.C i*!;;';!;^;)'

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

OUT OF THE SHADOW
ROSE COHEN

rACOB ADLER IN KING LEAR.

OUT OF
THE SHADOW BY
ROSE COHEN

HiLustrated bt
WALTER JACK DUNCAN

NEW ^%SJr YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

Copyright, 1918,
By George H. Doran Company

4

Printed in the United States of America

TO
LEONORA O'REILLY

ILLUSTRATIONS
JACOB ADLER IN "king LEAR "  Frontispiece PAGE
OXJR HOME WAS A LOG HOUSE COVERED WITH A STRAW
ROOF  12
THE DROSKY IS AT THE DOOR  50
ALL DAY WE SAT OR WALKED ABOUT IN THE SUN . . 62
I SAW THE JEWISH MEN HURRYING HOME FROM WORK ICO
WITH BABY ON ONE ARM, A BUNDLE ON THE OTHER . 142
HE FLUNG THEM FROM A STRANGE ROOF  1 66
WOMEN AT THE PUSH-CARTS HAGGLED MORE AND MORE
DESPERATELY OVER A CENT  188
HE STOOD STIRRING THE CAN WITH A STICK .... 204
THIS WAS A "piece work" SHOP  230
flE AND MOTHER CARTED OVER THE FURNITURE ON A
PUSH-CART  266
IT WAS A ONE-WINDOW STORE  302

VU

PART ONE

PART ONE

I WAS born in a smaU Russian village. Our home was
a log house, covered with a straw roof. The front part
of the house overlooked a large clear lake, and the back,
open fields.
The first time I became aware of my existence was on
a cold winter night My father and I were sitting on top
of our red brick oven. The wind, whistling through the
chimney and rattling the ice-covered windows, frightened
me, and so I pressed close to my father and held his hand
tightly. He was looking across the room where mother's
bed stood curtained off with white sheets. Every now
and then I heard a moan coming from the bed, and each
time I felt father's hand tremble.
Appearing and disappearing behind the bed curtains,
I saw my little old great-aunt, in a red quilted petticoat
and white, close-fitting cap. Whenever she appeared and
caught father's eye, she smiled to him, a sweet, crooked
smile. Finally, I recall hearing a few sound slaps, fol
lowed by a baby's cry and aunt calling out loudly,
"Avrom, it's a girl again."
About three years passed. IWith my little sister as
companion, I recall many happy days we spent together.
In the summer we picked field mushrooms at the back of
the house or played near the lake and watched the women
bleaching their linens. I was happiest in the morning
when I first went out of doors. To see the sunshine, the
blue sky, and the green fields, filled my soul with unspeak-
9

10  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
able happiness. At such moments I would run away
from my little sister, hide myself in a favourite bush and
sit for a while listening to the singing of the birds and
the rustling of the leaves. Then I would jump up and
skip about like a young pony and shout out of pure jo3?jj
'^ In the winter we cut and made doll's clothing. Father
was a tailor, and as soon as we were able to hold a needle
we were taught to sew. Mother taught us how to spin,
grandfather made toys out of wood for us, and grand
mother told us stories. 3
These were the pleasant days during the winter. But
there were others, days that were cold and dark and
dreary, when we children had to stay a great part of
the time on top of the oven, and no one came, not even
a beggar. But when a beggar did come our joy was
boundless. I remember that grandfather would hasten to meet
the poor man, as we called him, at the door with a hearty
handshake and a welcoming smile, saying, "Peace be
with you, brother. Take off your knapsack and stay
over night."
Mother would put on a fresh apron and begin to pre
pare something extra for supper. And grandmother,
who was blind, and always sat in bed knitting a stocking,
would stop for a moment at the sound of the stranger's
voice to smooth the comforter on her bed. Her pale
face, so indifferent a minute before, would light up as
if with new life, while we children, fearing, if seen idle^
to be rebuked and sent into a distant corner from where
we could neither see nor hear the stranger, would sud
denly find a dozen things to do.
On such a night after supper there was something of
the holiday spirit in our home. We would light the lamp
instead of a candle and place it on a milk jug in the centre

OUT OF THE SHADOW ii

of the table. Then we all sat around it, grandmother
with her knitting, mother with her sewing, all of us lis
tening eagerly to the stories the stranger told. But more
surprised even than any of us children about the wonder
ful things going on in the world, was grandfather. He
would sit listening with his lips partly open and his eyes
large with wonder. Every now and then he would call
out, "Ach, brother, I never would have even dreamt
such things were possible!"
At bedtime grandfather would give up his favourite
bed, the bench near the oven, to the stranger. Mother
would give him the largest and softest of her pillows.
And grandmother would give him a clean pair of socks
to put on in the morning.
The next day after he was gone we felt as after a
pleasant holiday when we had to put on our old clothes
and turn in to do the every day things.
Yes, I recall happy days, and sad days-r-days of sor
row which then were very real.
Across the road from our home, about a quarter of
a block to the left, was a cemetery. Over each grave
stood a wooden cross, and about the middle of each one
there were tied little aprons of red, green and yellow
material. On windy days I loved to watch these flutter
ing in the wind and whenever I looked through half-
closed eyes they took form and became like coloured
birds hovering over the graves.
One windy day, at dusk, I went out to the middle of
the road to watch the little aprons flying in the breeze
and saw something red lying on the road near the ceme
tery. I guessed it to be an apron blown away by the wind.
How beautiful my doll would look in one of these,
thought I. But how could I get it? I was in mortal fear
of the cemetery. Although mother had often pointed out

12  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
how peacefully the dead slept and had said that she
wished the living were as little to be feared, I never went
near them. But now I wanted the little red apron for
my doll. The longer I looked at it the more I wanted it.
Finally, I decided to risk getting it. Slowly, step by
step, I walked toward it, keeping my eyes on the graves
and repeating softly to myself, to keep up courage,
"There is nothing to fear; there is nothing to fear,"
until I reached it. When I had it in my hand I
stood still for a moment. The very thought of turn
ing my back on the dead made my hair stand on end; I
walked backwards a few steps; suddenly I turned and
ran. As I ran I felt my heart beating violently against
my ribs; my feet were as heavy as lead and the distance
to the house seemed endless. But I ran fast; so fast,
that when I reached the door I could not stop. I fell
against it, it flew open and I fell headlong into the house.
Mother came running over to pick me up. When I re
gained my breath, I told her what had happened and
showed her the little apron which I still held in my hand.
As usual, sister, who wanted everything she saw and to
whom I was made to give in because she was younger,
came over and asked for it and, as usual, I refused. She
tried to snatch it from my hand but I pushed her away,
She fell and struck her head against a bench. Then
father came over with a strap and told us to kiss each
other or we should be spanked. Mother looked at me •with
tears in her eyes, knowing, no doubt, what would happen,
and she left the room. Grandmother called to me to hide
behind her back, but I would not do that. My sister
looked at me, then at the strap, and came over to kiss me.
But I could not at such moments, neither would I let her
kiss me. So I was spanked and the little apron was taken
away from me and given to her.

^*&^^

OUR HOME WAS A LOG HOUSE, COVERED WITH A STRAW ROOF.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 13

II
When I was about eleven years old there were five
of us children. One day father went to town and came
back with a stranger, who, we were told, would teach
us to read and write. Our teacher was a young man of
middle height, thin, dark and pale. He had an agree
able voice, and when he sang it was pleasant to hear
him. When we did our lessons well his eyes brightened
and his tightly closed lips would relax a little. But when
we did poorly he was angry and would scold us.
As soon as I learned how to read I would sit for hours
and read to my grandmother. Besides the Bible, we had
a few religious books. I read these again and again, and
became very devout. I read the morning, noon and eve
ning prayers, and sometimes I fasted for half a day.
Then I became less stubborn and the quarrels between
sister and myself became less frequent.
One day father left home on a three days* journey.
When he returned he did not look like himself. His
face was pale and he seemed to be restless. During the
three days that followed, father went out only at night.
I also noticed that mother collected all of father's clothes,
and, as she sat mending them, I often saw her tears fall
on her work. On the third night I awoke and saw father
bending over me. He wore his heavy overcoat, his hat
was pulled well over his forehead and a knapsack was
strapped across his shoulders. Before I had time to say
a word he kissed me and went to grandmother's bed and
woke her up. "I am going away, mother." She sat up,
rubbed her eyes and asked in a sleepy voice, "Where?"
"To America," father whispered hoarsely.

14  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
For a moment there was silence; then grandmother
uttered a cry that chilled my blood. My mother, who sat
in a comer weeping, went to her and tried to quiet her.
The noise woke grandfather and the children. We all
gathered around grandmother's bed, and I heard father
explaining the reason for his going. He said that he
could not get a passport ( for a reason I could not under
stand at the time). And as no one may live in Russia
even a week without a passport, he had to leave immedi
ately. His explanation did not comfort grandmother;
she still sat crying and wringing her hands. After
embracing us all, father ran out of the house, and grand
father ran after him into the snow with his bare feet.
When he returned he sat down and cried like a little
child. I spent the rest of the night in prayer for a safe
journey for my father.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 15

III
As father's departure to America had to be kept secret
until he was safe out of Russia, we had to bury our sor
row deep in our own hearts, and go about our work as if
nothing unusual had happened.
Mother and I sat at the window, sewing, and grand
father found relief in chopping wood. All day long his
axe flashed in the sun and chips flew far and near. And
even grandmother's tears, which were always ready,
were kept back now as she sat on her bed, knitting a
stocking and rocking the cradle with one foot, whilelsister
seemed to be everywhere at once. It was then and for
the first time that I realised something of her real worth.
Those soft grey eyes of hers seemed to see every one's
needs. When grandmother put her feet down on the
floor and felt about for her slippers, it was sister who
would find them and stick them on her toes. The same
little woman of eight kept a little brother of five and a
sister of two playing quietly in a corner. And even
when they were hungry she would not let 'them disturb
mother, but would cut some thick slices of black bread,
dip them into water, sprinkle them with salt, and taking a
bite of her slice, she would close her eyes and say, "M-m-
m — what delicious cake!" In the evening, after supper,
when grandfather would sit down near the stove staring
sadly into the fire, she would climb up on his knee and
plait his long grey beard into braids. Soothed by her
gentle touches and childish prattle, he would fall asleep
and forget his troubles for a while. J

i6 OUT OF THE SHADOW

IV
So the days passed.
One morning mother went to the postoffice and when
she came back she looked as if she had suddenly aged.
She took a postal card from her pocket and we all bent
our heads over it and read : "I have been arrested while
crossing the border and I am on my way home, walking
the greater part of the way. If we pass through our
village I shall ask the officer to let me stop home for a
few minutes. Be brave and trust in God." At the news
more tears were shed in our house than on the T)ay of
Atonement. That night after the doors were barred and the win
dows darkened, grandmother, grandfather, and, mother,
with a three weeks* old baby in her arms, sat in the niche
of our chimney, making plans to defeat the Tzar of
Russia. The next day mother sent grandfather away on a visit.
He was not a person to have around in case of trouble,
for the very sight of brass buttons put him into such
fright and confusion, that he would forget his own name.
After he was gone mother went to town to see her
brother and arrange for the escape. Then there was
nothing left to do but wait for father's home-coming. I
remember that I used to run out on the road many times
a day to see if he were coming.
One afternoon we were all startled at hearing some
one stamping off snow at our door. I ran to the
window and looked out. It was only Yana, a wom
an known in our village to be very clever and re
ligious, but unkind. I wondered at her coming for I

OUT OF THE SHADOW 17
knew that she and my mother were not on friendly terms.
She came into the house and walking straight over to
mother, who was bending over the cradle, she said in
her usual voice, which was like a drake's, soft and hoarse,
"Your husband is arrested; I just saw him on the road!"
Mother became so pale and looked so ill that I thought
she would fall, but the next minute I saw her straighten
herself, and putting her arm over the cradle as if to
protect it, she said quietly and distinctly, "Yana, I hope
you will live to carry better news." When Yana passed
me on her way out of the house I thought her face looked
more yellow than usual, and her black, large teeth further
apart. After the woman was gone mother put on a cheerful
face and busied herself laying the cloth and setting food
on the table, and grandmother put on her best apron,
father's last gift, and sat down near the table with her
hands folded in her lap, waiting. We children stood at
the window looking out. Soon we saw father open our
gate. He was closely followed by Yonko, the sheriff,
in his grey fur cap which he wore summer and winter,
and grey coat tied with a red girdle.
Father was limping and when he came nearer I saw
how greatly he had changed. His face was thin and
weatherbeaten, and his eyes had sunk deep into his head.
At sight of us near the window his lips twitched, but the
next moment we saw his own old smile light up his whole
face. Our greeting and our conversation were quiet and re
strained. When father sat down at the table he said that he was
very hungry but after taking a few moUthfuls he fell
asleep. The peasant who sat near the stove resting his
elbows on his knees and turning his cap between his

^8  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
hands, rose and wanted to wake father, "Oh, let him
sleep a little while," mother entreated. "Impossible," said
Yonko, "the roads are bad and we have to be in the next
village before night falls." "Well, then just let him
sleep until I bathe his feet." The man consented. Father's
boots were worn and wet through, and were hard to get
off, but he never woke while mother tugged away at
them. At last they were off and the socks also.
"Thank God that his mother is blind," she whispered,
covering her face for a moment. Father's feet were
red, blistered, and swollen. As she lifted them into the
basin I saw her tears falling into the water. When I
looked at Yonko he turned away quickly and became
interested in a crack in the ceiling.
Our parting like our greeting was restrained. Father
embraced grandmother, then he smiled a quick farewell
from the door and was gone. Sister and I ran out on
the road and stood watching him until he looked a
black speck against the white snow. Then we ran back
to the house, she to help and I to pray.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 19

y
With the exception of grandmother, I was the most
pious and the most superstitious member of the family.
In sickness or trouble, while the others turned to do
practical things, I appealed to God for help.
So it was on the day when father was led away to the
next village. Knowing that he was to attempt an escape
that very night, I felt that there was no time to be lost.
Better to concentrate my mind on my prayers I climbed
up on the stove and sat down in the darkest comer, fac
ing the wall. To shut out the children's voices I stuck
my fingers into my ears and began to pray. But I could
not put any heart into it. I felt, however, that if I only
could pray with all my heart and soul, God would hear
me. In despair, therefore, I let my mind dwell on my
father. Again I saw him, weatherbeaten and care-worn,
limping through the gate. Again I saw his lips twitch as
when he tried to smile to us from the window. Then I
recalled stories of cruelty to those who served in the
army. I remembered Yonko, a strong young peasant,
telling grandfather how he had been treated. One day,
for some slight offence, he was struck such a powerful
blow on the ear that he fell unconscious.
Father will never survive such a blow, thought I. Once
he goes to the army we will never see him again. How
dark and desolate our home will be!
With a pang of remorse I recalled how often I had
been discontented. Only a while before I rememlaered
having sulked for hours merely because I had no shoes
of my own, and had to wear out old ones which were
much too large and made an awful clatter as I walked.

20  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
How sinful I had been to be discontented when we were
all well and father was with us. "Oh, God, if Thou wilt
spare my father, I will never wish for anything again!
Never complain!"
When I rose it was dark, the children were all in bed,
and except for the squeak of the cradle as it swung
back and forth, all was quiet. I knew that it was mother
who sat up rocking the cradle. I longed to speak to her
of the hope I felt but feared in case my feelings were
deceiving me after all.
I think it was the next day that a message came telling
us that father had escaped from the constable in the next
village. That was joy indeed though limited, for father
was still on Russian soil and could be recaptured any
minute. And so while we were waiting, fearing, hoping,
another week or so passed.
Two things I recall distinctly of that time. Grand
mother, believing children to be prophets, often asked us
to predict the future. One day she asked my brother, a
little serious-faced, wide-awake boy of six, who looked
upon himself as one of the future great Rabbis, "Tell
me, my child, will father reach America safely ?" "Yes,"
he said with so much conviction in his voice that her face
lit up with hope. From that moment she was more cheer
ful. The second thing is that there was an awful storm
and the snow lay piled up almost as high as our windows.
But on Friday it cleared. The sun came out bright and
warm. "It is a good sign that it cleared in honour of
Sabbath," said grandmother, turning her pale, thin face
hopefully to the window. That afternoon we saw the
mistress of the inn and postoffice walking up to her waist
in snow, coming toward our house. "Nothing but a let
ter would bring her here on a day like this,** mother cried
and rushed out of the house. When she came back she

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  21
had a letter but she stood in the middle of the room
holding it in her hand as though she feared to open it.
"Look,** said the post-mistress, pointing to the post mark.
It was stamped Memel, Prussia.
Mother ran to grandmother and they embraced, and
stood so long and so silently with their faces hidden from
us, that we children were frightened and begged them
to speak to us. Then mother turned and caught us all
into her arms with a cry of joy, while grandmother raised
her tear-stained face to Heaven in silent prayer.

22 OUT OF THE SHADOW

VI
Spring came. The snow which lay high all winter
began to melt, and here and there green spots appeared.
Then the dandelions began to show their yellow heads,
and the storks came flying back to build their nests in the
old stump in the cemetery. Hens, followed by groups
of black and yellow headed chicks, walked about scratch
ing in the soft warm earth and cackling cheerfully.
As for us, mother and grandmother having lived in
fear and anxiety about father for thirteen years, and
then having come near losing him, found it hard to be
lieve at first that he was really beyond the reach of
Russia. But once they realised this fact they were as
happy as they had never been before.
Mother, who never sang except when rocking baby to
sleep, and then only hummed, sang now as she went
about her work. And grandmother spoke about America
from morning till night.
Having a lively imagination, she gave us her ideas of
what she thought America was like, the kind of people
father would be likely to meet, how soon he would find
work, how much he would earn, and how soon he would
be able to take his family over. Here she cried a good
deal, saying, "If I had been told a year ago that my only
son would go away to the other end of the world, and
that I would continue to live knowing that I would never
see him again, I would not have believed it possible. And
yet it has come to pass and I am not only alive, but con
tented that he should be away. Ah, how strange is life
and its ways!" ^Then she would dry her tears and begin
to wonder how he would live without her care, who

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  23
would look after his socks, and who would cover his feet
on cold nights. But soon she consoled herself by saying,
"Oh, but socks are cheap out there, as no doubt every
thing else must be, and they say that it is not as cold
in America as in Russia." •
And we children were as happy as if we had been
released from a dark, damp prison cell. It seemed to us
that the lake was never so clear and blue or sparkled so
brightly, and the birds never sang so gaily before. We
ran about visiting one familiar place after another, un
able to stop long anywhere.
I came to my bush where I hid so often when I wanted
to be alone. As I stooped and parted the branches so as
to hide more comfortably among them, I saw a small,
half finished bird's nest. I picked it up and as I stood
looking at it, it occurred to me how Very near our home
came to being broken up. So I put the nest back care
fully and went away.
When grandfather came home we were shocked at
the change in him. His hair and beard, grey before, had
turned white, and his eyes, they were the tmstful eyes of
a child, had a strange questioning look in them. He had
become quite deaf. But otherwise he was as sprightly
as ever.
C Now the chief part of the support of the family fell
to mother, and the rest of us helped. Grandmother
knitted stockings for the women of the village. Of course
the stockings had to be looked over, the lost stitches found
and mended carefully. That was my work.
Grandmother also peeled the potatoes for the house.
These, too, I had to go over, and cut away the peelings
she had left. I disliked this work and dropped many a
tear on the potatoes. Then mother would say, "What,
crying? So much the better, we won't need to salt the

24  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
potatoes." And grandfather, after bringing the wood,
building the fire, fetching water from the spring, would
go to the village to see if there were any pots to mendj
Grandfather had clever hands. He could do wonders
with a penknife and a piece of wood. And in mending
pots he was a perfect artist. And so whenever he walked
through the village the women would call him into their
homes, bless him for the pots he made whole, and fill his
little bag, which he always carried upon his back, with
potatoes, carrots, turnips or onions. On coming home
he would look as happy as if he had a whole fortune in
his bag. "Come, children, and see what I have,*' he would
call out while still on the threshold. Then he
would open his bag, take out a carrot, and holding it up
high for our admiration, he would say, his face beaming,
"Is it not a perfect beauty? And sweet and juicy! Just
wait till you taste it!" Then he would scrape it, divide
it among us and sit looking at us while we ate.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 25

VII
After Easter there was some pleasant outdoor work.
Grandfather dug up the garden and we planted some
vegetables. Of this work I liked planting potatoes best. I
enjoyed walking after the plough in the cool moist earth
with my bare feet. And while doing so, it pleased me to
imagine that I was Yanko the sower. I took long even
strides and swung my arm back and forth in a circle, as
I took and dropped the potatoes.
Mother saw me and scolded, saying that I dropped
them too far apart. "You are always playing," she said.
"Your sister, almost three years younger, is already a
little woman; look!"
Bent almost double under a bag of potatoes, sister was
coming towards us, walking unsteadily under the weight.
When she reached us mother took the bag and asked,
"Is it not too heavy?"
The love in her eyes, and tenderness in her voice made
my heart ache with envy. And so as usual I went for
consolation to my bush.
While walking along I determined never to play again.
But as soon as I sat down, the twigs and flowers turned
into fanciful girls and boys who adored me. I named
each one of them and myself I called Dena. And then
we went romping about in the fields.
I was extremely happy among these imaginary com
panions. But often they were the cause of punishment.
For like real companions they lured me away from my
work in the house, to play.
C Among these companions there was one who at first
was just a name I liked. But after a while at the thought

26  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
of the name I saw a vision of a tall, dark, handsome
youth. And as I always wished for a big brother who
would take care of me, I adopted him.J
So real did this imaginary brother become that when I
found myself alone in the dark, trembling with fear, I
would call out, "Oh, Ephraim, where are you ?" Then I
seemed to hear him say, "Ah, you little 'fraidcat, I knew
you would want me. Here, take my hand." Then my
two hands would clasp each other and I seemed to feel
safer.
C As soon as the warm weather came the women of the
village gave all their time and thought to the work in
the fields. And so now we had no stockings to knit, no
sewing, and no pots for grandfather to mend. He
would often come home from the village with his little
bag empty and sadness in his eyes. Indeed, there were
many days when we had not enough even of potatoes.
But this hardship did not last long. Soon a letter and
money came from father J This was the first letter from
America. Father did not tell us much about his life
out there. He just said that he was boarding with a nice
Russian Jewish family and that he was already working
and earning ten dollars a week. The rest of the letter
was just good cheer and loving messages to each one
of us.
Grandmother kept the letter under her pillow and soon
the writing was defaced by her tears.
One day I managed to get hold of it. I put it into
my pocket, slipped out of the house, then I took it put
and looked at it.
It seemed to me so wonderful that a letter posted in
America found its way into our little village.
"And this is American paper and here is an American
stamp! And no doubt father touched this very stamp

