I could read while daylight lasted, if I chose, in the Yiddish.

Well I remember that Pentateuch, a middling thick octavo volume, in a crumbly sort of leather cover; and how the book opened of itself at certain places, where there were pictures.

My father tells me that when I was just learning to translate single words, he found me one evening poring over the _humesh_ and made fun of me for pretending to read; whereupon I gave him an eager account, he says, of the stories of Jacob, Benjamin, Moses, and others, which I had puzzled out from the pictures, by the help of a word here and there that I was able to translate.
It was inevitable, as we came to Genesis, that I should ask questions.
Rebbe, translating: "In the beginning God created the earth." Pupil, repeating: "In the beginning--Rebbe, when was the beginning ?" Rebbe, losing the place in amazement: "'S _gehert a kasse_?
(Ever hear such a question ?) The beginning was--the beginning--the beginning was in the beginning, of course! _Nu! nu!_ Go on." Pupil, resuming: "In the beginning God made the earth .-- Rebbe, what did He make it out of ?" Rebbe, dropping his pointer in astonishment: "What did--?
What sort of a girl is this, that asks questions?
Go on, go on!" The lesson continues to the end.

The book is closed, the pointer put away.

The rebbe exchanges his skull-cap for his street cap, is about to go.
Pupil, timidly, but determinedly, detaining him: "Reb' Lebe, _who made God_ ?" The rebbe regards the pupil in amazement mixed with anxiety.