The Heavenly Tribunal holds its consultation and the decision as to the sentence is thus pronounced: “Since the Evil deeds do not weigh more than the good--the soul, of course, is free from Hell. But, on the other hand, since the Good deeds do not prevail over the Evil--neither can Paradise receive her.[3] Therefore she is to be neither here, nor there, but a wanderer between the realms of Heaven and Earth, until the Lord have mercy upon her and in His goodness call her unto him.” And the usher of the courts leads the soul away. She sobs, and bemoans her fate. “Why art thou weeping?” he asks her. “’Tis true thou wilt not know the joy and the gladness of Eden, but neither will the agonies and pangs of Hell be thine.” But the soul, unconsoled, replies: “The worst agony is preferable to nothing at all. Nothing is most dreadful....” And the heavenly usher pities her and offers her some advice. “Fly downward little soul, and hover about the living world of men. Gaze not unto heaven. For what canst thou see on the other side, but the little stars. Radiant little people--they certainly are, but alas, very cold. They know no pity. They’ll never speak to the Lord about you. Only the pious souls of Paradise will go to such trouble for a poor, exiled soul ... but they ... hearken unto me ... they do love gifts, fair and beautiful gifts.” The usher talked bitterly. “Such are the ways of Paradise, nowadays. Fly downward, then, to the living world and watch life there and its course. And if thou only catchest a glimpse of something that is surpassingly fair or good, seize thou it, and fly up to heaven. Present it as a gift to the pious there. Knock at the little window and in my name, speak to the angel-guard. And when thou wilt have brought three gifts--why then be certain that the gates of Heaven will be unbarred ... they will manage to have it so for thee.... At the Throne of Honor, the well-born are not loved ... but the well-grown....” And in this wise, and with compassion, he thrusts her out of Paradise. II. THE FIRST GIFT The poor little soul flies downward to the world of the living in search of gifts for the pious people of Heaven. It hovers about, everywhere; about the villages and the towns, about every habitation of man, amid the burning rays of hottest summer; amid the drops and water spears of rainy autumn; amid the silver web, fantastical, in the last days of summer; amid the snowflakes that fall from above.... It gazes about and about till it well-nigh spends its sight. Wherever and whenever it spies a Jew it runs hastily up to him and looks at him intently--perhaps he is on his way to Prayer--to bless the name of the Lord. Wherever a light breaks through the chink of a shutter--she is there, to peep inside, to see whether the Lord’s fragrant flowerets, the secret deeds of good, blossom in that silent house. Alas!... most of the time it must dart away from the window in agony and dismay....