The Maccabaean

been elected in thirty-one districts. He had decided to accept the mandate of Neudorf.

It was in this happy mood that trouble awaited him in Jerusalem. His weeping wife embraced him. "We were so happy, David. Now God visits us so. Perhaps we were too proud, or accepted the good without acknowledgment."

He responded: "We will beat our breasts and take ourselves to account. At least that will do no wrong. But otherwise we will combat this illness with all that is in our power."

And they battled. The best physicians were called into council early and late.All that science knew was utilized to save the little son, but the illness seemed tobrave it all. The child grew worse and worse, and one evening came when thedoctors left the house, nodding regretfully, and only Professor Steineck remainedbehind. He and Kingscourt were with the nurse in the sickroom. The motherhad been overcome by anxiety and had been ordered to her bed, with Miriam andMrs. Gothland in attendance, and David Litvak paced to and fro between the twosickrooms. His courage was hardy, and it was he who gave his friends the mostreassuring reports. But he, too, was overcome, and at length he deputed ReschidBey to receive visitors, for the illness of the child had become known far and wide,and calls and inquiries were made every hour. The respect and love for Davidwere deeply displayed at this hour. The child was but little known, but that he wasDavid's son was sufficient, and many prayed for his welfare, hoping that he mightbecome a blessing to the community.

David, bowed, spoke to Friedrich. "See, my dear Dr. Lowenberg, this we could not change. It is as it was twenty years ago, and two thousand years ago, when the hour struck for him who had been the happy Job he had to say, 'The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken away.'" . . .

Steineck walked hastily into the room. "Not yet," he said, although his voice was wanting in cheeriness. "If the child can only sleep a regular sleep, it would be a good thing. It would perhaps save him."

“Does not Kingscourt’s humming annoy the child?”-asked Freidrich.

"No, no," said Steineck. "He must sing on whether he likes it or not. When the child wakes from its half sleep, the old man must sing. It is composing."

David began to weep, and out of the next room came the voice of Kingscourt, alternating his two lullabies. The riding, riding went on, and the God who had let iron grow needed no servants, needed them less and less.

Then there came a pause in the crooning. The lullabies had ceased. Kingscourt stood at the door, his eyes bloodshot, and put his finger to his lips. “Quiet! He sleeps! Not a sound in the house! Whoever passes through the corridor I will thrash. I am going to sit here; when Fritz wakes, call me.” And Kingscourt did so.

He sat on a chair in the corridor and waited; but he looked so desperate at all who came nigh, that they withdrew from him. An hour passed, and then another. Friedrich went to Kingscourt. The old man rose. “Did he call me?”