CHAPTER XIV.
THE HOPE OF THE FAMILY.
It was a cold, bleak Sunday afternoon, and the Ansells were spending it as usual.

Little Sarah was with Mrs.Simons, Rachel had gone to Victoria Park with a party of school-mates, the grandmother was asleep on the bed, covered with one of her son's old coats (for there was no fire in the grate), with her pious vade mecum in her hand; Esther had prepared her lessons and was reading a little brown book at Dutch Debby's, not being able to forget the _London Journal_ sufficiently; Solomon had not prepared his and was playing "rounder" in the street, Isaac being permitted to "feed" the strikers, in return for a prospective occupation of his new bed; Moses Ansell was at _Shool_, listening to a _Hesped_ or funeral oration at the German Synagogue, preached by Reb Shemuel over one of the lights of the Ghetto, prematurely gone out--no other than the consumptive _Maggid_, who had departed suddenly for a less fashionable place than Bournemouth.

"He has fallen," said the Reb, "not laden with age, nor sighing for release because the grasshopper was a burden.

But He who holds the keys said: 'Thou hast done thy share of the work; it is not thine to complete it.

It was in thy heart to serve Me, from Me thou shalt receive thy reward.'" And all the perspiring crowd in the black-draped hall shook with grief, and thousands of working men followed the body, weeping, to the grave, walking all the way to the great cemetery in Bow.
A slim, black-haired, handsome lad of about twelve, dressed in a neat black suit, with a shining white Eton collar, stumbled up the dark stairs of No.