maccabees." He raised flashing eyes to his teacher's face and something that he saw there made the happiness die out of his own. Boy that he was, he realized the ache in the rabbi's heart at leaving his work and his friends behind him. "I'm sorry you have to go, Mr. Seixas," he said simply. The young minister turned his somber eyes back toward the synagogue which he had entered a year before, his heart burning with great hopes for the future. Now, with the Torah in his arms, his congregation scattered, he felt himself a fugitive on the face of the earth. He looked about him at the older folk like Mistress Phillips whose dying bedside he might never comfort, at the little children he could no longer teach. Lastly he looked down into the tearful eyes of his young bride--a bride of a year, with exile and hardship before her. Then he straightened his shoulders and spoke bravely. "Some day," said Rabbi Seixas, "I will return to serve our God in a city that He has made free." THE GENEROUS GIVER _The Story of a Jewish Money Lender of the Revolution._