"We complain that they hate us and defraud us," said he. "Do we show love to them when we stone them? Do we not betray them, when we infringe our own laws in order to break faith with them, and withdraw the security on which we told them they might rely, when they settled among us? If we were to show more justice and Christian feelings we might induce them to like us; but hatred, scorn, and persecution, never yet won either proselytes or friends."
Benjamina rewarded the defender of her people with a grateful smile, and old Philip Moses rose and stept quietly, but with dignity, forth from his corner.
"It is just and right that we should be humbled before the Lord!" said he. "But unjust and wicked are our fellow-creatures who seek our humiliation. Accept an old man's thanks," he added, as he turned towards the young painter, "that thou dost not echo the cry of the persecutor, and cast stones at us in the time wherein we are exposed to the contumely and the reproach of the scorner, but that thou hast a word of kindness for the Lord's oppressed and humbled people in the hour of their desolation."
"Who is that strange old man? He speaks as if he were a Bible," said the startled visitors one to another.
Isaac's eldest child, a boy of about five years of age, and his mother's darling and absolute image, had all day been peeping at the old man, as if he were some extraordinary spectacle.
"Are not you a Jewish priest?" said he, pertly, as he approached him more closely. "Why, what a nasty, ugly, long beard you have! Don't come near the windows, or they will be broken for us, mother says."
"He is your grandfather," whispered Benjamina to the child; "you must love him, and behave well to him, Carl!"
"Nonsense!" cried the child, laughing outright —"a Jew with a long beard, who won't eat pork, my grandfather! No, no. See if I don't tell him all the fimny things that all the boys say—"
Benjamina cried, and placed her hand over the child's mouth, to prevent the old man from hearing what he was saying; but the unfortunate grandfather had not lost a word that he had uttered. He lifted his hand to crush the serpent that thus hissed in his ear, but at that moment he observed Benjamina's tearful eyes: his arm fell by his side, and he stood pale and silent, with his flashing eyes fixed on the floor.
Just then Isaac came in, and almost started as he beheld the embarrassed countenances around. Not one of the strangers, except the painter, seemed to feel any pity for the old man, but some were hastening away, while others were evidently preparing to follow.
"What is the matter?" asked Isaac, glancing first at the excited old man, and then, with some suspicion, at his wife. "Has any one been annoying my old father?"
"How can I help that poor child's chattering?" replied his wife. "But come, my boy," she added, taking the urchin tenderly by the hand, and leading him out of the room—"come; hereafter none of us mast dare to open our mouths in our own house."
The painter, reddening with anger, stood near Benjamina and Philip Moses, whose hand he shook kindly; but the old man stood as a statue of stone, with his eyes fixed on the floor. Suddenly he seemed to awaken as if from a dream, raised his head, and looked all around. When he saw
