When the "_Rebbe_" recovered (he was ill six weeks, in the height of
fever, and babbled constantly of murderers) and we went back to
"_Cheder_," we hardly recognized him, so greatly had he changed. What
had become of his lion's roar? He had put away his strap, and there was
no more "Lie down," and no more Mazeppa. On his face there was to be
seen a gentle melancholy. A feeling of regret stole into our hearts. And
Mazeppa suddenly grew dear to us, dear to our souls. Oh, if he had only
scolded us! But it was as if nothing had happened. Suddenly, he stopped
us in the middle of the lesson, and asked us to tell him again the story
of that "_L'ag Beomer_" day, and of the murderers in the forest. We did
not hesitate, but told him again and again the story we knew off by
heart--how murderers had come upon us in the forest, how they fell upon
him, tied him to the tree, and were going to kill him with a knife, and
how we rushed excitedly into the town, and by our shouting and clamours
saved him.
The "_Rebbe_" listened to us with closed eyes. Then he sighed, and asked
us suddenly:
"Are you quite sure they were murderers?"
"What else were they?"
"Perhaps bandits?"
And the teacher's eyes sought the distance. And we imagined that a
curiously cunning smile was hovering around his thick lips.