So, at the first approach of darkness, the bed was made ready for Mr. Breklin, and his wife put to sleep their only, three-year-old child. Avremele did not understand why he was put to bed so early, but he asked no questions. The room began to feel cold, and the poor little thing was glad to nestle deep into the bedcoverings. The lamp and the fire were extinguished, the stove would soon go out of itself, and the Breklin family slept. They slept, and fought against poverty by lying in bed. It was waging cheap warfare. * * * * * Having had his first sleep out, Breklin turns to his wife: "What do you suppose the time to be now, Yudith?" Yudith listens attentively. "It must be past eight o'clock," she says. "What makes you think so?" asks Breklin. "Don't you hear the clatter of knives and forks? Well-to-do folk are having supper." "We also used to have supper about this time, in the Tsisin," said Breklin, and he gave a deep sigh of longing. "We shall soon forget the good times altogether," says Yudith, and husband and wife set sail once more for the land of dreams. A few hours later Breklin wakes with a groan. "What is the matter?" inquires Yudith. "My sides ache with lying." "Mine, too," says Yudith, and they both begin yawning. "What o'clock would it be now?" wonders Breklin, and Yudith listens again. "About ten o'clock," she tells him. "No later? I don't believe it. It must be a great deal later than that." "Well, listen for yourself," persists Yudith, "and you'll hear the housekeeper upstairs scolding somebody. She's putting out the gas in the hall." "Oi, weh is mir! How the night drags!" sighs Breklin, and turns over onto his other side. Yudith goes on talking, but as much to herself as to him: "Upstairs they are still all alive, and we are asleep in bed." "Weh is mir, weh is mir!" sighs Breklin over and over, and once more there is silence. The night wears on. "Are you asleep?" asks Breklin, suddenly. "I wish I were! Who could sleep through such a long night? I'm lying awake and racking my brains." "What over?" asks Breklin, interested. "I'm trying to think," explains Yudith, "what we can have for dinner to-morrow that will cost nothing, and yet be satisfying." "Oi, weh is mir!" sighs Breklin again, and is at a loss what to advise. "I wonder" (this time it is Yudith) "what o'clock it is now!" "It will soon be morning," is Breklin's opinion. "Morning? Nonsense!" Yudith knows better. "It must be morning soon!" He holds to it. "You are very anxious for the morning," says Yudith, good-naturedly, "and so you think it will soon be here, and I tell you, it's not midnight yet." "What are you talking about? You don't know what you're saying! I shall go out of my mind." "You know," says Yudith, "that Avremele always wakes at midnight and cries, and he's still fast asleep." "No, Mame," comes from under Avremele's heap of rags.