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  27
with his fingers!" When I thought of that, he did not
seem so far away.
^When winter came mother bought feathers to pick.
Having three daughters she said she needed many pil
lows for their dowry. I liked picking feathers, as I liked
sewing, not so much for itself as because it left my mind
free to dream. ^
Sometimes mother would let sister and myself take our
bags of feathers and go to visit our neighbours. One
whom we enjoyed visiting most was Siomka. She was
a little, lonely, old widow who lived in a small hut not
far away from us. During the summer she lived by
working in the fields for neighbours and in the winter
she spun and wove.
To get to her living room we had to pass her out
house. This was a large windowless room, a place I
used to run through when alone, with fast-beating heart.
But when sister was with me I was not so afraid.
Though she knew no fear herself, she always seemed
to understand. As soon as we would come to the out
house door she would slip her little hand, which was
always warm, into mine and say, "Hold on to me!"
Then together we would run through. Often by the time
I found the latch I was in a cold perspiration. But once
within Siomka's smoke-covered walls, I was happy.
By means of a log of wood we would climb up on her
bed, which was just some boards knocked together and
covered with a sack of straw. And there we would re
main all afternoon picking our feathers and watching
Siomka weave.
I loved to see the shuttle sliding between the threads,
and hear the rhythmical sound of the loom. Often
Siomka would stop her weaving and stoop down to pat
the pink snout of her wee pig. At her touch he would

28  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
blink his tiny eyes, wag his little tail, and grunt softly.
The first time we saw the little pig, Siomka told us
that she received him for some spinning she had done
and that she was feeding him up for Christmas. But
Christmas came and went and we saw the little pig still
following Siomka about the house, or lying curled up at
her feet while she spun.
Then she told us that she would surely kill him for
Easter. Easter noon while passing Siomka's window I
saw her eating black bread and potatoes. Then she came
out and sat down on the door step, and watched with
smiling eyes the little pig rolling in the soft mud before
the hut

OUT OF THE SHADOW 29

VIII
Grandmother had two children besides father, both
daughters. The elder was happily married and lived
about two or three days' journey from us. Whether
through indifference or because of the distance, I do
not know, but she never came to see her parents or wrote
to them. Sometimes a traveller from her part of the
country, passing through, our village, would stop at our
house and give us her greetings.
Crhe younger was twenty-one years of age now and
was working in Minsk, a large city. She left home when
she was sixteen and being fond of children she became
a nurse girl. As grandmother expected her to be a
seamstress, this choice of occupation caused grandmother
as many tears as father*s becoming a tailor instead of a
rabbi. For a nurse girl was thought to be as much below
a seamstress as a tailor below a rabbi.!]
C Father had been in America but a short time when
grandmother realised that his emigration had lessened
Aunt Masha*s prospects of marriage. When she came
to this conclusion her peace was gone. She wept night
and day. "Poor Masha,** she moaned, "what is to be
come of her? Her chances had been small enough with
out a dowry. And now, burdened with an aged father
and a blind helpless mother, the best she can expect is
a middle-aged widower with half a dozen children !" J
Mother tried to comfort her by telling her that she
would remain in Russia as long as grandmother lived,
so that she would not have to live with Masha. But this
only irritated her. "You talk like a child,*' she wept.
"You stay here and wait for my death, while my son, at

30  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
the other end of the world, will be leading a life of
loneliness. And as for me, would I have any peace,
knowing that I was the cause ?'!
Mother, seeing that she could do nothing to comfort
her, silently awaited results.
One night I woke hearing a muffled sound of crying. I
felt for grandmother, with whom I slept. But she was
not beside me. Frightened, I sat up and peered into
the darkness. The crying came from the foot of the
bed. And soon I discerned grandmother sitting there.
With her hands clasped about her knees and her face
buried in her lap she sat rocking gently and weeping.
I called to her in a whisper to come and lie down, but
she did not answer. For a while I sat trembling with
cold and fear. Then I slipped far back under the warm
comforter and tried to sleep. But the picture of grand
mother sitting alone in the dark and cold haunted me.
And so again I arose.
Creeping over to her quickly I curled up close to her
and put my arms around her cold, trembling form. At
first she did not take any notice of me. But after a few
minutes she lifted her head and unclasping her hands,
she drew me under her shawl, saying as she laid her wet
face against mine, "Oh, you little mouse, how you do
creep up to one! But you had better go back to your
place or you will catch cold."
When I went back and as grandmother tucked me
in, I asked her why she cried so. "Never mind, you little
busybody," she said, "go to sleep." But I teased her to
tell me. And finally she said with a sigh and speaking
more to herself than to me, "It is about Masha. Go to
sleep now, you will hear all about it to-morrow."
She sat down on the edge of the bed gently patting

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 31
my shoulder, as she had often done when I was a little
child. Soon I fell asleep.
The next day the rings under her eyes were darker, and
her eyelids were more red and swollen than usual. But
otherwise she seemed more calm than she had been for
a long time.
After dinner she said to mother, hesitating at every
word as she spoke, "You know, I decided last night, that
when you go to America Masha should go with you.'*
This startled mother so that she almost dropped the baby
whom she was swinging on her foot.
"What are you saying ? Masha go to America and you
left here alone?"
"Yes, alone," she sighed, "as if I never had any chil
dren. But so it must be. True, I have not had a happy
life. But happy or not I have lived it. And now, it is
almost at an end. QSut Masha has just begun to live, and
in America she will have a better chance, for there are
fewer women there, they say. As for me, I shall not
be without comfort in my last days. When I am lonely,
I shall think of her happily married and surrounded by
dear little children like yours. ^ And now listen to this
plan. Of course I can not be left here alone, though my
needs are few. And so before you start for America you
will take me to my niece in the city. She is a very pious
woman and so I am sure she will give me a little space
in some comer of her house. Of course you will pay
her for a year of my board. And after that perhaps you
will send her money. But I hope it won't be necessary.
Indeed, I feel that I won't trouble this world much
longer." Mother tried to dissuade her from this plan but she
turned a deaf ear and insisted that we write to father at
once. And we did.

32 OUT OF THE SHADOW

About a month passed before we received an answer.
The letter was heavier than usual. And when we opened
it, two yellow tickets fell out from among the two
closely-written sheets.
"What is this?" we all asked at once. "Not money.
And this writing must be English."
We handed the tickets to grandmother who held out
her hand for them. SuddenlyTier hand began to tremble
and she said, "Perhaps these are steamer tickets. Quickly
read the letter."
After the usual greetings father wrote, "Since Masha
is to come to America she might as well start as soon as
she can get ready. And Rahel had better come with her.
I am sure she can earn at least three dollars a week.
With her help I'll be able to bring the rest of the family
over inuch sooner, perhaps in a year or so. And besides,
now she can still travel on half a ticket, which I am en
closing with the one for Masha."
Quite bewildered, I looked at mother. Her lips were
opening and closing without making a sound. Sud
denly she caught me into her arms and burst into tears.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 33

IX
For many days mother could not look at the steamer
tickets without tears in her eyes. And even then though
she tried to speak cheerfully about my going to America,
I noticed that the anxious look which came into her eyes
while the letter was being read, never left them. Also I
felt her eyes following me about on every step. But once
only, she gave way to her feelings openly.
One morning while she was fastening the back of
my dress I caught a few disconnected words, which she
uttered low as though she were speaking to herself.
"Good Heavens! child twelve years old — care — ^her
self." Then came those inward tearless sobs and I felt
her hands tremble on my back.
But grandmother took the news in a manner that
astonished us all. When I looked at her over my moth
er's shoulder, after the letter was read, I saw her sitting
at the table in her usual position. Her head was bent
low and a little to one side, and her hands were folded in
her lap. Very quietly she sat, not a word, not a tear
came from her.
Even grandfather, who never took any notice of her
except to scold, looked at her in surprise.
"Well, Baila!" he said. "Have you wept yourself dry?
Or perhaps you have come to your senses at last and
realise how useless tears are. Remember, that you are
sending your child away yourself. I can always take care
of my needs but you will die in the poorhouse."
Grandfather and grandmother were always quarrel
ling. Grandfather claimed that she wept her eyes out.
And grandmother said that all her troubles came because

34 OUT OF THE SHADOW

of his impiety. But when I grew older I learned that
there was a deeper reason for their quarrels.
As a rule when grandfather scolded, grandmother
would retort with great spirit. But this time it was as
if she did not hear him.
She called me and dictated a letter to Aunt Masha, to
come home at once. Then she went to her trunk and
took out the ball of fine linen thread which she had been
saving for years. And while starting a pair of stockings
for Aunt Masha I heard her figuring quietly, what we
would need for the journey, how long it would take us
to get ready, and what day we would start.
As for me, I became suddenly a very important per
son. At home I was looked upon as a guest. Now
mother never pressed me to do any work. On the con
trary, as soon as I would start to do something, she
would say,
C "Run out and play, you will work hard enough
pretty soon." Neither did I find it necessary to feign
illness as I had often done before that I might be fondled
and caressed. No, indeed ; now mother would often put
baby down to take me on her lap. 3
And the young women of the village, who never took
any notice of me before, would stop to speak to me.
One day, at sundown, I sat on our gate munching a
bit of carrot, and watching the red sun disappearing
gradually behind the treetops, when I became aware of
some one standing in back of me. I turned around and
saw Miriam. She was a pretty, gipsy-like young woman
whose dark eyes always looked moist and a little red as
though she had just been crying.
"So you are going to America," she said, looking at
me wistfully, "you are very fortunate. Of course you
are too young to realise it now but you will, later, when

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  35
you grow older and think of this." She pointed to
Siomka's half-tumbled hut, and the little pig who stood
at the door and squealed to be let in.
"No," she continued, almost in a whisper, "your life
won't be wasted like  ." Here Siomka's little pig
squealed louder than ever and Miriam turned suddenly
and went away. I sat for a long while wondering what
the last word might have been. Then I jumped down
from the gate and ran into the house to look at the
steamer tickets, perhaps for the tenth time that day.
Cl do not know whether I considered myself fortunate
in going to America or not. But I do remember that
when I convinced myself, by looking at the tickets often,
that it was not a dream like many others I had had, that
I would really start for America in a month or six
weeks, I felt a great joy. Of course I was a little
ashamed of this joy. I saw that mother was unhappy.
And grandmother's sorrow, very awful, in its calmness,
was double now. For I felt that I was almost as dear to
her as Aunt Masha. 3
CWhen a week passed we cleaned the house as thor
oughly as if it were for Easter, in honour of Aunt
Masha's coming, ]
During the five years that she had been away she vis
ited us twice. The last time had been three years before.
And so we were all excited and eager to see her.
As the days passed and the time drew near for her
coming, grandmother becsune so impatient and nervous
that she would jump at the least outdoor sound, asking
excitedly, "What is that? I think I hear the rumbling of wheels.
Isn*t that some one coming?*' Then we would all rush
to the door and windows and find that it was only a cart

36  OUT OF THE SHADOW  ¦
passing on the road, or a pig scratching his back against
the sharp comer of the house. i
One day we really beared a cart drive up to the door.
When we ran out we saw a small, plump, pretty ybung
woman in a brown dress jump lightly to the ground.
"Oh, grandmother, quickly come, it is Aunt Masha."
In a moment grandmother tumbled out of bed, but be
fore she could reach the door she was in Aunt Masha's
arms. And for a while there was sobbing in every cor
ner of the room.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 37

X
We children scarcely knew Aunt Masha. All I re
membered of her two visits, was that both times she had
come to stay a month, but went away at the end of a
week, and that we felt depressed afterwards, and grand
mother cried for days and days.
And so it was only now that we began to know her.
When she had been home a short time we found that
she was affectionate, but also severe, and hot-tempered.
If we did not obey her promptly she scolded severely; or
worse still, stopped speaking to us. Aunt Masha was
also a painfully clean person and spent a great deal of
time in washing us. Brother, whose skin was dark, often
appeared, after she was through with him, with his neck
red and tears in his eyes.
But the greatest trouble was caused by Aunt Masha's
personal belongings. Nothing of hers must be touched.
And as we were very curious about things that came
from the city there was a world of trouble.
One morning I arose earlier than usual. All were
asleep except mother and grandfather, who were out.
As I passed Aunt Masha's bed I was attracted by her
little shoes which stood close together on the floor be
side her bed, looking like two soldiers keeping watch.
They were the smallest things with high tops, pointed
toes and elastic sides. Often I had longed to try them
on. And once I even asked Aunt Masha if I might. But
she said, "No, you would burst them.*' Now as I stood
looking at them and at my own clumsy lace shoes, made
by our village shoemaker, I thought, "Yes, they would

38  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
fit. Oh, how I should like to try them on, just for a
moment.*' I glanced at Aunt Masha's face. The wrinkle between
her eyebrows was there even now, and it was saying to
me, "No!" But the lips which were partly open show
ing the white strong teeth, seemed to smile, "Yes."
Very quietly I tiptoed over to the bed, took the shoes
and hastened to the bench near the oven. My fingers
trembled so, that I could not open my laces. They be
came knotted and it took me a long time to break them
open. But at last my shoes were off.
I remember how rapidly my heart beat when I began
to draw one of hers on. I thought, "If it does not go
on easily, I won't force it." But it did, and felt com
fortable. And the elastic fitted snugly around the ankles.
With a feeling of pleasure I stepped down on the floor to
see how much taller I looked with high heels. As I
stood up I glanced anxiously toward Aunt Masha's bed.
What I saw sent the blood rushing to my face.
She was sitting up in bed looking as though she saw
a ghost. "I suppose you have burst them. I told you not to
put them on," she said and frowned. This frown brought
back my earliest recollections of her. I remembered how
I feared it. Now as I stood looking at her it deepened
and deepened until it seemed to darken her whole face,
and reminded me of an angry cloud.
Quickly I took off her shoes, put them near her bed
and ran from her as from an approaching storm.
Outside I met mother, who saw that something had
happened, the minute she looked at me. When I told
her she scolded.
"You should not have tried on the shoes when you

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  39
were told not to do it. Now I think you had better go
and apologise."
I had never apologised in my life. In the days when
I was given the choice between apologising and a spank
ing, I always chose the spanking. Now when I knew
that no spanking was coming I certainly refused to do it.
But mother coaxed and begged, and reasoned,
"You are going out into the wide world alone, among
strangers. Don't harden your heart against your only
friend. Oh, how I wish you had more sense!" She
turned away and cried like a little child.
I was miserable. The very thought of apologising
made my face burn. But here stood mother crying.
"I won't have many more chances of pleasing her," I
thought. "Mother, I'll apologise, but — not now," I begged.
She turned to me. "That is a dear child," she said, look
ing brighter, "but if you do it at all, do it now."
"What shall I say?" I asked.
"Oh, just say you are sorry you disobeyed."
We went into the house. Aunt Masha was dressed
and stood at the window, combing out her beautiful
brown hair. It fell all about her, covering almost half of
her small body. When she heard the door close she parted
her hair in front, as if it were a curtain, and looked. She
dropped it quickly when she saw me and went on comb
ing carefully. Slowly I went over to her. "Aunt
Masha," I said. My voice sounded strange to me. Again
she parted her hair and looked at me. I thought I saw
an expression of triumph in her steel grey eyes. This
hurt me. And almost before I could think I blurted out,
angrily, "Aunt Masha, I'll never, never, touch anything of
yours again, as if it were — swine!'*

40 OUT OF THE SHADOW
Aunt Masha fairly gasped. And mother looked hor
rified. Indeed, I was horrified myself at what I had
done. I turned to mother and tried to explain. But I
could not make her imderstand me. I was not good at
explanations when I myself was concerned. Quite mis
erable, I ran out of the house and wandered about in the
fields for the rest of the morning.
Aunt Masha did not speak to me for three days. Dur
ing that time when our eyes happened to meet, I tried to
tell her, in a dumb way, that I was sorry. But she al
ways tumed her face away quickly. Once when we met
near, the door, our shoulders almost touching, I saw a
smile come quivering to her lips. And so I waited, hop
ing she would speak to me. But the next moment she
frowned it down and passed on as if she did not know
me. On the fourth day, at twilight, I came up on her
so suddenly, while she was outside, that she gave a little
scream of fright. I, too, was frightened, and caught
hold of her hand. And she let it stay in mine.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 41

XI
All through the Spring, while mother, grandmother
and Aunt Masha were sewing and knitting stockings for
Aunt Masha and me to take along to America, I wan
dered about in the fields, restless and unable to play at
anything. Early, while the flowers were still heavy with the
morning dew, I would take baby, who was a little over
a year old, on my back, tie him on to me with a shawl,
so that I could rest my arms when they grew tired, and
start out followed by the rest of the children. For hours
we would wander about like gipsies.
More often than anywhere we went to the lake, where
it was very lively at that time of the year, as the peasant
women were bleaching their linens. There, sister and
brother would go off digging for flagroot. And I would
put the two little ones on the flat rock near the edge and
climbing up beside them, we would all sit quietly for the
longest while, watching, listening.
It was a pleasant spot. The clear blue water lay
quietly rippling and sparkling in the sun. On the edge
were the women with red kerchiefs on their heads and
beads of many colours around their necks, swinging their
wooden mallets in unison. And the neighbourhood rang
with the echoes which seemed to come from the dense,
mysterious looking forest across the lake. While through
the air floated the sweet odour of new wet linen.
But the time I loved this spot best was late in the
afternoon, when the light grew soft and the women went
away to their homes. Then came a peculiar hush, and
yet there seemed to be a thousand voices in the air whis-

42  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
pering softly. They came from everywhere, from the
tall stately forest trees across the lake, the hazelnut
bushes, the flags as the wind passed over them. And the
lake, a deeper blue now in the soft light, rippled gently
as if with laughter. Sometimes these fairy-like voices
would be lost for a moment in the louder sound of a
dry twig breaking and falling to the ground, the cuckoo
of a bird or the splash of a fish.
I do not know what effect this had on the children.
It made me unspeakably happy and sad at the same time.
I remember that I used to want to laugh and cry and sing
and dance, and very often I did. To dance I would clasp
hands with the children, and we would spin around, and
around, until we fell down breathless and dizzy.
At twilight we would start for home, walking very
slowly and feeling very sad at the thought of bed time.
So the Spring passed.
C As the second of June, the day for our departure to
America, drew near, I stayed more in the house and fol
lowed mother about more closely. Gradually I became
conscious of two things. One was the fear of going
out into the world. Just what I feared I did not know.
And the other was regret. I had not realised how dear
to me were my people and home until I was about to
leave them. But the one whom I regretted to leave most
was grandmother.^
Grandfather was not fond of me and so he cared little
about my going away. And mother and the children
I should see again. But that grandmother cared I knew.
And I also knew and she knew that her I should never
see again.
One day grandmother and I were alone in the house, at
least, I think we were alone. For as I look back now I
can see no one but the two of us. I am standing at the

OUT OF THE SHADOW 43
window, and she is walking across the room, with her
slow, hesitating step, and her hands stretched in front
of her for protection. Coming upon a bench in the mid
dle of the room she sat down heavily, saying, with a
sigh, "It is strange, but the room seems to have grown
larger." "What is that shadow at the window, Rahel? Come,
child, let me lean on you. There, your shoulder just
fits under my arm. Do you remember when you first
began to lead me about? That was when you still called
yourself by name."
When we reached the window she raised her hand,
shaded her eyes from the strong Hght and stood quietly
for a while, looking out. Then she said,
"This must be a beautiful day. For my eyelids are
not as heavy when it is clear."
"Oh, grandmother, it is glorious! There is not a
cloud in the sky. And, that thing waving in front of
the window, can you make out what it is?*'
"I see a black, shapeless mass. What is it?"
"It is the wild apple tree, white with blossoms."
"H-m-m — yes,'* she said, meditatively, "it was a day
just like this.'*
"When, grandmother?"
She did not answer for a long while and when she
spoke at last her voice was low and passionate.
"When God took my sight from me. My eyes had
never been strong. One day in the Spring, it was beau
tiful like to-day, I was digging in the garden, but a little
while it seemed to me, when I was startled by a crash
of thunder so that the very earth under my feet seemed
to tremble. I looked up. The sun was gone and a black
angry cloud hung over our house. Quickly I gathered

44  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
up the tools and hastened toward home. I was but a
few steps away when a wind-storm came. It rocked the
trees, blew the loosened shingles from the roof, and
swept the dry sand in a whirl before me. At the same
moment I felt a stinging pain in my eyes so that I could
not see the door. In darkness I groped about for long
time, till I found it. For twenty-four hours I was beside
myself with pain. At the end of that time it went away as
suddenly as it came. When your father, who was a
little boy then, untied the kerchief from my eyes I asked
him if it were night.
" 'Why, mother,' I heard his frightened voice, 'it is
daylight. Don*t you see the sun across your bed?* Then
I knew." She stood silent and motionless for a while. Then
she said more calmly,
"But I must not sin. For if God has taken my sight.
He has given me dear little grandchildren who have been
everything I wanted. Ah, if I had only been worthy
enough to keep them with me!" Here she tumed to me
suddenly and taking my face between her cold soft hands
she said entreatingly,
'i- "Rahel, promise me that you won't cry when you
are starting. You hear? It is bad luck to cry when one
is starting on a journey. And — I want you to write me
whether there are any synagogues in America.'*J
"I promise!"
Still holding my face between her hands she bent over
it and looked at it intently. I saw a strained expression
come into her face and the eyes move about restlessly
under the heavy red lids, as though she were trying to
see. Then came a pitiful moan, and tears rolled down
her cheeks and fell on mine.
What happened after this I do not remember until the

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  45
very minute of starting on the second of June. And
even then, as I look b^ck I can see nothing at first, but
a thick grey mist. But the sounds I recall very distinctly.
There was Aunt Masha*s voice crying, a crack of a
whip, horses* hoofs striking against stones. Then there
was a sudden jolt and I felt myself falling backwards.
And now I remember what I saw, too.
When I rose I found myself sitting in a straw-lined
wagon, with my back to the horse. Besides me were
mother and the baby, who were coming to the city with
us, and Aunt Masha who was lying with her face hidden
in the straw, crying aloud.
I remembered grandmother*s warning, "Nothing but
bad luck could come to one who is crying while starting
on a journey,'* and felt sorry for Aunt Masha. But as
we were pulling out through the gate and I saw grand
mother looking so lonely and forsaken, as she stood
leaning against the house, and when I saw grandfather
and the children who stood at the gate, looking after us
and crying, I could not keep my own tears back, though
I opened my eyes wide and blinked hard.
We were still but a short distance from the house
when I saw grandmother go in through the open door,
and close it behind her with unusual quickness. As she
was passing the window I caught a last glimpse of her
white kerchief tied about her head.
When we tumed the comer I could not see grand
father's and the children's faces any more but I still
heard their voices carried over by the wind.
One by one we passed the dear familiar places. Each
one brought back sad and happy recollections. As I
looked at my favourite bush while we were passing it,
I saw my little make-believe companions spring up in it
one after another. And among them I saw the swarthy

