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Samuel returned home. Dusk had fallen. Berl went to the synagogue for the evening prayers and the son remained with his mother.
In the twilight Samuel put his hand into his jacket pocket and touched his checkbook, his letters of credit. He had come here with big plans. He had a suitcase filled with presents for his parents. He wanted to help the village. He brought not only his own money but funds from the Lentshin Society in New York. But this village needed nothing. From the synagogue one could hear people chanting. The cricket, silent all day, started again its chirping. Berlcha began to sway and utter holy rhymes inherited from mothers and grandmothers.
