“Is that pin-mark gone away yet, Milly, from the precious little thing?” said Malka, taking Ezekiel in her arms and disregarding the transformation of face which in babies precedes a storm.

“Yes, it was a mere flea-bite,” said Milly incautiously, adding hurriedly, “I always go through his flannels and things most carefully to see there are no more pins lurking about.”

“That is right!  Pins are like fleas—­you never know where they get to,” said Malka in an insidious spirit of compromise.  “Where is Leah?”

“She is in the back yard frying the last of the fish.  Don’t you smell it?”

“It will hardly have time to get cold.”

“Well, but I did a dishful myself last night.  She is only preparing a reserve in case the attack be too deadly.”

“And where is the Cohen?”

“Oh, we have asked old Hyams across the Ruins.  We expect him round every minute.”

At this point the indications of Ezekiel’s facial barometer were fulfilled, and a tempest of weeping shook him.

“Na!  Go then!  Go to the mother,” said Malka angrily.  “All my children are alike.  It’s getting late.  Hadn’t you better send across again for old Hyams?”

“There’s no hurry, mother,” said Michael Birnbaum soothingly.  “We must wait for Sam.”

“And who’s Sam?” cried Malka unappeased.

“Sam is Leah’s Chosan,” replied Michael ingenuously.

“Clever!” sneered Malka.  “But my grandson is not going to wait for the son of a proselyte.  Why doesn’t he come?”

“He’ll be here in one minute.”

“How do you know?”

“We came up in the same train.  He got in at Middlesborough.  He’s just gone home to see his folks, and get a wash and a brush-up.  Considering he’s coming up to town merely for the sake of the family ceremony, I think it would be very rude to commence without him.  It’s no joke, a long railway journey this weather.  My feet were nearly frozen despite the foot-warmer.”

“My poor lambkin,” said Malka, melting.  And she patted his side whiskers.

Sam Levine arrived almost immediately, and Leah, fishfork in hand, flew out of the back-yard kitchen to greet him.  Though a member of the tribe of Levi, he was anything but ecclesiastical in appearance, rather a representative of muscular Judaism.  He had a pink and white complexion, and a tawny moustache, and bubbled over with energy and animal spirits.  He could give most men thirty in a hundred in billiards, and fifty in anecdote.  He was an advanced Radical in politics, and had a high opinion of the intelligence of his party.  He paid Leah lip-fealty on his entry.

“What a pity it’s Sunday!” was Leah’s first remark when the kissing was done.

“No going to the play,” said Sam ruefully, catching her meaning.