46  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
face of my imaginary brother Ephraim. I waved my
hand to him, and then hid my face on mother's shoulder.
When I lookea up again the road was unknown to
me.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 47

XII
We were bound for Minsk. This was a large city
about a day and a half hard travelling from our village.
There mother was to see an agent about smuggling us
across the border and buy a few necessary things for
our journey.
As I had been unable to see mother's people before
going, we went a little out of our way to stop with them
for a few hours. Shortly before sunset we arrived at
their home which stood on the outskirt of a small town.
Mother's father had been dead for some years and
the mother was living with her four sons who were
blacksmiths by trade.
As we had to pass the shop which was a short distance
from the house we stopped there first. All four were
busy at the forge, at the bellows one was swinging the
heavy sledge and Uncle Hayim, who was the oldest, was
shaping a piece of iron on the anvil. Seeing us he
stopped and came to meet us. He kissed mother with
more than usual tenderness, shook hands with Aunt
Masha, and looked at me in surprise. "Well, well," he
said, "how tall you have grown. But you are only a
feather-weight after all." He laughed as he raised me
lightly on a level with himself.
He locked up the shop and we all went to the house.
At the door we met grandmother coming from the barn
with a pail of foaming milk which she almost spilt in her
surprise at seeing us.
She was as different from my other grandmother as
a person could be. She was a strong, stocky little woman,
so industrious and quick that at times it was hard to

^  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
believe that there was just one of her. In telling stories,
however, she was like my other grandmother. Every
thing she saw and heard reminded her of a story.
We started to continue on our journey soon after sup
per. At parting we all cried a good deal and laughed,
too, when I refused to kiss my two younger uncles on the
ground that they were boys.
"But,** said tihe younger and mischievous one, "you
kissed me two weeks ago when I was at your home."
"Then it was different," I said. Cl could not explain
but perhaps I felt that in parting from my childhood
surroundings I parted from childhood, too.^
Uncle Hayim lit the way to the wagon with a lantern.
He held it up high while mother tucked baby and me
into the straw, between Aunt Masha and herself.
I was very fond of this uncle and as I lay looking
at his face, with the light shining on it, I thought, "An
other minute, and I won't see him any more. Perhaps
I'll never see him again." Indistinctly, through my fears,
I saw the driver climb into the wagon and uncle jump
on the axle of the wheel. He bent over me. "Farewell !"
he said. At that moment his voice and face were so
much like my mother's that I was struck with terror and
could not breathe until I found her hand.
C As we jogged off I heard uncle calling after us,
"Don't forget God." And it seemed to me that the frogs
from the neighbouring swamps took up the words and
croaked, "Don't forget God! Don't forget God!"jl
The road was very uneven, and every time the wheels
passed over a stone I heard Aunt Masha's head bump
against the wagon. Mother gave her some more straw
to put there, but she refused.
"What," she said, peevishly, "is this pain or any other
pain that I have ever had, compared with what my

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  49
mother suffers to-night." And so she let her head bump
as if that would give her mother reUef. For a long time
I felt Aunt Masha's body shaking with sobs. But by
degrees it grew quieter, the breathing became regular,
and she slept. Then I saw mother, who I thought was
also asleep, sit up. She took some straw from her side
of the wagon and bending over me towards Aunt Masha
she raised her head gently and spread the straw under it.
uLong after mother fell asleep I still lay awake. Every
nerve in my body quivered and my eyes burned. As I
lay looking up into the starlit sky I lived the day over
again. The parting from home! "Could there be any
thing more painful than parting from those dear to
you?" I wondered. "Will this ache in my heart always
be there ? And yet, how strange ! It is but a few hours
since I have left grandmother and the children and their
faces have already become indistinct, as though I had
left them a long time ago. And so it will be when I
part from mother. Oh, I can't bear to think of it ! Sup
pose something happens now and I could not go to
America but had to return home. Would I be glad?
Glad to go back to four smoke-covered walls? No! I
would be disappointed, more than that, — life would
hardly be worth living." ^
To what other conclusions I came that night I do not
remember distinctly. But I recall that gradually I be
came conscious of the sweet moist night air passing over
my face and the splendour of the stars and was soothed
by their quiet light.
I slept until baby poked his little nose under my chin to
wake me at broad daylight. My first thought was, "I
am in Minsk." I had looked forward with pleasure to
being there. And yet all I saw of it was a dingy court
yard, a sunless room, a drosky and a railroad station.

50  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
The dingy courtyard we passed through when we got
out of the wagon, and the sunless room was the home
of our cousins with whom we stayed as long as we re
mained in the city. These cousins were the children of
father's and Aunt Masha's half-brother, who ihad died
several years before. Aunt Masha knew them as well as
she knew us, and mother knew them too, but to me they
were strangers.
When we came into the room I saw a small, dark young
man with a pale, delicate face, a square-shouldered boy
of about seventeen and a girl of my own age with beau-'
tiful brown hair like Aunt Masha's.
I remember that I kept in back of mother. The
thought of being looked at made me feel quite ill.
During the three days that followed I stayed in the
house and took care of baby while mother and Aunt
Masha were doing their errands. There was quite some
trouble with the agents. They found out that we had
no local passport and could not get one. And so they
demanded an unreasonable sum of money which mother
finally had to pay. And even then, it was just as likely
as not that we would be caught crossing the boundary
and sent back.
"Your children had better take along plenty of money,"
the agent said with a smile, while he was pocketing the
roll of bills, "for you never can tell how long they
might have to wait in Hamburg for a steamer." Mother
wept, hearing this. There was so little left to take along.
I think it was on the second day that the boy asked
Aunt Masha, "Why don't you take Rahel along and
show her the City?"
"In these shoes?" Aunt Masha asked, looking at him
severely. "Well," he said, "you are going to buy her shoes.

THE DROSKY IS AT THE DOOR.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 51
are you not? Why not buy them now and let her go
along?" "Look here," Aunt Masha said with terrible calmness,
"when I ask for your advice you will give it to me.
Until then  ." The boy dropped into a chair as if he
were shot. Then came a peal of laughter. He laughed
and laughed until his whole body rocked and his small
twinkling blue eyes disappeared. We all laughed with
him. And even Aunt Masha had to frown hard and
purse her pretty -lips in order not to smile.
On the third morning Aunt Masha bought me a very
pretty pair of black patent-leather slippers with two but
tons. I remember that after I put them on, I sat most
of the time. I wanted to keep the soles clean. And it
was only to give baby the pleasure and myself, too, of
hearing them squeak, that I walked across the room.
In the afternoon mother sewed the money that was
left into the side lining of my little underwaist. "No one
will suspect it there," she said. When she was through
she spread the waist out on her knee and smoothed
out the creases with great tenderness. While putting on
the waist I noticed that there were many damp spots on
it. After that there was nothing more to do. Our new
wicker basket was ready and stood corded at the door.
And there was a small bag of zwieback and two new
bright tin drinking cups. I remember how silently we
all sat waiting for five o'clock, how white mother's face
looked, how unnaturally cheerful Aunt Masha seemed,
how attentive the boy was to all of us, how rapidly my
heart beat as if I had been running a long distance.
A little before the hour my pale-faced cousin came in.
And it seemed to me that he grew still paler when he
looked at us and said, "The drosky is at the door."

52 OUT OF THE SHADOW
I don't remember how we left the house. But when
we were in the drosky I saw that I had my tin cup in
my hand and Aunt Masha had the bag of zwieback and
the other cup. We were driven to the station at a speed
that made baby's breath come and go in gasps.
The platform was crowded. "Here is the train," my
cousin said. "Hurry !" Mother caught me into her arms
with a cry that made me forget everything. Half un
conscious now of what was going on, I held her around
the neck with all my strength.
"A crowded train," I heard. "Hurry!" And again,
"You will never get a seat now,'* and still later, "Oh, I
thought you were such a brave girl" — "You will miss the
train, Rahel!"
Some one pulled my hands apart. I was lifted from
the back and carried into the train. I looked through the
window into the crowd for mother. Just as I caught
sight of her face the train began to move. I saw her
fling out her arms wildly and run alongside of the train
for a few steps. Then her arms dropped liraply at her
sides and she disappeared in the crowd.
I stood for a inoment swaying back and forth. Then
it grew dark as if night had suddenly come. The tin
cup fell out of my hand. I saw it lying on the floor but
indistinctly and the distance between it and me seemed
immeasurable and grew with every instant. "My cup,"
I tried to call and took a step toward it. Then it disap
peared altogether.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 53

XIII
Aunt Masha's tear-stained face, bending over me
anxiously, was the first thing I saw when I regained
consciousness. Then I found that I was sitting in some
one's lap and in my own there were two small, white-
gloved hands clasped together. Surprised, I looked over
my shoulder and saw under a large, black hat a charming,
girlish face. I felt very much embarrassed and tried to
stand up at once. But she spoke to me in a quiet, sooth
ing voice and at the same time she drew me toward her
so gently and so gradually that I was scarcely conscious
of it until I felt my back resting against her, and my
head on her shoulder.
We travelled for about an hour when she stood up. She
put me on her seat, nodded to Aunt Masha, who was also
sitting by that time, and went to the door. When the
train stopped she looked at me with a smile, blew a kiss
from her finger tips, and was gone.
In wonder and regret I sat staring at the door until I
heard Aunt Masha whisper half severely, half entreat
ingly, "Rahel, do stop staring so. You seem to think
you are still in the woods."
We were in the train two or three days. When we
made long stops Aunt Masha used to leave me in the
train and go to get food and drink. I remember the
first time she went out I was trembling with fear lest
the train should go off before she returned. Each time
she went out I would get as near a window as possible
and stand ready to jump out in case the train started.
I do not remember how or when we left the train, or
how about twenty-five of us, two young men and the

54  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
rest women and very small children, came to be travelling
in a large, canvas-covered wagon, on a country road
white with the heat and dust.^The first thing I recall see
ing was one of the young men bent almost double, so as
not to strike his head against the roof, coming toward
Aunt Masha and me, who sat in the back. He sat down
in front of Aunt Masha and looked at her with a grin
which made the tip of his long, thin-hooked nose and red,
bristling moustache touch.
'^'You are a pretty girl," he said, beginning to twirl his
moustache and looking at her, through half-closed, blood
shot eyes. Aunt Masha blushed painfully and turned
her head away.
"Oh, come, look this way,** he coaxed, catching hold
of her hands. Aunt Masha grew angry. , At the same
time I saw that she was trying to control herself and
take the whole thing as a joke while struggling to free
her hands^j
I was furious. To see this stranger touch her, and
look at her which seemed to hurt her more than if she
were struck, was so awful to me that I could not stand
it. "Let go her hand.'Jj
"I won't," he laughed and made a vulgar remark at
which some of the women tittered. But others called
out, "Oh, shame, to speak so to a child."
"Will you let go her hand?" I was hardly able to
speak now in my anger. He glanced at me and I saw
that he was amused and, as if to carry the fun still
further, he drew Aunt Masha's face to his own. Then
I lost my head. I jumped up and began to strike at him
blindly with both fistsT"]
He was so taken by'^surprise that he did not seem to
realise at first what was happening tcf him. Finally he
let her go and jumping up he caught hold of me. Aunt

 OUT OF THE SHADOW S5
Masha screamed and the women interfered. He flung
me down into the bottom of the wagon and looked around
at the women.
"The little fury," he gasped, "who would have ex
pected it of her? She looked as quiet as a mouse.**
I was surprised myself at my daring, but I was not
sorry. '^rom that hour there was no peace. Like a shadow
he followed us about on every step. He tried to be on
friendly terms with Aunt Masha. I saw this and so
seldom left her alone. He read my mind and hated me.j
Toward evening of that day we came to an empty
little log house so much like ours at home that I could
not restrain a cry of joy at the sight of it. The roof,
however, was of shingles instead of straw.
When it grew quite dark a few wagons drove up to
the door of the hut. There was a good deal of whisper
ing and disputing about which Aunt Masha tried to keep
me in ignorance. Her idea was to keep me from know
ing everything that was unpleasant. But her way of do
ing it was as unpleasant as anything could have been.
For it was always, "Rahel, go away, don't listen !"
"But why. Aunt Masha?"
"Why? Because I say so!" So I would walk away
and watch intently from a distance. I noticed that Aunt
Masha did not want to go into a wagon with small
children. Nor did the other women who had none of
their own. At last, after much talking and swearing on
the part of the drivers, which I could not help over
hearing, in spite of Masha's precaution, we were all
placed. I was put flat on my face between Aunt Masha
and her friend, into one of the wagons spread with ill-
smelling hay. We were covered up with more of it,

56  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
heads and all, then drove off, it seemed to me, each
wagon in a different direction.
We might have been driving for an hour, though it
seemed much longer for I could hardly breathe, when I
heard the driver's hoarse whisper, "Remember, people,
you are not to make a sound, nor move a limb for the
next half hour."
Soon after this I heard a rough voice in Russian, "Who
is there?"
"It is Mushka," our driver answered.
"What have you in the wagon?" the Russian de
manded. "Oh, just some bags of flour," Mushka answered.
I felt a heavy hand laid on my back. At that moment
it dawned on me that we were stealing across the border.
My heart began to thump so that I was sure he heard it.
And in my fear I began to pray. But I stopped at once,
at a pinch from Aunt Masha and a nudge from her
friend. Then I heard the clink of money. At last th^
rough voice called out loudly, "Flour? Go ahead."
As we started off again I heard the crying of children
in the distance, and shooting.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 57

XIV
One day, I don't remember how soon after we crossed
the border, we arrived in Hamburg. We stopped in a
large, red building run in connection with the steamship
company. We were all shown (really driven) into a
large room where many dirty, narrow cots stood along
the walls. Aunt Masha shivered as she looked at the
one in which we two were to sleep.
"The less we stay in these beds the better," she said.
So, although we were dead tired we went to bed quite
late. But before we were on our cot very long we saw
that sleep was out of the question.
The air in the room was so foul and thick that it felt
as if it could be touched. From every corner came sounds
of groaning and snoring. But worst of all were the in
sects in the cot. After battling with these for some
time Aunt Masha sat up.
"I feel I'll go mad," she gasped, clutching her hair.
After sitting up a while she remembered seeing a wagon
with some hay in it under the shed in the yard, and we
decided to go there. We took our shoes in our hands and
slipped out noiselessly.
It was a dark night and Aunt Masha was almost as
much afraid in the dark as I was. With one arm clasped
about each other's waists we groped about an .endless
time, until we crossed the yard and found the wagon.
Fortunately, no one had thought of sleeping in it. Aunt
Masha gave a sigh of relief and satisfaction as she
nestled comfortably into the hay. Soon she was asleep.
To me sleep did not come so readily. My mind always
seemed more active when I lay down at night than at any

58 OUT OF THE SHADOW

other time. And since we had been on the journey I
could not sleep because of the new and strange things
about me.
As I lay thinking, listening, I suddenly caught a whiff
of cigarette smoke. I sat up quickly and peered into the
darkness. In the direction where I knew the door was I
saw a tiny light. My first thought was to wake Aunt
Masha. Then it occurred to me that it must be some one
like ourselves who could not sleep and so came to stay
outside. But as I sat watching the light I saw that it was
coming toward the shed, though very slowly.
Nearer and nearer it came and soon I discerned a
tall, dark form coming along stealthily. I recognised the
slow cat-like tread. It was he with the red eyes and
grinning mouth.
I was almost beside myself with fear now that I knew
who it was and I pressed closer to Aunt Masha. As he
stopped a short distance from the shed and stood listen
ing, I coughed to let him know that some one was in the
wagon. Then only, it seemed as if he realised that the light
from his cigarette could be seen and he put his hand be
hind him. For a minute or so he stood still, listening.
Then he went away as stealthily as he came and I saw
him crouch down in a corner of the yard.
I sat wondering whether he knew that it was Aunt
Masha and I that were in the wagon, and whether he
would come again. He did, after a good while passed.
Again I coughed to warn him. But this time he came
right into the shed and craning his neck he tried to see.
"Why don't you lie down and go to sleep," he whis
pered, feigning friendly concern. Now I saw that he
knew us.
"I am not sleepy," I said, loudly.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  59
"But you will fall asleep if you lie down," he insisted.
I noticed that he looked around as if he were uneasy
when I spoke loud. So I answered still louder :
"I am not going to lie down. I am going to sit up all
night, and if you don't go away at once I'll shout and
wake the whole house." Then he turned quickly and
tiptoed away, cursing under his breath.
At first I thought I would let Aunt Masha sleep a while
and then wake her. But when some time passed it oc
curred to me that if I could stay up all night without
waking Aunt Masha, no one could ever again call me
that hated name, " 'Fraid-cat." So I clasped my hands
tightly in my lap and sat watching, listening. At the
least sound in the yard I felt my hair rise on my head.
Several times Aunt Masha moved restlessly in her sleep.
Then I too, moved, half hoping that she would hear me
and wake up. But she slept on. At one time it grew so
dark and so cold that I could not keep my teeth still and
it seemed as if the night would never end.
"Oh, now I must wake her." But at the very thought
of it I seemed to hear, "Ah, you are a 'Fraid-cat after
all." And so I pressed my hand over my mouth and
waited. At last a faint grey light came creeping slowly into
the yard. With unspeakable joy I watched the house
loom out of the darkness, but it was only when the small
er objects in the yard took on their natural forms, and
people began to come and go, that I lay down.
My head scarcely seemed to have touched the hay
when I heard Aunt Masha say, teasingly, "Oh, you sleepy
head, the night is never long enough for you. Why,
your eyes are actually swollen from too much sleep. Get
up." I sat up, not knowing at first where I was or what

6o  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
had happened. Then recollecting my experience of the
night I wondered whether I should tell Aunt Masha or
not. She had never invited any confidence from me.
And this particularly seemed hard to tell. As I sat,
hesitating, I half saw, half felt the red eyes glaring at
me from the doorway. And so I jumped out of the wag
on and ran to get washed.
Our breakfast, which was boiled potatoes and slices
of white bread, was served on long bare tables in a room
like the sleeping room. No sooner was the food put on
the tables than it was gone, and some of us were left
with empty plates. Aunt Masha and I looked at each
other and burst out laughing. To see the bread grabbed
up and the fingers scorched on the boiled potatoes was
ugly and pathetic but also funny.
"To-morrow," Aunt Masha said, "we too shall have
to grab. For the money sewed in your waist won't last
if we have to buy more than one meal a day for a week."
But the next day it was almost the same thing. Going
hungry seemed easy in comparison wth the shame we felt
to put out our hands for the bread while there was such
a struggle.
Aunt Masha managed to get one slice which she held
out to me. "Here, eat it." When I refused she gave
me a look that was as bad as a blow. "Take it at once,"
she said angrily. I took it. I found it hard to swallow
the bread, knowing that she was hungry.
We stayed in Hamburg a week. Every day from ten
in the moming until four in the afternoon we stayed in
a large, bare hall waiting for our names to be called. On
the left side of the hall there was a heavy door leading
into the office, where the emigrants were called in one
by one.
I used to sit down on the floor opposite the door and

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  61
watch the people's faces as they came and went into the
office. Some looked excited and worried when they
came out, and others looked relieved.
When our names were called I rose quickly and fol
lowed Aunt Masha. The clerk who always came to the
door, which he opened only a little, looked at us and
asked our names. Then he let Aunt Masha go in and
pushing me away roughly without a word he shut the
heavy door in my face.
I stood nearby waiting, until my feet ached. When
Aunt Masha came out at last her face was flushed and
there were tears in her eyes. Immediately she went over
to her friends (she had many friends by that time)
and began to talk to them excitedly. I followed her but
she stopped talking when she saw me. I understood that
I was not to listen. And so I went away.
This went on for almost a week. Each day her face
looked more worried and perplexed.
One afternoon the door of the office opened wider than
usual and a different clerk came out holding a paper in
his hand. He told us that the English steamer for which
we had been waiting was in. And then he read the names
of those who were to go on it.
I'll never forget Aunt Masha's joy when she heard
that we were to sail the next day. She ran from one to
the other of her friends, crying and laughing at once.
"The scoundrel," she kept on saying, "he threatened
to send us home. He said he had the power to send us
home!" Then she ran over to me and in her joy almost
smothered me in her embrace.
I don't remember whether it was on this same day or
when we were already on the steamer that our clothes
were taken away to be "steamed." As my little under
waist, which still had some money in it, was also taken.

fo  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
we spent some anxious hours. The money was not
touched. But when I looked at my pretty little slippers
I wept bitter tears. They looked old, and wrinkled, and
two of the buttons were off.
On the following evening we sailed off in a small white
boat. We all sat on the floor of the deck. I dreaded
crossing the ocean for I had heard that the water was
rough. The boat rocked fearfully, and there was sick
ness and even death. But when some time passed and
I saw how smoothly and steadily the boat went along over
quiet water, I felt relieved. Then came something of
gladness. I sat quietly in back of Aunt Masha, watching
the full moon appearing and disappearing behind the
clouds, and listening to our fellow travellers. Their
faces, so worried and excited for weeks, looked peaceful
and contented as they sat gazing at the moon and talking
quietly and hopefully of the future in the new world.
"How beautiful," I thought. "This is the way the rest
of our joumey will be." For in my ignorance I thought
that we would sail all the way across in this little white
boat and that the water would always be calm, and the
wind gentle. When I whispered my thought to Aunt
Masha she smiled at me over her shoulder, a queer, mean
ing little smile, which puzzled me. In the moming when
we came to an enormous black and white steamer I re
membered Aunt Masha*s smile and understood its
meaning. We were deathly seasick the first three days. During
that period I was conscious, it seems to me, only part
of the time. I remember that once when I opened my
eyes I seemed to see the steamer turn to one side and
then disappear under water. Then I heard voices scream
ing, entreating, praying. I thought we were drowning,
but I did not care. Nothing mattered now. On the

ALL DAY WE SAT OR WALKED ABOUT IN THE SUN.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  63
fourth day, I became again interested in life. I heard
Aunt Masha moaning. A long time seemed to have
passed since I saw her face. I tried to lift my head.
Finding it impossible, I lay quietly listening, but it hurt
me to hear her moaning. At last it became so pitiful
that I could not stand it.
"I'll die if I don't get a drop of water," she moaned,
"just one drop to wet my throat."
And so as I lay flat on my face I felt about for my
tin cup till I found it. Then I began to slip downward
feet first until I reached the berth underneath. From
there I swung down to the floor. As I stood up the boat
lunged to one side and I went flying to the door and fell
in a heap, striking my head against the door post. I
don't know how long I had been lying there, when I
heard the cabin door open and a man's strong voice call
out, "Up on deck." I opened my eyes and saw an
enormous pair of black boots and the lower part of white
trousers. The man stooped down, looked at me and gently
bmshed the hair away from my eyes. As I was used
now to being pushed about and yelled at, the kind touch
brought tears to my eyes. For the first time since I
left home I covered my face with my hands and wept
heartily. For a minute or so he stood looking down at me. Then
he picked up my cup, which I had dropped in falling,
and brought me water. I drank some, and pointed to
Aunt Masha. He handed the cup to a woman who came
tumbling out of her berth to go up on deck. Then pick
ing me up as if I were a little infant, he again shouted,
"Up on deck !" and carried me off.
I had heard that those who were very sick on the

64  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
steamer and those who died were thrown into the ocean.
There was no doubt in my mind, therefore, that that was
where I was being carried. I clasped my arms tightly
about the man's neck. I felt sick with fear. He climbed
up a white staircase and propped me up in a comer on
the floor. Then he went away, to fetch a rope, I thought.
He retumed in a few minutes. But instead of a rope
there was half an orange in his hand. He kneeled down
in front of me, raised my chin, showed me how to open
my mouth and squeezed a few drops of juice into it. A
good-natured smile played about his lips as he watched
me swallow. Three times between his work he went and
came with the half orange, until it was dry.
After a while Aunt Masha came creeping up the
steps on all fours, hugging our little bag of zwieback.
From that hour we improved quickly. All day we sat
or walked about in the sun. Soon Aunt Masha's little
round nose was covered with freckles and my hair was
bleached a half dozen shades.
Sometimes while walking about on deck we passed
the man who had fed me with orange juice. He always
touched his cap and smiled to us.
A week passed.
One day, it was the first of July, Aunt Masha and I
stood in Castle Garden. With fluttering hearts yet pa
tiently we stood scanning the faces of a group of Amer
icans divided from us by iron gates.
"My father could never be among those wonderfully
dressed people," I thought. Suddenly it seemed to me
as if I must shout. I caught sight of a familiar smile. /
"Aunt Masha, do you see that man in the light tan
suit ? The one who is smiling and waving his hand ?"
"Why, you little goose," she cried, "don't you see?

