A Ghetto Violet.

by Leopold Kompert.

Through the open window came the clear trill of a canary singing blithely in its cage. Within the tidy, homely little room a pale-faced girl and a youth of slender frame listened intently while the bird sang its song. The girl was the first to break the silence.

"Ephraim, my brother!" she said.

"What is it, dear Viola?"

"I wonder does the birdie know that it is the Sabbath to-day?"

"What a child you are!" answered Ephraim.

"Yes, that 's always the way; when you clever men can't explain a thing, you simply dismiss the question by calling it childish," Viola exclaimed, as though quite angry. "And, pray, why should n't the bird know? The whole week it scarcely sang a note: to-day it warbles and warbles so that it makes my head ache. And what's the reason? Every Sabbath it's just the same, I notice it regularly. Shall I tell you what my idea is?

"The whole week long the little bird looks into our room and sees nothing but the humdrum of work-a-day life. To-day it sees the bright rays of the Sabbath lamp and the white Sabbath cloth upon the table.

Don't you think I 'm right, Ephraim?"

"Wait, dear Viola," said Ephraim, and he went to the cage.

The bird's song suddenly ceased.

"Now you 've spoilt its Sabbath!" cried the girl, and she was so excited that the book which had been lying upon her lap fell to the ground.

Ephraim turned towards her; he looked at her solemnly, and said quietly:

"Pick up your prayer-book first, and then I 'll answer. A holy book should not be on the ground like that. Had our mother dropped her prayer-book, she would have kissed it.... Kiss it, Viola, my child!"

Viola did so.

"And now I 'll tell you, dear Viola, what I think is the reason why the bird sings so blithely to-day.... Of course, I don't say I 'm right."

Viola's brown eyes were fixed inquiringly upon her brother's face.

"How seriously you talk to-day," she said, making a feeble attempt at a smile. "I was only joking. Must n't I ask if the bird knows anything about the Sabbath?"

"There are subjects it is sinful to joke about, and this may be one of them, Viola."

"You really quite frighten me, Ephraim."

"You little goose, I don't want to frighten you," said Ephraim, while a faint flush suffused his features. "I 'll tell you my opinion about the singing of the bird. I think, dear Viola, that our little canary knows... that before long it will change its quarters."

"You 're surely not going to sell it or give it away?" cried the girl, in great alarm; and springing to her feet, she quickly drew her brother away from the cage.

"No, I 'm not going to sell it nor give it away," said Ephraim, whose quiet bearing contrasted strongly with his sister's excitement "Is it likely that I should do anything that would give you pain? And yet, I have but to say one word... and I 'll wager that you will be the first to open the cage and say to the bird, 'Fly, fly away, birdie, fly away home!'"

"Never, never!" cried the girl.

"Viola," said Ephraim beseechingly, "I have taken a vow. Surely you would not have me break it?"

"A vow?" asked his sister.

"Viola," Ephraim continued, as he bent his head down to the girl's face, "I have vowed to myself that whenever he... our father... should return, I would give our little bird its freedom. It shall be free, free as he will be."

"Ephraim!"

"He is coming--he is already on his way home."

Viola flung her arms round her brother's neck. For a long time brother and sister remained locked in a close embrace.

Meanwhile the bird resumed its jubilant song.

"Do you hear how it sings again?" said Ephraim; and he gently stroked his sister's hair. "It knows that it will soon be free."

"A father out of jail!" sobbed Viola, as she released herself from her brother's arms.

"He has had his punishment, dear Viola!" said Ephraim softly.

Viola turned away. There was a painful silence, and then she looked up at her brother again. Her face was aglow, her eyes sparkled with a strange fire; she was trembling with agitation.

Never before had Ephraim seen her thus.

"Ephraim, my brother," she commenced, in that measured monotone so peculiar to intense emotion, "with the bird you can do as you please.

You can set it free, or, if you like, you can wring its neck. But as for him, I 'll never look in his face again, from me he shall not have a word of welcome. He broke our mother's heart... our good, good mother; he has dishonored himself and us. And I can never forget it."

"Is it right for a child to talk like that of her own father?" said Ephraim in a tremulous voice.

"When a child has good cause to be ashamed of her own father!" cried Viola.

"Oh, my Viola, you must have forgotten dear mother's dying words. Don't you remember, as she opened her eyes for the last time, how she gathered up her failing strength, and raising herself in her bed, 'Children,'

she said, 'my memory will protect you both, yea, and your father too.'

Viola, have you forgotten?"

Had you entered that little room an hour later, a touching sight would have met your eyes. Viola was seated on her brother's knee, her arms round his neck, whilst Ephraim with the gentle love of a brother for a younger sister, was stroking her hair, and whispering in her ear sweet words of solace.

The bird-cage was empty.... That evening Ephraim sat up till midnight.

Outside in the Ghetto reigned the stillness of night.

All at once Ephraim rose from his chair, walked to the old bureau which stood near the door, opened it, and took from it a bulky volume, which he laid upon the table in front of him. But he did not seem at all bent upon reading. He began fingering the pages, until he came upon a bundle of bank-notes, and these he proceeded to count, with a whispering movement of his lips. He had but three or four more notes still to count, when his sharp ear detected the sound of stealthy footsteps, in the little courtyard in front of the house. Closing the book, and hastily putting it back again in the old bureau, Ephraim sprang to the window and opened it.

"Is that you, father?" he cried.

There was no answer.

Ephraim repeated his question.

He strained his eyes, peering into the dense darkness, but no living thing could he see. Then quite close to him a voice cried: "Make no noise... and first put out the light."