Many a time she fell on the ice, as she climbed the steep bank on the far side of the Dvina, a heavy basket on each arm.

More than once she fainted at the doors of her customers, ashamed to knock as suppliant where she had used to be received as an honored guest.

I hope the angels did not have to count the tears that fell on her frost-bitten, aching hands as she counted her bitter earnings at night.
And who took care of us children while my mother tramped the streets with her basket?
Why, who but Fetchke?
Who but the little housewife of twelve?
Sure of our safety was my mother with Fetchke to watch; sure of our comfort with Fetchke to cook the soup and divide the scrap of meat and remember the next meal.

Joseph was in heder all day; the baby was a quiet little thing; Mashke was no worse than usual.

But still there was plenty to do, with order to keep in a crowded room, and the washing, and the mending.