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  65
It*s father!" She gave a laugh and a sob, and hid her
face in her hands.
A little while later the three of us stood clinging to
one another.

PART TWO

PART TWO

XV

From Castle Garden we drove to our new home in
a market wagon filled with immigrants* bedding. Father
tucked us in among the bundles, climbed up beside the
driver himself and we rattled off over the cobbled stone
pavement, with the noon sun beating down on our heads.
As we drove along I looked about in bewilderment.
LMy thoughts were chasing each other. I felt a thrill :
"Am I really in America at last?'* But the next moment
it would be checked and I felt a little disappointed, a lit
tle homesick. Father was so changed. I hardly ex
pected to find him in his black long tailed coat in which
he left home. But of course yet with his same full grown
beard and earlocks. Now instead I saw a young man
with a closely cut beard and no sign of earlocks. As I
looked at him I could scarcely believe my eyes. Father
had been the most pious Jew in our neighbourhood. I
wondered was it true then as Mindle said that "in Amer
ica one at once became a libertine" ? ^
Father's face was radiantly happy. Every now and
then he would look over his shoulder and smile. But he
soon guessed what troubled me for after a while he be
gan to talk in a quiet, reassuring manner. He told me
he would take me to his own shop and teach me part of
his own trade. He was a men's coat finisher. He made
me understand that if we worked steadily and lived
economically we should soon have money to send for
those at home. "Next year at this time," he smiled,
69

70  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
"you yourself may be on the way to Castle Garden to
fetch mother and the children." So I too smiled at the
happy prospect, wiped some tears away and resolved
to work Jiard.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 71

XVI
What I recall after this is an early moming when
we were already established in a tiny room with peacock
blue walls and a window looking into a grey courtyard.
There was also a small table, a chair and a cot spread
with a red comforter. We were having breakfast. But
only Aunt Masha and I ate. Father sat opposite us,
watched us dip our buttered roll into the hot coffee
and asked many times, "Is it good?" His voice was
soft with pity and tenderness.
"It is delicious,** we assured him. This was the first
time in my life that I tasted coffee and the first time Aunt
Masha and I had had enough to eat in a month.
Before leaving for the shop that moming father told
me that I should have to stay at home at least a week
and "feed up.** He said laughingly that I looked green
in more than one sense.
So we stayed home. And though we feared to venture
out of the building we did not lack amusement. Every
thing was new and interesting. To me it was pure
pleasure just to stay in our own room and look and
examine our new American furniture, and try to imagine
how mother and the children would be impressed.
A great part of the time we stayed out on the stoop.
I was dazed by all there was to see. I looked with won
der at the tall houses, the paved streets, the street lamps.
As I had never seen a large city and only had had a
glimpse of a small one, I thought these things true only
of America.
One day while Aunt Masha and I stood out on the
stoop we saw a dark little man with a red bandana,

72 OUT OF THE SHADOW 
around his neck and a silver earring in his ear, wheeling
what appeared to be a queer looking box. And when I
saw him stop and make music come out of it, and the
little girls that followed and others that joined begin
swaying to the rhythm, their little pigtails flying, the
little faces alive with enjoyment, I stood dumb with won
der. At this even Aunt Masha looked astonished. But
the next moment she explained knowingly, "Don't you
see, he goes about playing in the streets tiiat the children
may dance." That seemed very probable. I expected all
sorts of wonderful things of America, though at home
I had also heard things that were sad.
I had heard one day the mistress of the Inn and Post
Office talking of her two sons in America. I heard her
say that they were machine operators and they had lost
their feet at the sewing machine. I took it literally, as
indeed I took everything else. So one day when I saw
a rather tall boy of about fifteen pass our door on queer
little wheels (roller skates) I could not keep tears
out of my eyes. I thought that this must be a machine
operator who lost his feet at the machine. That a boy
of that age could go about in open daylight on a plain
week day, amusing himself, would have never occurred
to me. J
One night father came home from work a little earlier
than usual and look us to Grand Street. I was dazzled
by the lights, the display in the jewelry shops and dry
goods store windows. But nothing surprised me so much
as the figures in the hair dresser's window. One was a
blonde, the other a brunette. One was in pink, the
other in blue. Their hair was beautifully curled and
dressed, each one ysrith a mirror in one hand and the
other held daintily on the back of the hair, went slowly
turning around and around and smiling into the mirror.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  73
At first I could not believe that they were not alive
until father and Aunt Masha laughed at me. It seemed
to me nothing short of a miracle to see how perfect the
features were, the smile. And I thought, "Oh, America
is tmly wonderful! People are not shovelling gold in
the streets, as I had heard, but still it is wonderful."
When I told it to father he laughed. "Wait,** he said.
And then he took us to "Silver Smith Charlie's saloon"
and I saw the floor studded with half dollars !
C From Mrs. Felesberg we learned at once the more se
rious side of Ufe in America. Mrs. Felesberg was the
woman with whom we were rooming. A door from our
room opened into her tiny bedroom and then led into
the only other room where she sat a great part of the
day finishing pants which she brought in big bundles
from a shop, and rocking the cradle with one foot. She
always made us draw our chairs quite close to her and
she spoke in a whisper scarcely ever lifting her weak
peering eyes from her work. When she asked us how
we liked America, and we spoke of it with praise, she
smiled a queer smile. "Life here is not all that it appears
to the 'green hom,* " she said. She told us that her hus
band was a presser on coats and earned twelve dollars
when he worked a full week. Aunt Masha thought
twelve dollars a good deal. Again Mrs. Felesberg smiled.
"No doubt it would be,'* she said, "where you used to
live. You had your own house, and most of the food
came from the garden. Here you will have to pay for
everything; the rent!" she sighed, "for the light, for
every potato, every grain of barley. You see these three
rooms, including yours? Would they be too much for
my family of five?" We had to admit they would not.
"And even from these,*' she said, "I have to rent one
out." -J

74  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
Perhaps it was due to these talks that I soon noticed
how late my father worked. When he went away in
the morning it was still dark, and when he came home
at night the lights in the halls were out. It was after
ten o'clock. I thought that if mother and the children
were here they would scarcely see him.
One night when he came home and as he sat at the
table eating his rice soup, which he and Aunt Masha had
taught me to cook, I sat down on the cot and asked timid
ly, knowing that he was impatient of questionsj/'Father,
does everybody in America live like this? Go to work
early, come home late, eat and go to sleep? And the
next day again work, eat, and sleep? Will I have to do
that too? Always?"
Father looked thoughtful and ate two or three mouth-
fuls before he ans\vered. "No,** he said smiling. 'You
will get married.** ^)
So, almost a week passed and though life was so in
teresting, still no matter where I went, what I saw, moth
er and home were always present in my mind. Often in
the happiest moments a pain would rise in my throat
and my eyes burned with the tears held back. At these
moments I would manage to be near Aunt Masha so
that I could lean against her, touch her dress.
How Aunt Masha felt I never knew but once. Father
brought each of us a black patent leather belt. One day
she put hers on and came over to me. "Close your eyes,
Rahel,'* she said, "and feel the belt on me." I did. And
as I passed my hand around her waist, I said, "This is
how grandmother used to see when we put on something
new." When I opened my eyes I saw that Aunt Masha's
face was wet with tears.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 75

XVII
L I THINK it was at the end of a week that Aunt Masha
received an offer at her old occupation as children's nurse.
As it seemed to her a desirable place and as she wished
to begin at once to pay off father for her steamer ticket,
she accepted it. So one moming after father left for
work a large good-looking woman, owner of a delicates
sen store, came for her. J
All that morning as she went about the room gather
ing her things and packing them into a bundle, she was
flushed and excited and avoided meeting my eyes.
When the bundle was tied and she was ready to leave
she came and drew me towards her almost roughly.
"Good-bye, Rahel." I felt her whole body shaking with
sobs. "Remember," she commanded, "not to go alon^
any further than the stoop." And then she added a little
sulkily, "No doubt you are glad to see me go."
She took the bundle under her arm and followed the
woman, and I went out and stood watching her until
she disappeared through the long, dark, narrow hall.
Soon I could hear only the click, click of her high slender
heels on the wooden floor and on the stone steps. From
the hall below the click still came up but faintly and I
had to bend forward to catch it. Then I heard the
street door slam, resound through the building, and all
was silent.

76 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XVIII
During the first two days that followed I missed Aunt
Masha dreadfully and felt ill with homesickness, lone
liness and even fear. While in my room I tried to find
the pleasure and interest of the first days. But now the
table, the cot, the chair were merely strange things which
seemed to stare at me coldly. Neither could I stay out on
the stoop. I tried to do so the first day but felt too timid
to go any further than the door. There, as I stood for
a few minutes, looking at the people passing back and
forth, at the houses across the street, the feeling came to
me suddenly that I was utterly alone. "There is not a
face that I know,'* I thought. "Not a spot tihat is familiar
to me. Where are father and Aunt Masha ?" I tried to
picture them. I saw many streets, rows and rows of
brick houses, crowds of people but I could not see their
faces anywhere. With a sick feeling of fear I shrank
back into the hall.
Father never knew how I was troubled. By the time he
came home at night I was asleep or pretended to be.
One day, while wandering about through the tenement,
trying to amuse myself by walking up and down the steps,
so as not to think of home, I reached the top floor and
found that there were no more steps to climb. But in
stead I saw an open door which seemed to lead into an
open space. I stepped over the threshold and stood still.
I was not sure that this place was safe to walk upon.
Then seeing that it was large, square and solid. I thought
"It is a floor, built on top of a house."
I walked to the centre and looked about. I saw roofs
and sky on all sides. On some of the roofs I was sur-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  77
prised to see clothes on ropes fluttering in the wind. Here
and there from buildings standing out among the rest, I
saw flags waving. But what I looked at with joy after
a momentary glance at these, was the sky! It was like
finding unexpectedly some one dear from home. I sat
down on the door step in the shade and looked at the
sky and thought:
"The sky is the same everywhere. There is only one.
Perhaps mother, too, sister or some one at home is look
ing at it at this very moment.'*
This thought made home seem a little nearer. Then
I remembered grandmother saying :
"When it is day in America it is night in Russia."
"Oh," I thought, "so they are asleep now !"
In a moment I was far away from Cherry Street. I
was in our log house. I stopped at mother's bed. I
looked at the children sleeping at the foot of it. I peeped
into the cradle. I passed close to grandfather's bench near
the stove. I stopped at grandmother's bed and looked
at the empty place which was mine.
Suddenly I became aware of some one standing back
of me. I looked over my shoulder and saw Mrs. Feles
berg with baby in her arms. I felt ashamed of my tears
and hid my face in my hands. She did not say anything
but sat down on the step close to me, put her arm around
me and gently drew me towards her until my face rested
in her lap beside baby's small cheek.
From that day the baby became a great comfort to
me. I amused him, rbcked him and carried him about in
my arms when he cried. Often as I walked up and down
the floor with him, singing him to sleep, he sent his little
hand out, and caressed my face. The touch of the tiny
fingers on my eyes would make me feel less lonely.
When Saturday came I felt happy because father

78  OUT OF THE SHADOW
stayed at home. After dinner we went out into the street.
I walked beside father, clasping his hand tightly. I
looked about and wondered how people could find their
way without seeming to think about it. All the streets,
all the houses, seemed so very much alike.
Father stopped at a fruitstatid and told me to choose
what I wanted. There was nothing strange to me in
that. At home when we sold fruit, as we did sometimes
during the summer, Jewish people came on Saturday to
eat apples or pears for which they paid the following
week. So I thought it was the same here.
I looked and looked at the fruit : "What shall I take ?** ¦•
Apples, oranges, plums, pears — ^all were arranged in neat
pyramids, all looked good and very tempting, surrounded
by fresh green leaves, glistening with drops of water. I
looked at the strange fruits also. I saw long finger like
things with smooth yellow skins, and grapes which I knew
by name only. In a glass case on a square of ice there
were some slices of watermelon.
'What shall I take ?" I asked, turning to father. "Any
thing you like," he smiled encouragingly. I decided on a
slice of melon. I looked up into father's face. I felt
proud of him that he had credit at so beautiful a fruit-
^tand.
L As I received the melon in my fingers I saw father
take his hand out of his pocket and hold out a coin. I
felt the blood msh to my face. I stood staring at him
for a moment. Then I dropped the melon on the pave
ment and ran. Before I had taken many steps I realised
that I was running away from home and turned back.
In passing the stand I did not look to see if father was
still there but ran on.
"My father has touched coin on the Sabbath!"
These words rang in my ears. I was almost knocked

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  79
over by people into whom I ran but I paid no attention.
Others stopped to watch me curiously as I ran by. It
seemed to me that it was because they knew what I had
just seen and I ran on with my cheeks flaming, j
Suddenly it seemed to me that I had been running a
long while and I felt that I should be near home. I
stopped and looked about, but I could not see the house
anywhere. I ran further, looking about wildly and try
ing to remember things so as to locate myself. Suddenly
I came upon a dressmaker's sign which I recognised. I
hurried into my room, closed the door carefully, and
threw myself down on the cot, burying my face into the
pillow. t"Father carries money about with him on the Sabbath.
Oh, the sin! Oh, poor grandmother," I thought, "how
would she feel if she knew. Brother is only seven years
old and already he is so pious that he wishes to remain
with a learned Jew in Russia, after mother goes to Amer
ica, that he may become a great Rabbi. How would he
feel ? How would they all feel ?" -i
Then I remembered Yanna, who, on hearing that fath
er was in America, and feeling that perhaps we were too
happy over it, came one day to torment grandmother.
C"The first thing men do in America," she had said, "is
cut their beards and the first thing the women do is to
leave off their wigs. And you," she had said, tuming
to me venomously, "you who will not break a thread on
the Sabbath now, will eat swine in America."
"Oh, God," I thought, "will it really come to that?
shall I eat swine ?"
After what I had just seen nothing seemed impossible.
In utter misery I tumed and felt about with my burning
cheek for a cooler place on the pillow. As I did so I re-

8o OUT OF THE SHADOW
membered that the pillow was one which mother gave me
from home. I slipped my arms under it and pressing my
lips to it I wept. "No, I shall not eat swine, indeed I
shall not!"J

OUT OF THE SHADOW 8l

XIX
On the following day father came home at noon and
took me along to the shop where he worked. We climbed
the dark, narrow stairs of a tenement house on Monroe
Street and came into a bright room filled with noise. I
saw about five or six men and a girl. The men turned
and looked at us when we passed. I felt scared and
stumbled. One man asked in surprise :
"Avrom, is this your daughter? Why, she is only a
little giri!"
My father smiled. "Yes," he said, "but wait till you
see her sew."
He placed me on a high stool opposite the girl, laid a
pile of pocket flaps on the little narrow table between
us, and showed me how to baste.
All afternoon I sat on my high stool, a little away from
the table, my knees crossed tailor fashion, basting flaps.
As I worked I watched the things which I could see by
just raising my eyes a little. I saw that the girl, who
was called Atta, was very pretty.
A big man stood at a big table, examining, bmshing
and folding coats. There was a window over his table
through which the sun came streaming in, showing mil
lions of specks of dust dancing over the table and circling
over his head. He often puffed out his cheeks and blew
the dust from him with a great gust so that I could feel
his breath at our table.
The machines going at lull speed drowned everything
in their noise. But when they stopped for a moment I
caught the clink of a scissors laid hastily on a table, a
short question and answer exchanged, and the pounding

82 OUT OF THE SHADOW
of a heavy iron from the back of the room. Sometimes
the machines stopped for a whole minute. Then the men
looked about and talked. I was always glad when the
machines started off again. I felt safer in their noise.
Late in the afternoon a woman came into the shop.
She sat down next to Atta and began to sew on buttons.
Father, who sat next to me, whispered, "This is Mrs.
Nelson, the wife of the big man, our boss. She is a real
American.'* She, too, was pretty. Her complexion was fair and
delicate like a child's. Her upper lip was always covered
with shining drops of perspiration. I could not help look
ing at it all the time.
When she had worked a few minutes she asked father
in very imperfect Yiddish : "Well, Mr.  , have you
given your daughter an American name ?"
"Not yet," father answered. "What would you call
her? Her Yiddish name is Rahel.*'
"Rahel, Rahel," Mrs. Nelson repeated to herself,
thoughtfully, winding the thread around a button; "let
me see." The machines were going slowly and the men
looked interested.
The presser called out from the back of the room :
"What is there to think about? Rahel is Rachel.'*
I was surprised at the interest every one showed. Later
I understood the reason. The slightest cause for inter
ruption was welcome, it broke the monotony of the long
day. Mrs. Nelson turned to me : "Don't let them call you
Rachel. Every loafer who sees a Jewish girl shouts
'Rachel* after her. And on Cherry Street where you
live there are many saloons and many loafers. How
would you like Ruth for a name ?*'
I said I should like to be called Ruth.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 83

XX

Father made the life for me as easy as he could. But
there were many hardships he could not prevent.
We began the day at six in the moming. I would
stand dressing with my eyes closed and feel about for
my buttons. But once I was out on the street and felt
the moist early morning air I was wide awake at once.
When we had been in the shop about an hour a grey-
bearded little old man used to come in lugging a big
basket of food covered with black oil cloth. He was the
shop pedlar. He always stopped near the door, rested
his basket against it and groaned: "Oh, the stairs, the
stairs in America !" The men looked at him with pity and
Atta at the sight of him would sometimes begin to sing
"The Song of the Pedlar." If the boss was not in the
shop or the men were not very busy, one of them would
take the basket from the pedlar and place it on a chair in
the middle of the room. Then each shop hand picked out
a roll and the little old man poured him out a tiny glass
of brandy for two cents. Father used to buy me an apple
and a sweetened roll. We ate while we worked. I used
to think two cents a good deal to spend for my break
fast. But often I was almost sick with hunger. At noon
we had our big meal. Then father would send me out
for half a pound of steak or a slice of beef liver and a
pint of beer which he sometimes bought in partnership
with two or three other men. He used to broil the steak
in the open coal fireplace where the presser heated his
irons, and cut it into tiny squares. He always picked out
the juiciest bits and pushed them to my side of the plate,
and while there was still quite some meat he would lay

OUT OF THE SHADOW

down his fork and push his chair away from the table
with an air as if he had had more than enough. He also
got me to drink beer. Before long I could drink a full
glass. But I did not like it. One day it made me quite
sick. After that I refused to drink it.
I liked my work and learned it easily, and father was
pleased with me. As soon as I knew how to baste pocket-
flaps he began to teach me how to baste the coat edges.
This was hard work. The double ply of overcoat cloth
stitched in with canvas and tape made a very stiff edge.
My fingers often stiffened with pain as I rolled and
basted the edges. Sometimes a needle or two would
break before I could do one coat. Then father would of
fer to finish the edge for me. But if he gave me my
choice I never let him. At these moments I wanted so
to master the thing myself that I felt my whole body
trembling with the desire. And with my habit of per
sonifying things, I used to bend over the coat on my
lap, force the obstinate and squeaking needle, wet with
perspiration, in and out of the cloth and whisper with
determination: "No, you shall not get the best of me!"
When I succeeded I was so happy that father, who often
watched me with a smile, would say, "Rahel, your face
is shining. Now rest a while." He always told me to
rest after I did well. I loved these moments. I would
push my stool closer to the wall near which I sat, lean
my back against it, and look about the shop.
Sitting so, I could see Atta and all the six men at work.
The baster sat, Turk-like, on his table. He was small and
slight. His skin was almost as dark as a negro's and his
features resembled a bull dog's. But his was an unusual
ly bright face. His black eye? flashed with intelligence.
And when he laughed, showing his white, even teeth, I
liked to look at him. Sometimes he would raise his eyes

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  85
suddenly from his work, open his eyes wide and look
at me intently. Then I would know that I had been
staring.
LThe boss moved about heavily at his big table. I could
not help looking at him when he spoke or laughed, — ^his
nostrils always dilated and whitened. He often came
over to our table to borrow Atta's wax or small scissors.
Almost every time he came he tried to pinch her cheek
or take hold of her hand. She always dodged, threatened
him with the point of her needle, and said half seriously,
half jestingly, "Keep your hands off, please." This was
the first sentence I learned in English. J
The man in the shop who interested me most was the
presser. He was almost black and he had a small black
beard. His features were regular and good but there was
no life in his face and his voice had a tired ring in it.
His back was enormous, his chest narrow and he lifted
his twenty-five pound iron with difficulty. I often felt
sad when I looked at him without knowing why and was
glad when he sent me on an errand.
He was the jest in the shop. He had been six years in
this country and had not yet decided whether he should
send for his wife or, as he often said, "Take a souvenir
of America and go home to Russia." The men teased
him about his wife, and little girl who they said, would
be a woman by the time he decided. I, too, often won
dered, "Will he go home? And what will he take as a
remembrance ?"
One day when I was not busy I went over and asked
him if he wanted me to go on an errand. He put down
his iron on the flat stone which he used as a stand, and
looked at me thoughtfully. "No," he said. As I turned
away he called me back.
"Rahel," he said, "if you were my little girl in Europe,

