crackled in their bath of oil, filling the room with a sense of deep peace and cosy comfort.  David’s imagination transferred the kitchen to his future home, and he was almost dazzled by the thought of actually inhabiting such a fairyland alone with Hannah.  He had knocked about a great deal, not always innocently, but deep down at his heart was the instinct of well-ordered life.  His past seemed joyless folly and chill emptiness.  He felt his eyes growing humid as he looked at the frank-souled girl who had given herself to him.  He was not humble, but for a moment he found himself wondering how he deserved the trust, and there was reverence in the touch with which he caressed her hair.  In another moment the frying was complete, and the contents of the pan neatly added to the dish.  Then the voice of Reb Shemuel crying for Hannah came down the kitchen stairs, and the lovers returned to the upper world.  The Reb had a tiny harvest of crumbs in a brown paper, and wanted Hannah to stow it away safely till the morning, when, to make assurance doubly sure, a final expedition in search of leaven would be undertaken.  Hannah received the packet and in return presented her betrothed.

Reb Shemuel had not of course expected him till the next morning, but he welcomed him as heartily as Hannah could desire.

“The Most High bless you!” he said in his charming foreign accents.  “May you make my Hannah as good a husband as she will make you a wife.”

“Trust me, Reb Shemuel,” said David, grasping his great hand warmly.

“Hannah says you’re a sinner in Israel,” said the Reb, smiling playfully, though there was a touch of anxiety in the tones.  “But I suppose you will keep a kosher house.”

“Make your mind easy, sir,” said David heartily.  “We must, if it’s only to have the pleasure of your dining with us sometimes.”

The old man patted him gently on the shoulder.

“Ah, you will soon become a good Jew,” he said.  “My Hannah will teach you, God bless her.”  Reb Shemuel’s voice was a bit husky.  He bent down and kissed Hannah’s forehead.  “I was a bit link myself before I married my Simcha” he added encouragingly.

“No, no, not you,” said David, smiling in response to the twinkle in the Reb’s eye.  “I warrant you never skipped a Mitzvah even as a bachelor.”

“Oh yes, I did,” replied the Reb, letting the twinkle develop to a broad smile, “for when I was a bachelor I hadn’t fulfilled the precept to marry, don’t you see?”

“Is marriage a Mitzvah, then?” inquired David, amused.

“Certainly.  In our holy religion everything a man ought to do is a Mitzvah, even if it is pleasant.”

“Oh, then, even I must have laid up some good deeds,” laughed David, “for I have always enjoyed myself.  Really, it isn’t such a bad religion after all.”

“Bad religion!” echoed Reb Shemuel genially.  “Wait till you’ve tried it.  You’ve never had a proper training, that’s clear.  Are your parents alive?”