I realized, however, how tremendously important the question of the arms was, and strength was given me to hold out until the officer gave up in disgust and let me go home.
[ILLUSTRATION: HOUSE OF THE AUTHOR'S FATHER, EPHRAIM FISHL AARONSOHN, IN ZICRON-JACOB] My father, an old man, knew nothing of what had happened, but the rest of my family were tremendously excited.

I made light of the whole affair, but I felt sure that this was only the beginning.

Sure enough, next morning--the Sabbath--the same officer returned and put three of the leading elders of the village, together with myself, under arrest.
After another fruitless inquisition at the hotel, we were handcuffed and started on foot toward the prison, a day's journey away.

As our little procession passed my home, my father, who was aged and feeble, came tottering forward to say good-bye to me.

A soldier pushed him roughly back; he reeled, then fell full-length in the street before my eyes.
It was a dismal departure.