86  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
what would you like me to bring you from America?"
I thought for a moment and said, "Earrings."
When he came in the next moming he had a massive
gold watch and chain, a marriage ring, and a small pair
of earrings.
A week later there was another presser in the shop,
one with a straight back and a red beard.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 87

XXI
One day a jewelry pedlar came into the shop. He
showed us a watch. He told the men that the watch was
of fourteen karat gold. But he would sell it cheaply, for
fifteen dollars, because it was "second hand."
The assistant machine operator bought the watch for
ten dollars. He was living on very little in order to
save and send for his family in Russia. "But a good
watch," he figured, "is as good as cash, lasts a lifetime."
The men all congratulated the operator and teased,
"Morris, you shall have to treat to-night."
"I certainly will," he said heartily. "I'll treat the whole
shop." I learned to look forward to these little merry makings
and love them. How they also shortened the day !
At noon Morris, the operator, went down as usual to
his dinner. He returned in a few minutes looking so
pale. Even his lips were white. And when he began to
talk his voice trembled. He told the men that he had
been to a pawn shop and that he was told the watch
was worth at most three dollars. The men were shocked.
They held a short consultation and finally told Morris
that they would raffle the watch off. Each of them paid
a dollar and a half. Morris himself won the watch.
That night we stopped work an hour earlier. Morris
bought two pints of beer and some bologna and we
feasted. Q liked the life in the shop yet there were times when
I felt unhappy. The men often told vulgar jokes. The
first time this happened father looked at me and groaned.
"Don't listen," he said, "or pretend you don't hear.**

88  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
But I could never keep my face from tuming red.J
One day when Atta and I were alone at our table she
said : '
"It is too bad that you have a 'tell tale face.' You
better learn to hide your feelings. What you hear in this
shop is nothing compared with what you will hear in
other shops. Look at me." But when I would look over
at Atta it seemed to me that her needle actually flew in
and out of her sleeve lining and her pretty little mouth
looked more pursed than usual.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 89

XXII
CWhen I learned to find my way home alone my hours
were not so long. For father was a piece worker and as I
was only helping him he could do as he pleased with my
time. And so now I came into the shop at seven o'clock
in the moming and found my roll and apple already wait
ing for me. And when I went home at seven o'clock in
the evening it was still broad daylight. 3
Our room was a dingy place where the sun never came
in. I always felt lonely and a little homesick on coming
into it. But I would soon shake off the feeling. I would
cook and eat some soup and then go and stand on the
stoop and watch the children playing.
One night as I came out of our room into the hall I
caught a few strains of music coming from the roof. I
went up and found under the sky, blue and bright with
the stars and the city lights twinkling all around, a group
of Irish-American girls and boys waltzing to the music
of a harmonica. I sat down in the shadow near one of
the chimneys and watched the stars and the dancing and
listened to the song of "My Beautiful Irish Maid."
After this I went up every evening. At first the girls
and boys showed that I was not welcome by making
ugly grimaces at me. But as I persisted, for I wanted to
know the Americans, they became used to seeing me.
And soon they paid no more attention to me than to the
chimney near which I sat.
lOn Friday I worked only the first half of the day,
then I would go home to do the washing and cleaning in
our room. J All morning I would count the hours and half
hours and my heart beat with joy at the thought that I

90 OUT OF THE SHADOW
would soon leave the shop. When at last I heard the
noon whistle from the big paper factory on Water Street
I used to bend my head low to hide this joy. I felt
ashamed at my eagerness to leave off work. When I
came out into the street I had to stand still for a while
and look about. I felt dazed by the light and the air and
the joy of knowing that I was free. For at these mo
ments I did not remember the work at home. I would
start to walk along slowly, linger under the trees, of
which there was one here and there on Cherry Street,
and watch the children on the way home from school to
lunch. In their white summery dresses and with books
under their arms, they appeared to me like wonderful
little beings of a world entirely different from mine. I
watched and envied them. But I often consoled myself
with the thought, "When our children come they too will
go to school."
On the stoop I lingered too. I watched the children
playing jacks and from minute to minute I put off going
in. At last with a feeling of guilt I would realise that
the afternoon was almost gone and my work not even
begun. But it was at such moments that I did my best
and quickest work. I would rush upstairs, catch up the
bundle of soiled clothes under my arm and run down
into the cellar to the wash tubs. Once the washing was
done I did not feel so guilty, and by the time I was at
the floor, which I scmbbed with great swishes of water,
I sang cheerfully, "After the Ball is Over."
On Saturday father and I used to go to see Aunt
Masha. The first time we went and asked to see her,
her mistress opened a door in the back of the store and
called in a shrill voice, "Jen-nie — , Jennie." To my sur
prise it was Aunt Masha that came out.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 91

XXIII
L Kate, Mrs. Felesberg's eldest daughter, and I became
friends. She was seventeen, tall, flat looking and stoop
ing. But her face was very pretty. Her blue-grey eyes
twinkled with mischief and her manner was shy and
bold at the same time. She was also a great tease. She
teased me constantly because on a Saturday, the Sab
bath, I would not light the gas nor carry my handker
chief in my hand on the street, nor would I sit down to
a meal at any time before washing my hands and say
ing grace.
"You are like an old woman," she used to say laugh
ingly. "You are more fit for Palestine where the aged
are spending their last days, than for America.'* J
She also called me "little village maiden." I think this
hurt most. And so I kept away from her. But there
was one thing about Kate to which I finally succumbed.
She had a beautiful voice and when she sang I forgave
her everything and longed to go to her and finally I did.
And now of an evening I stayed in my room and lis
tened to Kate singing and talking about boys.
Besides the door which led into the hall of the tene
ment and the one that opened into the Felesberg flat there
was still another door in our room. Against this our cot
stood. There were two rooms on the other side, in which
lived a plump, wrinkled little old woman who wore a.
bit of red worsted around her wrist to keep off the "Evil
Eye." With her lived her son, who was single because
he would not marry "a worn out shop girl," and a
boarder. Kate talked constantly about the boarder and

92  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
often half in fun, half in eamest, threw kisses at the
door. She told me that he was a machine operator "but he
looked like a student.*' It was while sitting on the cot,
with her eyes on this door, that she sang her best. Her
sweet, clear voice filled our dull room, escaped through
the window and filled the grey yard. People always
stood at the window in the house opposite when Kate
sang. And from the other side of the door came little
bursts of applause.
One night, after Kate had sung one of her Russian
songs, we heard a body press against the door and a
boyish voice call through the keyhole, "More! sing
more !" Kate became almost hysterical with ecstasy. She
gave me a pinch, a nudge and a slap, which she had a
habit of doing, when she was gay and excited, and bend
ing down to the keyhole she said, "Supposing you sing
now." "Not after hearing you," he said. "But I would like
to see you sing as well as hear. May I come in?"
Kate lifted her flushed face, told me what he said, and
giggled. "He wants to come in!"
I was curious to see the boy and watch the two meet
but I did not want him to come in because father would
be home soon and would want his supper. But as I did
not know how to refuse I said, "Let him come." Kate
barely had time to settle herself on the cot and control
her giggles and I to place the chair for him at the little
table, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it
and saw a boy about eighteen with pale, thin cheeks and
bright dark eyes. He stood expectant and smiHng. But
his face sobered and he seemed surprised when he saw
me. I opened the door wide and when he saw Kate's
pink, shimmering face, his own brightened again.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  93
He sat down on the chair and we two girls sat on
the cot. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes and
Kate did not know where to look. Finally he began in
English. Of course, I did not understand what they
were saying. They paid no attention to me and soon I
forgot them too, though it was about them that I thought.
I saw Kate and the boy engaged and married. They
were living in a beautiful house on Grand Street where
you had to ring a bell to go in. A little one toddled
about in their rooms and they were happy. One day —
suddenly I felt Kate shaking me and saying, "Ruth,
Ruth, what shall we do? I hear your father's steps
in the hall !" I stood up a little dazed. I saw her run and
lock the door. Then bidding the boy a quick fare-
Well she hurried into her own rooms and closed the door
behind her. In the meantime father was at this door
turning the knob. Finding it locked he knocked gently.
Without clearly knowing why, I suddenly felt dreadfully
embarrassed and irritated that Kate locked the door. I
went and unlocked it and father came in. .He saw the vis
itor at once and stood looking at him, first with surprise,
then with astonishment and finally with anger. He went
over to the table, put down the loaf of bread which he al
ways trought when he came, and opening the door wide
he pointed and said angrily in Russian "Vone !"
When the boy went out and the door was closed
father turned to me. His face looked so angry that I
trembled. "This is very pretty conduct," he said. "And you are
not yet thirteen."
I began to cry and explain at once. But father never
listened to explanations, and commanded me to be silent
at the very first word.
The next day I told Kate what father said and how he

94 OUT OF THE SHADOW
felt about me, thinking that she would go and explain to
him. But she just laughed.
I felt deeply hurt and disappointed, and I could not
forget the boy's face as he left our room.
And now a different life began for me. Father think
ing that he had given me too much freedom and had
spoiled me went to the other extreme. He began to treat
me so severely that I could scarcely lift my head. He
suspected me at every step and found fault and blamed
me for everything that happened.^
One Saturday while standing out on the stoop I saw
one little girl show a cent to another and boasting that
she was going to buy candy. Seeing money handled on
Sabbath had long lost its horror for me. It occurred to
me that I too would like to have a cent with which to do
just as I pleased. I went up at once to our room and asked
father as he lay resting on the cot. He looked at me
silently for a long moment. Then he rose slowly, took
out his pocket book, took a cent from it, held it out to me,
and said with a frown that reminded me of Aunt Masha,
"Here, and see that this never happens again."
I felt as if the coin were burning my fingers. I handed
it back quickly, left the room and walked about in the
streets. I felt mortally hurt. I felt that I was working
from morning till night like a grown up person and yet
when I wanted one single cent  . When evening came
I went home, cooked the rice and milk, as usual, put it
on the table and then sat down away from it at the
farthest end of the cot. Father ate a few spoonfuls and
then commanded: "Sit down at the table and eat your
supper." "I am not hungry," I answered. And indeed I was
not. I could never eat when I was miserable. The food
always seemed to stick in my throat. Father com-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  95
manded, "Eat whether you want to or not. Eat because
I say so !" Again I repeated that I was not hungry. He
looked at me and said : "Oh, you are sulking? Very well,
we shall see." Without haste he laid down his spoon,
took down our coarse linen roller towel which I brought
from home, twisted it carefully into a rope and came
over to me. Poor father, I know now that he hated to
hurt me and took long to prepare to give me time to
change my mind. "Will you eat?" he asked. I coughed
to steady my voice and said "No." He struck me across
the back. My only thought now was not to cry out.
"On the right is the little old woman and her family, on
the left the Felesbergs. They will hear me. I'll never
be able to raise my head before any of them again." And
I prayed for strength.
Father never did anything by halves. I felt the towel
across my back again and again. Finally he threw it
down and said, panting for breath, "Girl, I'll break you
if you don't change." And I said in my heart, "My
father, we shall see !"
He turned out the gas, went out, slamming the door
after him so that the windows rattled.
When it was all quiet, a door opened in our room and
Mrs. Felesberg came in with a light and a bottle of
vaseline.

96 out OF THE SHADOW

XXIV
Now I felt lonely still oftener. For I missed father's
confidence and tenderness and Kate's friendship and to
this unhappiness more was soon added.
Father and I were on our block one day, walking
toward home, when a boy in uniform coming toward
us walked into me with so much force that I stumbled
backward a few steps and for a minute could not catch
my breath. Father looked at me and began to scold as
usual now: "How often have I told you to keep to
the right. There is no room for dreamers here."
It had seemed to me that the boy struck against me
intentionally but I was not sure. The next day it hap
pened again and now my peace was gone. The boy
lived in the same building and as often as I met him
he hurt me. He never passed me without shoving his
elbow into my side or giving my braid a tug so that it
felt as if the skin on my forehead would burst. He was
as tall as I was and as my hair reached below my waist,
he could do this by a slight movement of the hand while
his arm hung innocently at his side. He always did it
so quickly that I could never catch him at it and I don't
believe any one else ever saw him do it. But his fa
vourite way of hurting was to assume an absent-minded
expression when he saw me coming, look about, and walk
into me, striking my chest with his elbow. This lasted
for weeks and my life became a nightmare to me. I be
gan to be afraid to be out on the street. I never left
the building without looking up and down the block first.
Now that father treated me so harshly I did not like to
talk to him about it, thinking that he would lay the blame

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  97
on m^lAnd as for striking the boy, it did not even occur
to me to do so. He was a messenger boy but I did not
know it. And even if I had it would not have made any
difference. For I, as my grandfather, looked upon uni
forms with fear and respect. And beside too, he was a
Gentile and "this country was his.'il
One Saturday morning I rose earlier than usual. I
felt happier than I had been for a long time. I had won
my father's favour the day before by doing a particularly
hard piece of work. He was so pleased that he showed it
to the boss and smiled at me in the old way. At noon
when I left to go and do the work at home, he came out
with me, took me to a shoe store and bought me shoes.
And so this moming early, as soon as father went to
synagogue, I too rose and tidied the room. Then I
combed out my hair carefully and let it loose. I put
on my brown clean calico and my new shoes. These
were my first American shoes and though they were
much too large and my feet looked rather clumsy in
them, — father believed that clothes for children should
be large enough to grow in, — still they were new and the
buttons and patent leather tips shone and so I was
pleased. As soon as I was quite ready I went out to
stand on the stoop. I scarcely ever went walking now,
as I was in constant fear of meeting the messenger boy.
I had not been on the stoop long when I saw him coming
from the Clinton Street side. My heart began to beat
so that it pained and all my happiness was gone in a
moment. But immediately I comforted myself with the
thought that I was on the far end of the stoop and that
he could not possibly hurt me when I stood there be
cause the stoop was so wide and he would have to walk
up the end he reached first. I pressed close to the iron
railing at my end and watched him coming. He walked

98  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
with a swagger this morning. When he came nearer I
saw a new cap in place of the old one in which I had
always seen him. The little brass button on each side of
the peak sparkled as he moved his head.
Suddenly he saw me. Immediately he slackened his
pace, assumed his absent-minded expression and began
looking about. My heart beat more violently. What
should I do? Run upstairs? I felt sure he would find
a way to hurt me. But I always hated to ran away.
I stood still, almost holding my breath as he came nearer
and, nearer. As he walked along slowly he kept looking
dreamily across the street and passed beyond our even
end of the stoop a step or two. Then, as if he suddenly
realised it he stopped, looked about and came back. And
now he must pass close to me. The next moment I felt
my toes crushed under his heel. I caught hold of the iron
railing and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I looked
down at my new shoes. One tip was broken and my toes
inside felt moist. I looked at the boy for he had stopped
right opposite me. He was so sure of me and stood
gazing far away and whistling softly. All at once a
feeling of hatred came into my heart, my temples began
to throb and now I did not see his uniform nor did I
remember, as I had often told myself, that this country of
America was his. With one step I reached him, snatched
off his cap and ran and threw it into the gutter and began
to stamp on it. I broke the brim. I crushed the little brass
buttons under my heels, I stamped it into the dirt and
in a moment it did not look like a cap. But I was not
yet satisfied. A few feet away I saw a little puddle
of water. I kicked the cap into it and began stamping
o'n it all over again. At last my strength began to give
out and I became aware that a number of people had
gathered and that the boy stood among them, gaping at

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  99
me. I stopped stamping, tossed back my hair which had
fallen all about my face, and passed close to him. I
thought, "If he touches rae I'll strike him down." But
he did not. The people who stood about were staring
at me and talking. When I came upstairs and looked
at myself in the glass I thought they must have been
saying, "The fury," or "The wild thing." My hair was
all tangled and seemed to stand up. My face was drip
ping wet and covered with pink and white blotches, and
my eyes looked wild.
I locked the door and sat all morning laughing and
crying hysterically and listening for a policeman's heavy
footsteps in the hall. I felt sure that a policeman would
come and drag me to prison. But when the day passed
and nothing happened I became bolder, and in the eve
ning, when I knew the boy would be coming out of the
building, I went out on the street. I was curious now as
to what would happen next. The boy came out, saw me
and passed me quickly and at a good distance away. I
laughed quietly to myself and began to walk toward
Montgomery Street, where I saw the light of a street
lamp shining on a tree.

lOO OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXV
One evening in the Fall father came home with two
brightly coloured frameless pictures and nailed one on
the door leading into the Felesberg's rooms and the other
on the door leading into the little old woman's. He
explained to me that the pictures were of the two men,
nominated for the presidential office. The prospective
presidents in these pictures were herdsmen. Each one,
dressed in fine black clothes and a high silk hat, stood
in the midst of a herd of cattle. In one picture the herds
man was short, stout and clean shaven, the cattle were
round and sleek and the pasture green and abundant. In
the other it was just the reverse. The herdsman was-
tall, thin and bearded, the cattle had fallen-in sides, and
the ground was brown and bare.
I looked at the pictures and took them literally and
seriously. One meant four years of plenty, the other
four years of famine. But after a while, noticing that
no one else seemed at all worried over it, I merely won
dered, "What happens on election day?"
Soon after this I saw the Gentile boys on our block
begin to store away, into a cellar, all the barrels, boxes,
broken couches, torn mattresses, and every stick of wood
they could lay hands on. I understood that the prepara
tions were for election night and I looked on silently
with pleasant excitement.
At last election day came. In the shop the men were
discussing the candidates and there was a cheerful holi
day atmosphere. "I bet you a pint of beer Harrison will
be elected." "I bet you two pints it will be Cleveland."
In the afternoon I heard the men say they would go

I SAW THE JEWISH MEN HURRYING
HOME FROM WORK.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  loi
home early. When I was leaving father too said he
would be home before dark.
After supper I climbed out on Mrs. Felesberg's fire
escape and looked down between the bars into the street.
I saw the Jewish men hurrying home from work and
noticed that very few of the Jewish children were out.
The Gentile boys were busy dragging forth the barrels
and couches and mattresses and piling them up in a
heap in front of the four big tenements inhabited chiefly
by Jews.
When it grew dark they lit the heaps of rubbish and
in a moment there was a great blaze. The sparks flew,
the fire crackled and the reflections of the flames danced
merrily on the small red brick houses opposite, where the
Gentiles lived. From the windows of these houses groups
of people were leaning out talking and laughing merrily.
Mrs. Felesberg also stuck her head out of the window
for a moment, looked down at the flame and said ear
nestly: "Thank God, there is no wind. And if it comes
I hope it will blow the other way." I was beginning to
feel uneasy and wished that father had come home
before dark, as he said he would. Scarcely any one
passed through the block now. I noticed with fear that
not a Jew was to be seen on the street. After a little
while I saw some one coming from the Montgomery
Street side. Though I expected father to come through
Clinton Street it occurred to me that perhaps he had
decided this other way was safer, and I strained my eyes
and watched. When the person came nearer I saw that
it was the son of the little old woman. He walked
slowly, hesitatingly and kept to the wall. The men and
boys around the fire seemed to pay no attention to his
coming, but as soon as he was in front of the fire they

102  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
suddenly attacked him. There was a short tussle and
soon I saw him rushed into the hall.
I was beside myself with fear now. "Why doesn't
father come? Why did I leave him?** I could not help
blaming myself.
Again Mrs. Felesberg came over and looked out of
the window and asked, "Isn*t your father here yet,
Rahel?** "No,** I shook my head. I could not answer her. I
pressed my forehead to die iron bars and looked over to
Clinton Street. Every time the fire was poked the whole
block wasjit up and I could see all the way over to the
corner. I thought I saw a figure lurking away over in
the shadow. "Could that be father?" I thought. "Per
haps it is some other Jewish man. Oh God, will he ever
come !"
At last I saw him turn from Clinton into Cherry
Street. The blaze flared suddenly and I recognised his
tan suit and hat. I jumped up, leaned over the fire escape
and watched him coming nearer and nearer, keeping in
the middle of the sidewalk. The boys and men stood
about the fire laughing, talking, pushing each other. One
was playing on a harmonica and a few were waltzing.
At last I saw father almost opposite the blaze. My
heart stood still and my eyes felt stretched so far apart
that it seemed as though I could never close them again.
"Will they let him pass? Oh, that is too good to be
true." And indeed it was. The next moment I saw a
black mass of bodies hurl itself at him.
"Father r* I screamed down. My voice stmck terror
into my own heart. The next moment I was mshing
blindly through Mrs. Felesberg's rooms, lit only by the
blaze from the outside, knocking myself against table
and chairs. At last I was out in the hall and went fall-

OUT OF THE SHADOW 103
ing and tumbling down stairs. On the first floor I met
him coming up, pale and hatless. We stopped and looked
at each other. I was beside myself with joy to see him
alive but I heard myself say, "Father, your hat !" And
he smiled and said pantingly, "That is nothing, I needed
a new one."

