“Vell, Loney, somedimes you make me t’ink you vos got more sense as meinselluf. You say such schmart t’ings, but dot’s a goot investment, Loney, alvays. Der good Gott, He pays it back. For efery dollar I gif avay in charity I gets me two und a halluf back again. I haf vorked hart und safed, und so I will help her.” “But I am a burden on you, ain’t I?” “Burten noding! Vot do you got? A place to sleep, mit somedimes somedings good to eat, und somedimes nodings but preat und milluk. If you vos not here I should haf to pay a poy t’ree dollars a veek. Make you no mistake on dot. I am a peezness man, mit mine eye open for der matsuma.” While Loney was trying to ponder over this statement, Dora came dancing into the room, holding out a tiny blue baby’s shoe, saying, joyfully: “Oh see, papa. See! I found it. I found it in mama’s old cedar chest. The first shoe I ever wore. We thought it was lost, but I found it. Oh, I’m so glad!” The shoemaker took the tiny thing in his hand and looked at it through misty eyes, and with a laugh that was half a sob, he said: “Vell, vot do you t’ink of dot for a shoe? It is a number nodings. You cannot vear dot now, mein child.” “Hardly,” laughed Dora, holding out a plump and pretty foot. “How shall I forget der time I maket dot shoe? Dere you vos in der bed, mit your mudder, und ven I dit showed it to her she dit laugh und cry at der same time. Den she vent avay to sleep, mit der little shoe py her lips, vere she kiss it. Now she sleep dot long sleep dot vill know no vaking. I vill put dis vere it vill not get lost again, until I can get Somolus Levinsky to put it in his safe for me.” More moved than Dora had ever seen her father, she watched him as he put the precious little shoe in his breast pocket and walked back and forth, struggling with his emotion. He had loved his wife with a deep and strong affection, and her death had never found him comforted. Dora resembled her mother, and all the lonely man’s love centered upon her now. And the child loved him, and was in one, daughter and companion, loving, obedient and worthy in every way. Just as Dora was beginning to feel half-alarmed at her father’s strange actions, there was a light step on the cellar-steps and a gay and pleasant voice heard, saying: “Hello, Mr. Goldberg! Hello, Dora! Hello, Loney! How are you all?” The shoemaker brightened up at once and turned to greet the newcomer--a handsome and alert young Jew. Neatly dressed and self-respecting he was, and full of joy at his reception and the news he had to impart. Morris held out his hand heartily. “Ah, de Bennie. I’m glad to see you, Bennie. Vot’s der matter vit’ your face, Dora? It is red, like de roses.” “Nothing, papa,” answered Dora, who had modestly and shyly drawn backward to the darkest corner. “Good news, Mr. Goldberg! Good news!” cried Bennie, dancing about lightly, but with his eyes fixed upon the pretty Dora.