Of her six children, three died young, leaving two daughters and an only son, my father.

My grandmother fed and dressed her children the best she could, and taught them to thank God for what they had not as well as for what they had.

Piety was about the only positive doctrine she attempted to drill them in, leaving the rest of their education to life and the rebbe.
Promptly when custom prescribed, Pinchus, the petted only son, was sent to heder.

My grandfather being on the road at the time, my grandmother herself carried the boy in her arms, as was usual on the first day.

My father distinctly remembers that she wept on the way to the heder; partly, I suppose, from joy at starting her son on a holy life, and partly from sadness at being too poor to set forth the wine and honey-cake proper to the occasion.