104 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXVI
C I had seen from the first that Jews were treated
roughly on Cherry Street. I had seen the men and boys
that stood about the saloons at every corner make ugly
grimaces at the passing Jews and throw after them stones
and shoes pulled out of the ash cans. I had often seen
these "loafers," as we called them, attack a Jewish
pedlar, dump his push cart of apples into the gutter,
fill their pockets and walk away laughing and eating. I
had run for the apples in the gutter, rolling in every di
rection, and helped to pick them up. I myself had often
walked two blocks out of my way to reach home through
Montgomery Street instead of going through Clinton
Street where there were three saloons. And yet as soon
as I was safe in the house I scarcely gave the matter a
second thought. Perhaps it was because to see a Jew
maltreated was nothing new for me. Here where there
were so many new and strange things for me to see and
understand this was the one familiar thing. I had grown
used to seeing strange Jews mistreated whenever they
happened to come to our village in Russia. -^
But after election night I felt differently. I was
haunted by the picture of the little old woman's son
struggling with the young Irish-Americans near the
bonfire, and of my father coming up the stairs, pale
and hatless. I was never easy in my mind now except
when I was with father. I always sat up at night until
he came home; and if he happened to be a few minutes
late I was beside myself with fear. I pictured him mur
dered and burned alive. I listened to every tale about
Cherry and Water Streets. I heard that a policeman had

OUT OF THE SHADOW 105
been found in a dark hallway with his head stuck into a
barrel, smothered to death. And for a time I could
think about nothing else.
One Friday afternoon, soon after election, I finished
my washing and cleaning early and I went out into-
the street. I was returning about five o'clock through
Clinton Street when I saw a Jewish pedlar with a push
cart standing on the corner of Monroe Street and look
ing about helplessly. I saw him watching me as I came
up. When I was near he asked, "Are you Jewish?" I
nodded my head and stopped. [I saw that his push cart
held fish, mixed with chunks of ice. "You can do me a
favour," he said in a pleading tone. "You see this hand
ful of fish ? This is all my profit. If I could get over to
that group of Jewish houses on Cherry Street," he
pointed to our tenements, "I could still sell it though it is
late. But I dare not pass those loafers hanging around
the saloons." "But, what can I do?" I asked. 'You can
do much," he said with a smile. "They have great re
spect for a lady in America."
"But  " I began. "That is all right," he said with a
wave of the hand. "You look like a lady. And if you
will just walk beside me while I am passing the loafers,
they won't touch me." I remembered now often having
seen Jewish men escorted past dangerous places. And
the women would as often be Irish. J
I stepped into the gutter, and for greater safety laid
my hand on the push cart and walked along beside him.
When we were passing the saloon the "loafers" made
grimaces and shouted after him, but did not touch him.
We stopped at our group of houses. He thanked me
and at once became business-like. He shook up the ice
in the push cart and then placing his hand at one comer
of his mouth, American fashion, and looking up at the

io6  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
windows he shouted lustily: "Hurry, hurry, women!
Fresh pike here, fresh pike for the Sabbath."
I found that father was already at home. As I came
into the room I saw him sitting at the table before the
little mirror resting against the wall, clipping his beard.
I was so surprised and shocked to see him actually do
this thing that I could neither speak nor move for some
minutes. And I knew that he too felt embarrassed.
After the first glance I kept my eyes steadily on the floor
in front of me and began to talk to him quietly but with
great earnestness.
>., "You had been so pious at home, father," I said,
"more pious than any one else in our whole neighbour
hood. And now you are cutting your beard. Grand
mother would never have believed it. How she would
weep !**
The snipping of the scissors still went on. But I
knew by the sound that now he was only making a pre
tence at cutting. At last he laid it down and said in a
tone that was bitter yet quiet :
"They do not like Jews on Cherry Street. And one
with a long beard has to take his life into his own hands."
"But, father,*' I said, looking at him now, "must we
live on Cherry Street?**
"Yes, we must,*' he said, turning to me quickly and
speaking in a more passionate tone. "They want the
Jews to come and settle here. And because it is so hard
to live here they have lowered the rents. I save here at
least two dollars a month. You don't understand. For
mother*s journey we need not only tickets and money
for other expenses, but we also need money for at least
second-hand furniture. This is not like home. There
the house was our own. And for the lot and garden we
paid one dollar a year. There, too, we were among

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  107
friends and relatives. While here, if we haven't rent for
one month we are thrown out on the street. Do you
understand?" I said I understood. J

io8 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXVII
Father began to strain all his energy to save the
money to send for mother and the children. In the shop
one moming I realised that he had been leaving out of his
breakfast the tiny glass of brandy for two cents and was
eating just the roll. So I too made my sacrifice. When
as usual he gave me the apple and the roll, I took the
roll but refused the apple. And he did not urge me.
When a cold grey day at the end of November found
him in his light tan suit quite worn and me in my thin
calico frock, now washed out to a tan colour, we went
to a second-hand clothing store on Division Street and
he bought me a fuzzy brown coat reaching a little below
my waist, for fifty cents, and for himself a thin thread
bare overcoat. And now we were ready for the winter.
About the same time that the bitter cold came father
told me one night that he had found work for me in a
shop where he knew the presser. I lay awake long that
night. I was eager to begin life on my own responsibility
but was also afraid. We rose earlier than usual that
morning for father had to take me to the shop and not
be over late for his own work. I wrapped my thimble
and scissors, with a piece of bread for breakifast, in a
bit of newspaper, carefully stuck two needles into the
lapel of my coat and we started.
The shop was on Pelem Street, a shop district one
block long and just wide enough for two ordinary sized
wagons to pass each other. We stopped at a door where
I noticed at once a brown shining porcelain knob and
a half rubbed off number seven. Father looked at his
watch and at me.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  109
"Don't look so frightened," he said. "You need not go
in until seven. Perhaps if you start in at this hour he
will think you have been in the habit of beginning at
seven and will not expect you to come in earlier. Re
member, be independent. At seven o'clock rise and go
home no matter whether the others go or stay."
He began to tell me something else but broke off sud
denly, said "good-bye" over his shoulder and went away
quickly. I watched him until he turned into Monroe
Street. Now only I felt frightened, and waiting made me
nervous, so I tried the knob. The door yielded heavily
and closed slowly. I was half way up when it closed
entirely, leaving me in darkness. I groped my way to
the top of the stairs and hearing a clattering noise of ma
chines, I felt about, found a door, and pushed it open and
went in. A tall, dark, beardless man stood folding coats
at a table. I went over and asked him for the name (I
don't remember what it was). "Yes," he said crossly.
"What do you want?"
I said, "I am the new feller hand." He looked at me
from head to foot. My face felt so burning hot that I
could scarcely see.
"It is more likely," he said, "that you can pull bast
ings than fell sleeve lining." Then turning from me he
shouted over the noise of the machine : "Presser, is this
the girl ?" The presser put down the iron and looked at
me. "I suppose so," he said, "I only know the father."
The cross man looked at me again and said, "Let's
see what you can do." He kicked a chair, from which
the back had been broken off, to the finisher's table, threw
a coat upon it and said raising the corner of his mouth :
"Make room for the new feller hand."
One girl tittered, two men glanced at me over their

no  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
shoulders and pushed their chairs apart a little. By this
time I scarcely knew what I was about. I laid my coat
down somewhere and pushed my bread into the sleeve.
Then I stumbled into the bit of space made for me at
the table, drew in the chair and sat down. The men
were so close to me on each side I felt the heat of their
bodies and could not prevent myself from shrinking
away. The men noticed and probably felt hurt. One
made a joke, the other laughed and the girls bent their
heads low over their work. All at once the thought
came: "If I don't do this coat quickly and well he will
send me away at once." I picked up the coat, threaded
my needle, and began hastily, repeating the lesson father
impressed upon me. "Be careful not to twist the sleeve
lining, take small false stitches."
My hands trembled so that I could not hold the needle
properly. It took me a long while to do the coat. But
at last it was done. I took it over to the boss and stood
at the table waiting while he was examining it He took
long, trying every stitch with his needle. Finally he put
it down and without looking at me gave me two other
coats. I felt very happy ! When I sat down at the table
I drew my knees close together and stitched as quickly as
I could. When the pedlar came into the shop everybody
bought rolls. I felt hungry but I was ashamed and would
not eat the plain, heavy rye bread while the others ate
rolls. All day I took my finished work and laid it on the
boss's table. He would glance at the clock and give me
other work. Before the day was over I knew that this
was a "piece work shop," that there were four machines
and sixteen people were working. I also knew that I
had done almost as much work as "the grown-up girls"

OUT OF THE SHADOW in
and that they did not like me. I heard Betsy, the head
feller hand, talking about "a snip of a girl coming and
taking the very bread out of your mouth." The only one
who could have been my friend was the presser who
knew my father. But him I did not like. The worst I
knew about him just now was that he was a soldier be
cause the men called him so. But a soldier, I had
learned, was capable of anything. And so, noticing that
he looked at me often, I studiously kept my eyes from his
corner of the room.
Seven o'clock came and every one worked on. I
wanted to rise as father had told me to do and go home.
But I had not the courage to stand up alone. I kept put
ting off going from minute to minute. My neck felt
stiff and my back ached. I wished there were a back
to my chair so that I could rest against it a little. When
the people began to go home it seemed to me that it had
been night a long time.

112 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXVIII
The next moming when I came into the shop at seven
o'clock, I saw at once that all the people were there and
working as steadily as if they had been at work a long
while. I had just time to put away my coat and go over
to the table, when the boss shouted gruffly, "Look here,
girl, if you want to work here you better come in early.
No office hours in my shop." It seemed very still in the
room, even the machines stopped. And his voice sounded
dreadfully distinct. I hastened into the bit of space be
tween the two men and sat down. He brought me two
coats and snapped, "Hurry with these!"
C From this hour a hard life began for me. He refused
to employ me except by the week. He paid me three
dollars and for this he hurried me from early until late.
He gave me only two coats at a time to do. When I
took them over and as he handed me the new work he
would say quickly and sharply, "Hurry !" And when he
did not say it in words he looked at me and I seemed to
hear even more plainly, "Hurry !" I hurried but he was
never satisfied. By looks and manner he made me feel
that I was not doing enough. Late at night when the
people would stand up and begin to fold their work
away and I too would rise feeling stiff in every limb
and thinking with dread of our cold empty little room
and the uncooked rice, he would come over with still
another coat.
"I need it the first thing in the moming," he would
give as an excuse. I understood that he was taking ad
vantage of me because I was a child.^ And now that it
was dark in the shop except for the low single gas jet

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  113
over my table and the one over his at the other end of
the room, and there was no one to see, more tears fell
on the sleeve lining as I bent over it than there were
stitches In it.
I did not soon complain to father. I had given him
an idea of the people and the work during the first days.
But when I had been in the shop a few weeks I told him,
"The boss is hurrying the life out of me." I know now
that if I had put it less strongly he would have paid more
attention to it. Father hated to hear things put strongly.
Besides he himself worked very hard. He never came
home before eleven and he left at five in the moming.
He said to me now, "Work a little longer until you
have more experience; then you can be independent."
"But if I did piece work, father, I would not have to
hurry so. And I could go home earlier when the other
people go."
C Father explained further, "It pays him better to em
ploy you by the week. Don't you see if you did piece
work he would have to pay you as much as he pays
a woman piece worker? Biit this way he gets almost as
much work out of you for half the amount a woman is
paid."t3 Cl myself did not want to leave the shop for fear of
losing a day or even more perhaps in finding other work.
To lose half a dollar meant that it would take so much
longer before mother and the children would come. And
now I wanted them more than ever before. I longed
for my mother and a home where it would be light and
warm and she would be waiting when we came from
work.^ Because I longed for them so I lived much in
imagination. For so I could have them near me. Often
as the hour for going home drew near I would sit stitch
ing and making beheve that mother and the children were

114  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
home waiting. On leaving the shop I would hasten along
through the street keeping my eyes on the ground so as
to shut out everything but what I wanted to see. I pic
tured myself walking into the house. There was a deli
cious warm smell of cooked food. Mother greeted me
near the door and the children gathered about me shout
ing and trying to pull me down. Mother scolded them
saying, "Let her take her coat off, see how cold her
hands are!" But they paid no attention and pulled
me down to them. Their little arms were about my neck,
their warm faces against my cold cheeks and we went
tumbling all over each other. Soon mother called, "Sup
per is ready." There was a scampering and a msh to the
table, followed by a scraping of chairs and a clattering
of dishes. Finally we were all seated. There was browned
meat and potatoes for supper.
I used to keep this up until I turned the key in the door
and opened it and stood facing the dark, cold, silent
room.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 115

XXIX
Qn proportion as life in the shop became harder, it
also became harder at home. I had to do the washing
and cleaning at night now. One night a week I cleaned
and one I washed. I used to hang my dress on a string
over Mrs. Felesberg's stove to dry over night. In the
morning I pulled it straight and put it right on. The rest
of the night I slept. During these days I could not seem
to get enough sleep. Sometimes when I remembered
how a few months before mother had to chase me to bed
with cries and with scoldings it hardly seemed true.
That time seemed so far away, so vague, like a dream.^
Now on coming into the room I would light the lamp
and the kerosene oil stove and put on the soup to cook.
Then I would sit down with my knees close to the soap
box on which the stove stood, to keep myself warm. But
before long my body relaxed, my head grew heavy with
the odour of the burning oil and I longed to lie down. I
knew that it was bad to go to sleep without supper. Two
or three times father woke me. But it was no use, I
could not eat then. And so I tried hard to keep awake.
But finally I could not resist it. The cot was so near,
just a step away. I could touch it with my hand. I
would rise a little from the chair and all bent over as I
was, I would tumble right in and roll myself in the red
comforter, clothes and all. It was on these nights that
I began to forget to pray.
But it was only during the first part of the night that I
slept heavily. After that I was half asleep, half awake.
I was in constant fear of being late to work. Often in
the middle of the night I would wake up with a start.

n6  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
tumble out of bed, scarcely conscious of what I was
about, and run to the clock which we put on the table
for the night. There I stood peering at it unseeingly
for a long while. Gradually I would realise where I
was, what I was about and that I must see the time.
And only now I could see the hands of the clock dis
tinctly, both on the twelve perhaps. How happy I felt
when it was still so early. With what a feeling of joy
and relief I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes.
But if I happened to wake near five I would not close
them again for fear of oversleeping. That was about
the time that father left.
One morning when I started up into a half sitting po
sition I saw at once that the light in the lamp was tumed
up a little and on the table lay the larger part of the loaf
of bread. And so I knew that father had gone. I peered
at the clock and it seemed to me that it was a quarter to
seven, very late. With my eyes half shut I slid out of
bed hastily and began to dress, seeing all the while the
boss's eyes glaring at me threateningly. It did not take me
long to put on my frock, and the coat I always put on
as soon as I had the dress on because it was so bitter
cold in the room. I buttoned every other button on my
shoes, and just smoothed my hair back, leaving the
tangles for Saturday. I broke off a hunk of bread,
snatched a piece of newspaper and blew out the light.
As I felt my way to the door and through the dark hall it
strack me how quiet it was at the Felesbergs and the little
old woman's and all through the house. At other times
when I started the whole building was full of life. Now
as I was passing I just heard a door open and close
softly, and a slight noiseless movement here and there.
In my hurry I did not stop to think about it but hastened
on. I drew the street door open. The next moment a

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  117
fierce gust of wind tore it from my hand and closed it
with a bang. I had seen that a heavy snow had fallen
over night. I stood for a moment shivering with cold
and fear. Then I wound my braid around my neck under
the collar, and puUing the hair over my ears a little, I
drew the door open again and stepped out quickly. There
were no steps. It all looked flat and white. The wind
moaned and whistled and here and there a huddled dark
form hurried along over the white. I tucked my bread
under my arm, slipped, muff-wise, each bare hand into
the opposite sleeve and started to run. I seemed to be
running very fast and yet I saw that I was making little
headway. The wind was fearful. It struck against my
chest constantly. At one moment it wound my calico
skirt about my knees and I could not take a step. The
next it blew it way up in the air and I had to put it
down with my hands. I stopped and took some minutes
to unbutton my coat with my stiffened fingers and to
fold the fronts tightly over each other on my chest. The
cold lay on it like an iron weight and I could not breathe.
Then I bent my head before the wind and ran on. Soon
I was exhausted. "Where am I ?" I wondered. I stopped
and looked about. It looked so unfamiliar with all the
white under foot and the rows of houses on each side of
me standing so still. They looked like stone walls. "It
is like a prison," I thought. Suddenly it seemed to me
that I was in prison and the dark forms were pursuing
me and I ran in terror. I turned this way and that way,
not knowing nor heeding now where I was going. My
skirt flapped and the wind blew the snow into my face
blinding me as I ran. I tried to run clear of the walls
but I saw that they were on each side of me enclosing
me whichever way I turned. I finally came into a space
where I felt the walls rose higher than ever and the space

ii8  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
between grew narrow. There was something familiar
to me in that, though I dared not look about. I ran to a
door, stopped and clung to it and pressed my face against
it. My eyes closed. My numb fingers groped until
they found and closed over something which they recog
nised at once.
Instinctively I had run to the shop. And now I stood
before the door holding on to the brown porcelain knob.
I was never so happy before to see the shop door. I
leaned against the door and looked at the dark windows
of the shops opposite and realised gradually that I had
left home too early. "The shop must be closed," I
thought. "I must wait here until it opens." I pressed into
the corner of the door. The wind kept flapping and
fluttering my dress and sweeping the snow back
and forth before me. Soon I felt my knees bending of
their own accord and so I sat down. I saw my bread
slip from under my arm. It made me feel a little uneasy
to see it lying there on the snow. And so I watched
it for a moment. I put out my hand to tuck my dress
about me and I felt my head lean back against the door.
I was beginning to feel very comfortable. I seemed to
be sitting on soijiething soft and I no longer felt the cold.
The wind was growing quieter, and quieter, and the
street lights shone so faintly.
I felt a slight pressure on my arm, then it became
heavier. And soon I felt myself being shaken quite
roughly and a familiar voice saying, "For God's sake,
girl, what are you doing here?"
It was the presser from our shop. He helped me up
and asked me again what I was doing there. I wanted
to explain but could not move my tongue. So I just
looked at him.
"Come quickly into the shop," he said. He caught

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  119
hold of my arm, pushed the door open and pulled me
along with him. Even now I remembered that he was
a soldier and tried to draw back. But I doubt whether
he even felt my resistance. He drew me along into the
hall and up the dark narrow stairs. He unlocked the
door, propped me up against a wall and said, "Now
stand here until I light the gas." When there was a light
he put me on a chair near the fireplace, covered me up,
with coats and then began hurriedly to shovel the ashes
out of the grate into a pail. I kept my teeth closed tightly
and sat watching his every movement. He soon had a
crackling fire. He lifted my chair close to it and made
me hold my hands out. I saw him empty one little
bundle of wood after another into the grate. "I won't
put any coal on until you are quite warm," he said; "it
would take too long to burn up." Then he mumbled
to himself, "When he sees how much wood I used this
morning he will hang himself and I'll never hear the end
of it."
When my tongue had thawed a little I told him how
I happened to be out so early. Then he asked me
whether I had anything to eat. I remembered that I had
dropped my bread near the door on the snow and told
him so. He went out and found it. "Good!" he said,
"you have bread and I have some slices of smoked sal
mon." He took it out of his overcoat pocket, wrapped in
a paper, drew a chair close to the fire, sat down and held
it out to me.
I said, "I don't care for any." He looked offended.
"If you won't accept anything," he said, "it means that
you would not give anything of yours either." To show
him that it was not so, I began at once to break my bread
in half. But my fingers were still too numb so I gave it

120 OUT OF THE SHADOW
to him. "Good!" he said again, "you will take half of
my salmon and I'll take half of your bread."
He cut the bread with his penknife which he never
for a moment let go out of his hand.
"It is from home," meaning from Russia, he said,
flashing the blades before me.
While we sat eating and holding our hands to the
fire he told me about himself. He said that he had
escaped from the Russian army a year before and that
his wife and two year old little girl were still in Russia.
He was trying to save and send for them. As I watched
his face while he was talking I wondered that I ever
disliked him. I thought now that he had a very kind
face and if it were not for his long moustache which he
often twirled, he would have been good looking.
I also told him about father and myself and mother
and the children in Russia. I told him that we hoped to
send for them in the spring. "That is why I am work
ing so hard," I said, looking at him earnestly. He looked
at me too and his eyes seemed to be laughing at me. But
he said seriously, "Yes, you have to sweat for your
slice of bread." He rose and stood for a moment looking
at the door and listening. "There he comes, the Vam
pire," he said. "I hear his footsteps in the hall."

OUT OF THE SHADOW 121

XXX
That moming I could not get warm in the shop. The
boss gave me three coats to do instead of two, by mis
take I thought. I spread two on my lap and the third
I hugged close to my chest as I worked on it. I should
have also liked to keep my own coat on. But I was
afraid that if he knew how cold I was he would
think I could not do as much work and would send me
home and make me lose half a day*s pay. Chills were
running up and down my back and I could scarcely bend
my fingers to hold the needle and I pricked my thumb.
My fingers were so numb that I did not feel it. Indeed
I did not know it until I saw a tiny red stain on the white
sleeve lining. I looked and looked at it, and could not
at once believe my eyes and my heart pounded with
fear. I wondered: "Shall I take it to the boss at once?
He will make me pay for it. How much is a sleeve
lining? Fifty cents, perhaps even a dollar.*' I deter
mined not to show it to him at once. I finished it, folded
it and laid it on the floor under my chair.
When I flnished the other two coats I took them over
to the boss. I felt sick at the very thought that he might
ask me for the third one. But he did not. He looked
at me crossly and wanted to know whether I was sleep
ing over my work.
All moming I sat thinking about the blood stain and
wondering what the price of a sleeve lining was. Finally
I could not stand it. I had to know. I bent over the
table toward Betsy and asked how much a sleeve lining
is. "Why?" she wanted to know. "I am just wonder-

122  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
ing,'* I said. She looked at me sharply. "Have you
damaged one?" she asked.
My face began to bum. I bent my head low over my
work and did not answer.
For the noon meal all went out except the presser and
Betsy. I pulled the coat out from under my chair and
looked at it. I was so miserable that I could not help
crying. Betsy looked at me in surprise and the presser
came over. I showed them the stain. The presser
thought he could take it out with benzine. He took it
over to his table and there he rubbed and rubbed it with
a tiny cloth, and held it away from him, and looked at
it from all sides. Finally he became impatient. "An un
usual thing a stain on a coat," he said, and flung it into
the pile on the boss's table.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 123

XXXI
One day I noticed that there was a good deal of whis
pering among the men in the shop. At noon when all
went out to lunch and I ran out to get a slice of cheese
for mine, I saw that the men had gathered on the street
before the door. They were eating sandwiches, stamp
ing about over the snow and disputing in anxious ear
nest whispers.
In the shop the boss looked gloomier than ever.
"I'll not have any one coming into my shop and tell
ing me what to do," he shouted to a strange man who
came over to his table to talk to him. "This shop is mine.
The machines are mine. If they are willing to work on
my conditions, well and good, if not, let them go to the
devil! All the tailors are not dead yet."
At our table Betsy whispered: "The men joined the
union. The boss is in a hurry for the work." There was
a twinkle in Betsy's usually lifeless eyes.
I had no idea what a union meant or what all this
trouble was about. But I learned a little the next day.
When I came in a little after six in the moming, I found
only the three girls who were at my table. Not a man
except the boss was in the shop. The men came in about
five minutes to seven and then stood or sat at the presser's
table talking and joking quietly. The boss stood at his
table brushing coats furiously. Every minute or so he
glanced at the clock and his face looked black with
anger. At the first stroke of seven the presser blew a whistle
and every man went to his place. At the minute of twelve
the presser again blew the whistle and the men went out

