"How do you know this, Father?" said Benjamin.
By this time all in the room had dropped their papers and books, and
were listening to their father.
"Well, this is how I know: nearly thirty years ago my uncle and his
family went to live in Jerusalem, and for many years one of my cousins
used to write to me about once a month. His letters were most
interesting. When his letters came I could almost imagine, when reading
them, that I was living in Bible times.
"Have you any of his letters still, Father?" they all exclaimed.
"Yes," said the father, "I have many of them."
"Oh, do read some of them to us!" they pleaded. "All right, I will; and
I will first try to find the one about the tsitsith."
The father went up to his bedroom, and soon came down with a bundle of
letters wrapped in a newspaper. He started looking through them while
all the family stood around him, watching as eagerly as if he were
searching for an heirloom.
"I will choose a very short one," said the father, "for it is on the
subject I have spoken to Benjamin about; but if you like I will make it
a rule every Friday evening, after our Sabbath meal, to read some of the
letters to you."