124  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
to their noon meal. Those who remained in the shop ate
without hurry and read their newspapers. The boss
kept his eye on us girls. We began last, ate hurriedly
and sat down to work at once. Betsy looked at the men
reading their newspapers and grumbled in a whisper,
"This is what it means to belong to a union. You get
time to straighten out your bones." I knew that Betsy
had been a feller hand for many years. Her back was
quite bent over and her hands were white and flabby.
The men returned a little before one and sat waiting
for the stroke of the clock and the presser's whistle. At
seven in the evening when the presser blew his whistle
the men rose almost with one movement, put away their
work and turned out the lights over their tables and
machines. We girls watched them go enviously and
the boss turned his back towards the door. He did not
answer their "Good-night." In the dark and quiet that
followed his great shears clipped loudly and angrily.
One Saturday afternoon father came home and
showed me a little book with a red paper cover which he
took from his breast pocket. "This," he said, "is my
union book. You too must join the union." He told
me he had heard that a few of the feller hands had or
ganized, and a mass meeting was to be held in a hall on
Clinton Street that evening. He took me to the door of
the building at eight o'clock, saw a young woman enter
and told me to follow her. As I had no idea what a
meeting was like or what to expect I was dazed and
dazzled by the great number of lights, the red carpet
covering the floor, and the crowd of people already seated
on benches along the walls. The middle of the room was
not used.
I glanced about from the doorway for a seat nearby.
But the only ones I could see were in front. And for

OUT OF THE SHADOW 125
this I finally aimed, looking neither to right nor to left
and feeling painfully conscious of my shabbiness. The
seat I was forced to take was right in front and only
about two yards away from the small square platform.
I was so uneasy at being exposed from all sides that it
was some time before I forgot my bare head, my red
hands with the cracked and bleeding skin and my shoes
with their tumed up noses — already worn out and still
too large for me. By that time a young man was stand
ing on the platform speaking. I had seen this young
man two or three times before. He lived on Cherry
Street a few doors away from us, and Kate Felesberg
had told me once that he was a "student." What he was
saving now was something like this :
{^'Fourteen hours a day you sit on a chair, often with
out a back, felling coats. Fourteen hours you sit close
to the other feller hand feeling the heat of her body
against yours, her breath on your face. Fourteen hours
with your back bent, your eyes close to your work you
sit stitching in a dull room often by gas light. In the
winter during all these hours as you sit stitching your
body is numb with cold. In the summer, as far as you are
concerned, there might be no sun, no green grass, no
soft breezes. You with your eyes close to the coat on
your lap are sitting and sweating the livelong day. The
black cloth dust eats into your very pores. You are
breathing the air that all the other bent and sweating
bodies in the shop are throwing off, and the air that
comes in from the yard heavy and disgusting with filth
and the odour of the open toilets.^
_,"If any of you know this, and think about it, you say
to yourselves, no doubt, 'What is the use of making a
fuss? Will the boss pay any attention to me if I should
talk to him ? And anyway it won't be for long. I won't

126 OUT OF THE SHADOW
stay in the shop all my life. I'll — ^perhaps this year, or
next  .* Girls, I know your thought. You expect to
get married ! Not so quick ! Even the man who works
in a shop himself does not want to marry a white-faced
dull-eyed girl who for years has been working fourteen
hours a day. He realises that you left your strength in
the shop, and that to marry you he would take on a
bundle of troubles, and doctor*s bills on his head. You
know what he does most often? He sends to Russia for
a girl he once knew, one who has never seen the inside
of a shop. Or else he marries the little servant girl with
the red cheeks and bright eyes.
"And even if you do marry, are you so secure? Don't
forget that your husband himself is working in the shop
fourteen hours and more a day, breathing the filthy air
and the cloth dust. How long will he last? Who knows !
You may have to go back to the shop. And even worse
than this may be awaiting you. Your children may have
to go to the shop ! And unless you, now, change it, they
may have to go back to the same dull shops, the filthy
air and the fourteen hours. In the winter before day
light your little daughter may have to run through the
streets in the rain and the snow in her wom little shoes,
and thin coat. She will stand trembling before the boss
in the same dull shop, perhaps, where you had once stood.
She will sit in the same backless chair, rickety now, with
her little back bent, for fourteen hours."
He seemed to be looking right at me. I tucked my
feet far under my seat and bent my head to hide my
tears. "Who is this man?" I wondered; "how does he
know?"_J He continued: "Each one of you alone can do noth
ing. Organise! Demand decent wages that you may
t)e able to live in a way fit for human beings, not for

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 127
swine. See that your shop has pure air and sun, that
your bodies may be healthy. Demand reasonable hours
that you may have time to know your families, to think,
to enjoy. Organise ! Each one of you alone can do noth
ing. Together you can gain everything."
For a moment the room was perfectly still. Then
there was a storm of applause and the people rose and
began to press close to the platform. I went to a vacant
seat in an out-of-the-way corner and watched the people
going out in groups and talking excitedly. When the
hall was almost empty I went over to the secretary's
desk. "I want to join the union," I said.
Our feller hands had not been at the meeting but they
too had joined the union. And now our shop was a
"strictly union shop." I'll always remember how proud
I felt when the first evening at seven o'clock the presser
blew the whistle and I with the other girls stood up with
the men. But not many girls joined the union. And so,
it was soon broken up. During these weeks I began to
go to night school. I went to the class right from the
shop without supper, for the doors of the school closed
at half past seven. When I came into the class, the
lights, the warmth to which I was not used, and the
girls reading in a slow monotonous tone, one after anoth
er, would soon put me to sleep. Before I dropped off
the first night I learned one word, "Sometimes." It was
the longest word on the page and stood out among the
rest. I left the shop soon after the union broke up. I don't
remember why or how it happened. The boss of the
next shop where father found work for me was kind.
The first moming when I came in to work, seeing the
girls put me at the end of the table where it was dark,
he came over and made them let me sit near the window.

128  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
"She is still a little girl," he said. "She must grow."
And at ni^ht he told me that I need not stay after half
past seven. He was kind to me in other ways too. I
had an unfortunate habit of losing needles. It always
seemed to me that I put my needle away quite carefully
after I broke off the thread; but when I needed it again
I could seldom find it. And as father never gave me
more than one or two needles at a time I was often in
great distress. One day when I lost my needle and was
looking about on the floor, on the table, and in my dress
and feeling very miserable, he came over and asked me
very seriously, "What's wrong?" I felt that the time I
was wasting was his and I mumbled guiltily : "I lost my
needle." Without a word he went over to the men, bor
rowed two needles at once and brought them to me.
After this whenever he saw me looking about for my
needle, he would take a whole packet out of his breast
pocket and give me one or two, and say laughingly,
"Here, Ruth, is a needle, and don't look so unhappy." As
he was not a tailor I knew that he kept the packet of
needles to have them to give to me.
I felt happy in this shop. The men sat at a separate
table and I never heard an unkind or obscene word.
Every night I had something to tell father about the
boss's kindness. Father was glad that I was so fortunate
and often told me, "Try your best to keep this place."
And I did. I worked as quickly and as well as I could.
One Friday when the boss was paying his workers he
said to me, "Ruth, I am short of money. Do you mind
coming over to my home to-morrow moming at ten
o'clock for yours?" I said I did not mind. Indeed I
was glad I could do something for him though it was so
little. Since I had been working in this shop and was not

OUT OF THE SHADOW 129
so hard driven and humiliated, I blossomed out again.
My hair was always well combed out and on Saturdays
I wore it loose. Now too I was wearing new shoes. And
I had a new navy blue cashmere dress, the first dress
I had ever had, that was not home-made and too large
for me, and it cost me a week's wages and many tears.
But it was worth it. It was so pretty and gave me a
great deal of joy. With this dress even my yellowish
brown coat did not look so bad J
So dressed, and feeling very cheerful, I started out
the next moming a little before ten. I ran and skipped
over the snow, and clapped my hands together often to
keep warm. I found my boss in a room I thought jror-
geous with its carpeted floor and upholstered chairs. "He
was alone. I saw and felt at once that there was not the
calm and quietness about him to which I was accustomed.
He greeted me in the middle of the room, touched my
air with his fingers, and then went and sat down. I
remained standing. "You look very holiday like," he
said. I thought he too looked "holiday like." He was
wearing a new blue suit, his brown hair lay smoother
than ever and his dark reddish moustache was curled.
After a moment or so he said quite abruptly, "Come,
Ruth, sit down here.'* He motioned to his knee. I felt
my face flush. I backed away towards the door and
stood staring at him. He too sat quite still looking at
me. Then he rose and with his usual slowness and quiet
ness put his hand into his pocket, took out a roll of bills,
counted off three dollars, and brought it over to me at the
door. "Tell your father," he said, "to find you a new
shop for to-morrow morning. "D
I walked home weeping bitterly. I did not know what
I should tell my father.
In my next shop there was only a single set The

hi

130  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
boss himself was the machine operator and of course
there was the baster, a finisher and a presser and I was
the feller hand. And at the end of the week the boss
would leave his machine and run out to Hester, corner
Orchard Street, the tailors' "hangout," and bring a man
for a couple of days to put the finishing touches on the
coats before they went out to the warehouse. Shops of
this kind were called "One horse wagons."
This boss was also single. He was an ill-natured
young man. He was tall and so thin that he looked all
dried up. He did hot trust any one, any further than he
could see. Instead of having his machine face the win
dow, like other operators, he sat with his back to it and
faced the room so that he could see every one of us. Me
he kept at his machine, making me use a corner of it, as
my table, so that he could have me constantly under his
eye. He scolded and teased and swore from moming
until night. He told us every day in the week that we
were not earning our money, that we were botchers, that
we had nothing to worry us, while his hair was tuming
grey, that every year he was losing a hundred dollars
while we risked nothing and lost nothing. We were only
getting money which we were not earning. His voice
as he talked sounded through the shop like the drone of
a bee — except that it was full of poison. Bits of white
foam would soon gather in the corners of his thin mouth.
And I used to imagine that the blood in his veins boiled
and bubbled as water boils and bubbles in a kettle over
a fire. He employed only the cheapest kind of labor and so
he was in constant trouble in the warehouse. He never
sent a lot of coats without receiving some back to fix.
He always made me do the fixing, as my time was the
least valuable. He would stand at the back of my chair

OUT OF THE SHADOW 131
and while showing me what to do he would pour out all
his wrath on me. On these nights when I rose to go
home I could not straighten my back. And though it
was often bitter cold when I came out on the street I
walked home slowly, keeping near the wall.
One day, instead of bringing the work home to be
fixed the boss took me along to the warehouse and made
me do it there. When I told father about it in the even
ing he got the idea that I was a very valuable hand and
told me to ask for a raise on Friday. All week I could
not get the thought out of my mind, that I must ask for
a raise. When Friday came and it was time to go home
I kept putting off talking to the boss until all the other
workers were gone and I was alone. At last I put on my
coat and went and stood at his machine.
C"What do you want?" he snapped. I could not get
the words out of my mouth at once. At last I said
weakly, "I want a raise."
He dropped the work on his machine and sat staring
¦at me. The light of the gas jet over his machine fell
full on his skeleton-like face. The expression of hatred
in it frightened me, but I stood still. Finally he said be
tween his teeth, "Say it again. Let me hear you say
it again and I'll throw you down the four flights of
stairs." I went to the door and said, "I want my pay."J
He bent his head over his work and said, "I haven't
any now. You will get it Sunday moming when you
come to work."
When I told it to father he said, "When you get your
pay Sunday you won't go there again."
Sunday morning when I came to the shop I found all
our men gathered on the street before the door. The
presser looked at me. "I am afraid, little girl," he said.

132  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
"you are going to have a rest now. The shop is closed
and the boss is nowhere to be seen. We have just sent
a man to his hoime." Soon the man came back and said
that the boss had not been seen in his boarding place
since Friday night. The presser looked at each one of
us, one after the other, "How long does it take to go to
Canada? Twenty-four hours? Well, then, he is prob
ably there now." The baster collapsed on the doorstep.
He was a grey little old man. He had been sick and this
week's wages were the first he had earned in a long
while. I stood a while, then I walked away from the shop.
"Where next," I wondered.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 133

XXXII
And now I came into Mr. Cohen's shop. I had to
work here as hard as in any of the other places. But of
this shop I think with pleasure, because here every one,
from Mr. Cohen to the Uttle boy in knee pants who
came after school hours to pull basting, was good and
kind. Here too there was just a single set. Mr. Cohen
himself was the baster. All day he sat on his big table
with his legs crossed and worked very hard to save the
wages he would have had to pay a baster, and do his own
part of the work too. The machine operator was his
partner. He was a small shy young man with a very
pink face, small black moustache and eyes. When he
was angry no one ever paid any attention to him because
he wasn't really angry. He could not be. His name
was Fine, and Gussie, the feller hand, used to say that he
was as fine as his name.
One day Mr. Cohen was showing me how to make the
little bars in the comers of the coat pockets. Finding
that I learned it very quickly, he conceived the idea of
teaching me other parts of the trade so that I could help
out all the "big" people. And so I helped Gussie, who
sat right opposite me at the narrow bench-like table, with
the felling, and she taught me how to cross-stitch labels.
I helped the finisher who sat next to me. This was the
part of the work that father had taught me. And Mr.
Cohen taught me how to sew on buttons, which was con
sidered an art in itself. For a properly sewed-on button
on a coat has to stand up high and stiff and straight as
though on a leg. Mr. Cohen showed frankly that I was
a valuable hand and that he was pleased with me and

134  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
paid me three and a half dollars instead of three which
I had been getting.
CAnd so now again I lifted my head a little. My work
was more interesting because it had variety. I liked
variety, and I liked the people, all except the presser.
He was the only one in the shop that used vulgar and
obscene language.
In this shop when the time to go home came it used
to please me to stay a few minutes longer. It was al
ways Mr. Cohen's partner who reminded me that it was
time to go home. He nearly always said the same thing.
"Ruth, you look so busy! Aren't you going home to
night?" I liked to hear him say it I liked to feel that
some one was concerned about me. I used to sit and
wait for it.I\
Sunday morning no one worked very steadily. The
men used to talk over the amusements of the day before.
I used to hear them talk about Shakespeare's plays, the
Jewish theatre, Jacob Adler in the Jewish King Lear.
I listened to them and wondered, "Who is Shakespeare?
What are plays ? Who is Jacob Adler who makes such a
vronderful King Lear?"
\-About this time my own Saturdays became less dull
than they had been. Aunt Masha left her place as nurse
girl. In reality she had been a general house maid. She
had had to cook, scmb and wash. She had had to eat in
a windowless little kitchen at the wash tub and sleep
on the floor. She said she was utterly tired of this kind
of life and wanted to try the shop. Father soon found
her one where the boss was willing to teach her how to
fell coats on condition that she would work for three
dollars a week for some time after. And so she moved
into a tiny bedroom with two other girls and I saw her
more pften.j Qn a Saturday morning now she would

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  135
come, supervise the washing of my hair, and tell me quite
often that I was as stubborn as ever. And in the after
noon she would take me along with her to visit her
friends. Usually the young men and women gathered
in some one's home and spent the whole aftemoon sing
ing and dancing Russian dances. None of them paid any
attention to me or thought of asking me to join them.
I used to sit down in an out-of-the-way comer and
watch them. When I learned the dance songs I used to
sing for them, and soon they began to depend upon me.
As I sang I watched them and longed to dance too.
Among the young men there was one who was dis
tantly related to us. He had been ten years in this coun
try and he spoke English well. I thought he was nicer
and more polite than any of the others. Often I sat
imagining that I too was dancing — I was the tall dark-
haired girl with whom this young man usually danced.
Sometimes I wondered what I would do if he really
came and asked me. One day it occurred to me that
perhaps if I wished very hard he would come. And so I
sat singing, and wishing, and watching. One day when
I saw him stop before me and ask me to dance I was not
at all surprised. It seemed quite natural. Hadn't I
wished so hard ! I never knew how I went through that
dance. When he led me back to my chair and I was
seated he bowed with a slightly exaggerated politeness as
one sometimes does to a child, and said in English, pro
nouncing each word slowly and distinctly so that I should
understand, "You — dance — like — a — littie — fairy."
When Aunt Masha and I were alone I asked her,
"What is a fairy?" She did not know. I asked many
of our acquaintances but no one knew what a fairy was.

136 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXXIII
So a year almost passed and spring came.
At home in our village with the first warm days the
birds would return to our neighbourhood and we could
hear the "click, click" of the storks that came back to
build in the old stump in the cemetery. In the air there
was an agreeable smell of the moist earth warming in
the sun. The earth seemed to swell and burst right Under
our feet so that we could almost feel the plant life push
ing its way to the light long before we could see it
Here with the first warm days I saw the children
on the street appearing in lighter clothing with bright
new tops and jumping ropes. They seemed more free.
Their laughter rang merrily and they responded more
reluctantly to their mothers' calls to "come up stairs!"
I too longed to stay out. Many mornings as I hurried
to work through the soft air and early sunshine a sick
feeling would come over me at the thought of the shop,
the dust-covered, nailed-up windows, the weight of the
black heavy coats on my lap. In the winter I had been
glad enough when the coats were big and heavy. They
kept me warmer. But now the coat on my lap seemed
to weigh a ton and kept slipping and slipping from my
lap all day long as if it would drag me down. I could not
make out what was wrong. I felt depressed and tired
even when I got up in the morning. Often too I felt a
little sick though nothing hurt. One day while standing
at Mr., Cohen's table I bent down to pick up something.
When I straightened again I felt the blood in my temples
beat as though with hammers and everything on the table
seemed topsey-turvey. I had to stand still with my eyes

OUT OF THE SHADOW 137
closed for some minutes before I could see things in their
right position and places.
The next moming when Mrs. Cohen brought her hus
band's coffee, as she did every morning, she sat down
next to me at our little table to pull some bastings, which
she always did when she came, and began to talk to me.
She asked me some questions about my family and my
self. I told her I thought we would soon send for mother
and the children and admitted that I had not been well
for some time; when I climbed steps my heart beat so
that it pained and I could not stoop down without grow
ing dizzy.
Mrs. Cohen was a middle aged, kind woman, and so
pious that not a hair of her own could be seen from
under her light brown wig. She glanced at me now.
"You do look pale," she said, and then advised me to go
and see her doctor. I was scared. I had never been
treated by a doctor in my life. At home the old women
of the village knew a charm prayer for every ailment and
grandmother would brew tea out of different blossoms
which we gathered in the spring.
In the evening I told father for the first time that I
had not been feeling well and that Mrs. Cohen offered
to take me to her doctor. Father took a good look at me
for the first time in a long while and showed alarm. He
told me by all means to go with Mrs. Cohen and gave
me a half dollar for the doctor.
A little before three o'clock the next day Mrs. Cohen
and I were in the doctor's office. He was a big, blonde,
clean-shaven Gentile man. He looked into my eyes and
made me shake my hands downward to see if they would
grow pink. I shook and shook my hands but they stayed
almost white. The doctor smiled cheerfully. "We'll
soon fix you up," he said ; "stay out in the air, and  ."

138  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
Mrs. Cohen explained that I worked in the shop and that
my mother was not here. "Oh,** he said, looking dis
pleased. He drew up and stuck out his lips, put his
elbow on the desk, rested his chin in one hand and sat
staring out of the window and drumming. He sat so
long that I thought he had forgotten all about us. Finally
he caught up his pen and quickly, as if to make up for
lost time, wrote a prescription. "Here," he said, hand
ing it to me. "It will help some.** I held out the half
dollar. He looked at it on my palm for a moment, then
took my hand in his great big one and put it down play
fully and said, "That is all right. But 'feed up.' " This
was the first time I heard these two little words. But
from now on I was to hear them often and for many
years. I stayed out the rest of the afternoon. It seemed
strange to be idle on a week day. I sauntered along
through Grand Street toward the ferry, looking into the
store windows.
That night I sat up for father. He laid the large
brown loaf on the table when he came and sat down
on the chair alongside of it. ~ I saw at once that he had
something pleasant to tell. He was not smiling but his
face looked all lit up. After hearing what the doctor had
had to say and cautioning me to take the medicine regu
larly he began slowly, drawing out his words almost as
grandmother had often done, and smiling now quite
broadly, "You know, Rahel, I think with this week's
wages we have enough money for the steamer tickets,
the joumey and a little over."
He put his hand deep into his pocket, took out the
long baggy purse and laid it on the table. Then he drew
the white muslin curtain over the lower part of the win
dow, and told me to lift the lamp from the bracket to

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  139
the table. He began to count and I breathlessly watched
his fingers as they turned back the bills.
"Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty," and so on he counted.
Finally he said slowly, "Yes, we have enough."
I could not realise that it was true, that we could send
for them at once. Then the thought came, "In three
months they might be here!" I laid my arms on the
table, buried my face in them and began to sob. Father
laid his hand gently on my head. For once he did not
scold me for my tears.

140 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXXIV
A LITTLE over two months later father and I stood
in line before one of the windows in the main post office
on Grand Street, waiting for mail. During these two
and a half months we had sent the tickets and heard that
they had been received and that mother was selling out
everything but the pillows, the linens and the candlesticks.
Then a letter had come saying that they had started.
That night Aunt Masha cried bitterly. For then we knew
that grandmother and grandfather were alone, separated
even from each other in their old age. For where she
went to stay they would not keep him, and where he
stayed they would not keep her.
Now we were waiting to hear whether mother and
the children had crossed the boundary safely or had been
caught and turned back as father had been the first time
he started for America. We should have had a letter
two days before. Father was very pale as he stood wait
ing his turn. At last he was at the window and the clerk
handed him a post card. It was in sister's handwriting.
She and I did all the corresponding. Neither father nor
mother could write.
"Read quickly," father said, giving me the card and
bending over me. His voice trembled. I spelled out
the words : "We crossed the boundary safely — and we
are all well, thank God."
"Thank God!" father repeated after me. Then he
threw his head back and laughed joyously. "They will
soon be here."
One week later, early on Saturday, father. Aunt
Masha and I went looking for rooms. All day we

OUT OF THE SHADOW 141
walked about, climbing many stairs. For of most rooms
the rent was too high. At last we found a small three
family rear house on Broome Street where the two rooms
on the middle floor were empty. We reached the rear
house by passing through the long hall of the front tene
ment, into a yard, and then climbing a high stoop. Both
rooms had windows facing the yard and the rear win
dows of the front tenement. The water was in the yard
and had to be pumped. But father saw many advantages
and I too saw how I could turn the tiny hall where the
upper tenant had to pass into a Idtchen. So we rented
them for seven dollars a month.
One moming a few days later I was not well and
father told me to stay home. (There were often days
now when I was not well.) I thought this a golden op
portunity to clean "the new rooms." So I started quite
early from Cherry Street for the house on Broome
Street. I borrowed a pail and a scrubbing brush from
our neighbour in the basement and went to work on the
floors. They were unpainted and thick with dirt. I
scrubbed and rinsed, changing the water often by carry
ing the" pailfuls of dirty water into the yard and pump
ing up fresh water. At first it seemed impossible that
I could get them clean but soon the grain of the wood
began to show. When I was on the last little piece near
the door I sat back on my heels and surveyed the clean
wet boards with a feeling of pleasure. The clothes on
my back felt damp, and drops of perspiration were roll
ing from my cheeks down my neck. I looked at my
hands, the palms and fingers were water soaked and
all crinkled up. I remembered mother saying that I
had the hands of a lazy girl, and that I touched soiled
things with my finger tips. "Oh!" I thought, "if she
could only see them now !" And with a feeling of satis-

142  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
faction I dipped my hands into the pail of black, muddy
water up to the elbows and sang a song made up on the
spot "Oh, how I'll scrub, — ^how white our floors will be."
In the evening we parted from Mrs. Felesberg (not
without tears) and moved into our new rooms. Then the
furniture came. I spread newspapers over the floors,
tucked up my dress into the belt and ran about showing
the men where to put each piece. The large square table
went into the centre of the big room and the six chairs
all around it, the two folding cots were put at the further
end in the same room, the big bed into the bedroom.
And I placed our old kerosene oil stove on a new soap
box in the little square hall, taking care to leave at least
a foot of space for our neighbours upstairs to pass. I
looked on this little corner as "the kitchen" and the large
room as the "front room." I longed for a front room!
When the men were gone father and I looked about
our rooms and at each other, and we smiled happily.
As the days passed and the time drew near for their
coming, I became more and more impatient and nervous
and found it more difficult than ever to sit in one place in
the shop and think about the work. However, I did not
always think about it. Often as I sat sewing on buttons
or felling a sleeve lining I pictured them on the steamer
and went over their whole journey in my mind, sure
that it was very much as my own had been. First I saw
them jogging along in Makar's straw-lined wagon from
our village to Minsk, then travelling by railroad and
finally packed into a wagon of mouldy hay and driven
through swampy meadows in the dead of night, stealing
across the boundary. Though a year had passed I could
still feel the Russian soldier's heavy hand on my back,
and hear his thick voice demanding, "What have you

WITH BABY ON ONE ARM, A BUNDLE ON THE OTHER.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  143
here?'* The answer a jingle of silver coins and the thick
voice call, "Drive on!" I pictured thesm sleeping in the
bare, dirty little cots in Hamburg. I saw mother with
the four children standing in the large hall all day for
a week and waiting for their names to be called. Then
I saw them in the midst of a hundred others bent over to
one side or stooping under their bundles, passing through
a sort of tunnel. Meekly, and looking neither to right
nor to left, they followed a uniformed person. "Tramp,
tramp, tramp," I heard the dull sound of many feet and
two onlookers calling to each other, "The Emigrants!"
and the echo calling back, "The Emigrants!"
O'But now," I thought joyfully, "they are on the
steamer, very near America. How will mother like
America ? Will she be much shocked at father's and my
impiety?" For I too was not so pious now. I still per
formed some of the little religious rites assigned to a
girl, but mechanically, not with the ever-present con
sciousness of God. There were moments of deep de
votion, but they were rare.
Sometimes when I thought of it I felt sad, I felt as if
I had lost something precious.]]
The steamer was due on a Friday night, so they would
have to spend still another night on it. That Friday
both father and I came home earlier than usual. While
he was washing up and polishing his shoes, and brushing
his clothes, I cooked a fish dinner for seven people for
the next day, and at the kind invitation of our neigh
bour over us, put it on her ice into the crowded little ice
box. iThen I remembered that mother had no candles
to light on the steamer. I would light them here. She
usually lit five, one for each child. So I found a red
brick on the street, washed it clean under the pump and
used it as a candle holder. We had not bought any candle

144  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
sticks, as we expected our beautiful brass ones from
home. I placed the clean brick on the table in the "front
room," covered now with a new white oil cloth. Then
with a drop of the hot tallow from each candle I stuck
them firmly on the brick in a straight row. I placed two
white loaves at the other end of the table and covered
them with a clean small towel. I lit the candles and
embracing them three times, I covered my face with
my hands and whispered the consecration prayer for my
mother on the steamer. Then as I looked around the
room I felt for the first time in this country the joyous
Friday night spirit of the old home, in the new one.O
I sat out in the yard until father would be ready for
supper. I watched the stars appearing one by one. From
the open windows father's cheerful voice came chanting
the Friday evening prayer. In the basement a rocker
creaked and a little boy sang, "Sweet and low, sweet
and low."
The next moming at ten o'clock father and I again
stood in Castle Garden. I do not know whether Aunt
Masha was with us or not As I look back now I can
only see father and myself, he talking to an officer and I
standing with my face pressed against iron bars. In
what an agony of joy and fear I stood there ! At first
I was neither surprised nor disappointed when I looked
about and did not see them at once. Feeling sure that
they must be there, I could wait. Then it flashed through
my mind, "But perhaps they are not here ! Perhaps they
missed the steamer, perhaps they fell ill!" Then I saw
them. It was as I often pictured them. Mother with
baby on one arm, a bundle on the other, and the eight
year old boy at her skirt, was following a uniformed
American. She walked slowly with her head a little
bent and her eyes on the ground. Her face looked so

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  145
uncertain, as if she were not yet sure whether her
journey was at an end and whether this was the place
where she would meet us. After her came sister, quite
bent under a bundle on her back and with the little four
year old girl holding on to her skirt. Though she was
so bent under her bundle her head was raised and her
eyes were looking about eagerly. Then they met mine,
and as she recognised me she dropped her bundle and
ran screaming, "Mamma, there they are! There they
are!" A few minutes later I heard my mother's tearful joy
ous voice close to me, "Rahel! Rahel!"

PART THREE

PART THREE

XXXV

For days father kept asking mother to tell him about
herself, home, our friends, and relatives. He never
seemed to grow tired of hearing it and she repeated the
same thing over and over again. And I walked to and
from the shop, spent the day there, and what was left
of the evening at home, as though I were in a happy
dream. Often during these first days I feared that
mother's being here was only a dream. Often at such
moments I watched her sitting at the window sewing,
making a little shirt perhaps, out of a bit of muslin. I
would go over to her, lean up against her a little shame
facedly, and ask her, "Mamma, are you really here in
America?" She understood. She would laugh a little,
press a comer of the little shirt to her eyes and say, "Yes,
I am here." One day she said sadly, "Yes, all life is
like a dream. To-day we are here, to-morrow God
knows." Then she added, as though she were following
a thought in her own mind, "Ah, if I had my youth to
live over again, and if I had only known that I would
have to be in America!"
"What then, mother?"
"Then," she said, as tears rolled down her cheeks and
fell on the stitches, "I would have learned how to write
even if I had had to go without bread sometimes. Ah,
if at least I could write to my mother!"
So even during these happy days there were tears.
y^Mother, like Aunt Masha and myself, and all others
149

ijo  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
that I have known, felt bewildered and uncertain about
herself and everything she did and said during these first
days. It was pathetic to see how she looked up to me
because I had already been here a year, and probably
showed off a little. She treated me like a grown-up girl
and allowed herself in her lovely quiet way to be guided
by me in many little things.^
The children were a constant care and delight, espe
cially the two little ones. It was amusing to see how
they were impressed by the different things. The little
girl, four years old, thought it quite wonderful to have
water right in the yard and ranning so easily. So as
many times a day as she could steal away she would
be found at the pump with her shoes and stockings off
pumping water over her two little bare feet and rubbing
them industriously. Once on hearing the baby — ^now
two years old — screaming in the yard, we ran out and
found him lying flat on his little stomach with his fair,
curly head under the pump while the four year old stood
at the handle, one little hand pumping with great diffi
culty and the other rubbing his head.
Often in their play they imitated what they had seen
on their journey. Being lately from the steamer they
played "crossing the ocean." She was the great ocean
steamer. She would stand in the middle of the yard, her
feet wide apart, her hands on her little hips, rocking
herself slowly from side to side, and roaring with great^
earnestness in imitation of the waves. Meanwhile the
baby would drag thp dish pan and a wooden spoon from
the closet and strut around and around the yard banging
on the pan and crying, "Metach! metach!" in German,
announcing the meals on the steamer.
Sister surprised me with her fearlessness in~going
about everywhere I and her quickness in adopting Amer-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  151
ican ways. She found her way quite easily. She would
wash and dress the children, curl their hair on her finger,
"American fashion," and take them out into the street
She would take them along wherever she went. She
never stole away from them as I had often done from
her. She and I shared one of the cots in the "front
room." We used to lie with our arms about each other,
whispering until way into the night.
The boy, eight years old, was serious and sensitive and
would not stand for any trifling. He liked to stand out
on the street before the door and observe life in Amer
ica. As no money could be spared for new clothes the
children had to wear out what they had. His shoes, made
by our village shoemaker, were in excellent condition in
spite of the rough treatment of fumigation and the wear-
and-tear of the joumey. But shoes more than any other
article of clothing showed the "greenhorn." And so
often he was so tormented by the children in the street
that he would come into the house in tears. He begged
and cried and demanded "American" shoes but it was
no use. So he tried to see what he could do by knocking
and rubbing them on stones. But these shoes of the
homely strong Russian leather could stand it without
showing more than a few scratches.
One day when he went out into the street he did not
return until dark, and then he was in his bare feet On
being asked what he had done with his shoes he said, with
tears and an expression which said that he was prepared
for the worst, that he had thrown them away. "Where?"
He did not know, himself. Fearing that under a threat
of punishment he might be weak enough to go and look
for them, he threw them so that he himself should not
be able to find them. He flung them, he said, from a
strange roof; one in one direction, one in the other. He

152  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
told his story and stood before father with his eyes on
the ground ready to take the punishment which he knew
would follow.
That evening when father went out into the street
he brought back a black strap of fringed leather with a
wooden handle and hung it up in the big room on the
door. Of father and myself, I was the more Americanised.
Under pressure I could converse in English a little while,
he could not talk it at all. So he left translating the chil
dren's names to me. I was delighted. I longed to call
them by names that were not only American but also
unusual. So as I sat in the shop I spent many hours
thinking and sounding each name in my mind over and
over again. But when I finally decided on all the names
I felt uneasy at the thought that there was no resemblance
between the Hebrew and the English names. So I just
translated them into English after all. Sister, whose
name was Leah, we called Leah; the little four year old
girl changed from Meriam to Miriam; the baby was
Asra. But at least one I could not resist calling by an
uncommon name. I called the boy Morgan, though his
name translated was Ezekiel.
I knew I had a leaning toward things which I heard
people call "queer." I felt ashamed and hid it whenever
I was aware of it. I felt ashamed of my desire to call
my brother Morgan but neither could I bear to give it
up. So I called him by that name only when no one
was by who was likely to ridicule me.
L Mother had been here only a short time when I noticed
that she looked older and more old-fashioned than father.
I noticed that it was so with most of our women, espe
cially those that wore wigs or kerchiefs on their heads.
So I thought that if I could persuade her to leave off

OUT OF THE SHADOW 153
her kerchief she would look younger and more up to
date. But remembering my own first shock, I decided to
go slowly and be careful not to hurt her feelings. So,
one day, when I happened to be at home and the chil
dren were playing in the yard, and we two were alone in
the house, I asked her playfully to take off her kerchief
and let me do her hair, just to see how it would look.
She consented reluctantly. She had never before in her
married life had her hair uncovered before any one. I
took off her kerchief and began to fuss with her hair. It
was dark and not abundant but it was soft and had a
pretty wave in it. When I parted it in front and gath
ered it up in a small knot in the middle of the back of
her head, leaving it soft over the temples, I was surprised
how different she looked. I had never before known
what a fine broad forehead my mother had, nor how soft
were her blue-grey eyes, set rather deep and far apart.
I handed her our little mirror from Cherry Street. She
glanced at herself, admitted frankly that it looked well
and began hastily to put on her kerchief as if she feared
being frivolous too long. I caught hold of her hands.
"Mamma," I coaxed, "pleasp don't put the kerchief
on again — ever!"
At first she would not even listen to me. But I sat
down in her lap and I began to coax and beg and reason.
I drew from my year of experience and observation and
pointed out that wives so often looked so much older
because they were more old-fashioned, that the hus
bands were often ashamed to go out with them. I told
her that it was so with Mrs. Felesberg and Mrs. Cohen.
"And this nice woman upstairs," I said "if she would
only take off her wig and — — ."
Mother put her finger on my lips.
"But father trims his beard," I still argued. Her face

154 OUT OF THE SHADOW
looked sad. "Is that why," she said, "I too must sin ?"
But r finally succeeded.
When father came home in the evening and caught
sight of her while still at the door, he stopped and looked
at her with astonishment "What!" he cried, half ear
nestly, half jestingly, "Already you are becoming an
American lady!" Mother looked abashed for a moment;
in the next, to my surprise and delight, I heard her
brazen it out in her quiet way.
"As you see," she said, "I am not staying far be-
hind."J'

OUT OF THE SHADOW 155

XXXVI
It was "slack" in our shop. Every week Mr. Cohen
made me stay home a day or two. It was slack all over
the city at all trades. Writers and lecturers now refer
to that time as "the memorable years, 1893-94. Years
of extreme economic depression." We felt this depres
sion when one day father came home from the shop at
three o'clock in the afternoon. Not to alarm mother,
who had been here only two months, he made light of
the rumour that people were out of work all over the
city. But when a few weeks passed and he began to
stay home three and four days a week, he looked openly
alarmed and began to talk of moving back to Cherry
Street. And when two brothers and a sister, who were
from our part of the country, came one night and asked
to be taken in as "lodgers," we finally decided to do it.
So, with our lodgers, we moved into a "room and two
bedrooms," on Cherry Street again, this time between
Jefferson and Clinton Streets. The rooms were on the
stoop in the rear. The toilets, for the whole building,
were in the yard, facing our windows, the water pump
in the street hall. The rent was ten dollars a month.
We gave the two brothers the little hall bedroom with
the window, for the sister a cot was put up for the night
in the large room with us children. They paid five dol
lars a month. So now we felt easier as our rent was
only five dollars a month.
But our easy days were not many. One night, soon
after we had settled in our new home, Mr. Cohen called
me over to his table, just as I was leaving, and told me
that he had no work for me for the next day. This

156  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
would make three days out for that week. Mr. Cohen
saw that I was troubled and began to explain.
"You see, Gussie is a woman and needs the money
while you  ." I felt irritated. I felt that because I
was a child I was paid littie. And even then they did
not seem to think that I needed the money, as though I
didn't have to live and help support my people. I burst
out : "I too need it. My people have just come and  ,"
I felt miserable. Gussie and I were good friends.
"Oh, very well," Mr. Cohen said, quickly, "take turns
tiien." A week passed perhaps when again just as we were
going home, Mr. Cohen told Gussie that he was sorry but
there was so little work that there was no use of her
staying on. I darejd not look at her face as he talked to
her. When we came out into the street she walked away
from me without saying "Good night."
One by one I watched the men in our shop laid off.
Finally tiiere was just Mr. Cohen and his partner left.
Then my turn came.
A short time after I began to stay home father's shop
was closed altogether. Every day now all over the city
shops were being closed. Nevertheless father went out
every morning, always looking bright, and hopeful of
finding at least a few hours' work. He would return at
noon looking not quite so bright. He was not discour
aged, but as week after week passed, his face grew
thinner and the smile that had always lit up his whole
face became rare. But still he spoke cheerfully. "This
can't last much longer," he would say. "There must be
an end to it. It is almost two months now."
All this weighed more heavily on mother. Her face
was paler, her features stood out sharply and her eyes
seemed to have gone deeper into her head. She was

OUT OF THE SHADOW 157
always serious and now she looked as if a dreadful
calamity were hanging over us. "Among strangers in
a strange country." She began counting the potatoes
she put into the pot and would ask the children over
and over again when they wanted more bread, "Are you
sure you want it?"
Two months passed and a great change seemed to have
come over the people. The closed shops tumed the
workers out into the streets and they walked about idly,
looking haggard and shabby. Often as I sauntered along
through Cherry or Monroe Street I would meet some
one with whom I had worked. We avoided each other.
We felt ashamed of being seen idle. We felt ashamed
of our shabby clothes. We avoided each other's eyes
to save each other pain and humlHation. The greeting
of those who could not possibly avoid one another was
something like this, "What ! A holiday in your shop, too ?"
Nor would they remain talking long. Both would stand
looking away gloomily for a few minutes and finally
with a short nod they would walk apart dejectedly.
Every day I saw on Cherry and Monroe Streets grocers
closing up and women at the pushcarts haggling more
and more desperately over a cent.
"How much are these bananas? Five for a cent?
They are not any bigger than my finger, and the skin
is all black."
"Oh, very well, take six! Take six for God's sake
and go. I haven't made a cent to-day."
One day as I was walking on Grand Street toward
the Bowery, I saw a tall, slim man, coatless and bare
headed, with a rag bag over his shoulder, bent over a
garbage can. There was something familiar to me about
him. I was on the opposite side of the street and stood
looking at him. And soon I remembered. He was, or

158 OUT OF THE SHADOW
he had been, a machine operator. He and his wife had
been a merry couple and they had a sweet baby whom
they adored. They had lived in our old 338 Cherry
Street over the Felesbergs. I had often been in their
home and watched them singing and dancing with their
baby. Now I hardly recognised him. A ragged grey
shirt covered his back. His long thin body was bent.
His face looked black and hollow. But what strack me
with horror was that he seemed entirely unaware that
he was among human beings. He acted as though he
felt himself in a lone desert. Feverishly he stood stirring
the can with a stick. His eyes looked into it eagerly, and
his lips were moving.
As I recognised him I ran toward him a few steps.
Then the full meaning of it all struck me. I threw my
arms over my head and ran from him in terror.
One day while mother and we children stood out on
the stoop a woman we knew came over to us. She lived
by doing all sorts of odd things, particularly by match
making and recommending girls to places of domestic
service. And as she walked about the street, attending
to her business, she knit a stocking. She was a stout,
elderly woman, and wore a kerchief tied under her chin
and tucked away behind her ears.
C She barely glanced at me and as her eyes retumed
to her quickly moving needles, "Missus," she said, "I
have a place for your girl with, a very nice family."
Mother's lips drew together tightly. Without looking at
mother the woman kept on talking in a slow persuasive
tone. "There are only six in the family. They live on
Clinton Street near Grand. I think they would pay her
six dollars a month. Will you let her go ?"
My mother's face was white. "No!" she shook her

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  159
head. She climbed up the stoop steps and went into
the house.
I followed her and asked, "Why don't you let me go,
mother? Out of the six dollars we could pay our share
of the rent for a whole month and have a dollar over."
She turned away from me, leaned against the wall and
cried, "Is this what I have come to America for, that
my children should become servants?"!)
It was three months now since father and I had earned
anything. We owed the landlord five dollars for this
third month. We gave him just what the lodgers had
paid us. What there was left of our own money we kept
just for bread and a little milk for the two smaller
children. Father used to bring the big round loaf of
bread from the bread stand on Hester Street when he
came home at night. We were always In bed then and
the light in the lamp was turned low but I was often
awake. Mother would sit up to wait for him and open
the door and he would come in on tip toe, lay the bread
on the table and sit down heavily beside it. Then mother
would cut some of the bread, sweeten some hot water in
a glass and give it to him. Then she would sit down
on another chair near the table and sit staring on the
floor in front of her while he ate his supper. He used
to chew every mouthful a long time and drink the hot
water slowly. Sometimes in the stillness I could hear
a deep half-stifled sigh.
They seldom spoke. Once I heard father ask, "How
are the children?"
"How should they be ?" she answered. "Hanging onto
life." She covered her face and sobbed.
In the morning father was gone on his daily hunt for
work before we were up. He no longer came home at
noon now, for when he was away he did not have to eat.

i6o OUT OF THE SHADOW
The two older children, Leah and Ezekiel, were going
to school and the two little ones we kept in bed as long
as we could that they might be warm. For it was win
ter now and we had not much covering. Mother had
not brought her five pillows, linens and candlesticks
after all. She had sold everything in Hamburg for a
few dollars, hearing a rumour that she would be allowed
no luggage except what she could carry. Then she heard
that the ramour had been raised that the emigrants might
sell out.
When the children came from school they would go
out on the street and to the docks and pick up bits of
coal, paper and wood and then we would make a fire.
We used to put on water to boil and draw our chairs
close to the stove, to draw all the warmth we could out
of it When our lodgers came home they often com
plained of the bitter cold in the house but they were not
very well off themselves. They made knee pants and
seldom had more than two days' work a week.
(_The small school which the children attended was, I
think, connected with a church or a missionary society.
One day when the children came home they told us that
any child in the class who would say a prayer received
a slice of bread and honey. Mother looked at them
and asked them to tell her about it. Sister said, "There
is nothing to tell. If you just bow your head as you
sit at the desk, and repeat the prayer after the teacher
you receive a slice of white bread and honey."-)
We heard a great deal about the missionaries that
winter. On Grand Street, at the corner of Attorney
Street, there was a big store with green shades which
were always drawn. In this store we knew the mis
sionaries held a meeting every Saturday. We heard that
the head of the missionaries was a baptised Jew. I heard

OUT OF THE SHADOW 161
my parents express their anger because they came and
settled right in the heart of the Jewish neighbourhood.
We children used to run past the store with a feeling of
fear and then stand at a little distance and look at it.
I often went back to look inside through a worn part of
the shade, and saw a man standing up and talking and a
few people in the back of the room listening. Week
after week the man preached almost to an empty room.
Still we hated to have them in the neighbourhood to
tempt our people.
One Saturday aftemoon father came home and said
that he had just passed the missionaries' store on Grand
Street "They are doing good business these days," he
said. "As I passed, the door opened and I saw the place
crowded with people." We heard that any one who went
there and listened to the lectures received food and cloth
ing. A young man, who was a friend of our lodgers, used
to come to visit them. When he became well acquainted
with us he would come in at any time during the day,
even when his friends were out. Of course he was out
of work. It was six months now since he had eamed
anything. He looked like the rest of us, shabby, despond
ent, half-starved. If he happened to come in when we
were having a meal mother always invited him to eat
with us. He would take the bread which, like father,
he chewed slowly, and often said, "This is very good
bread." He would sit and argue with mother, trying to con
vince her that it was no sin to accept food from mis
sionaries when one was almost starving.
"But do they give it to you? You have to show that
you believe with them, that you accept their religion."

ifo  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
"Even so," he said. "The sin would be theirs for mak
ing such demands from starving people."
After he was gone mother said, "That is all talk. He
is not religious but after all he is a Jew. Oh, God," she
would say, with a touch of pride, "one only has to look
into his sunken eyes to see starvation and yet he does
not go to them."
', Another month passed and all our money was gone.
For a week or so we borrowed from our lodgers ten and
fifteen cents at a time until we had a dollar. Then we
did not know what to do. We would not ask the coal
man and the grocer to "trust" us. We had never
owed any one, and father and mother shrank from the
very thought of owing. Besides, the coal man ^nd the
grocer hardly knew us. We had not bought much coal
and bread was a cent cheaper at the big stand on Hester
Street. On the moming when father took the last few
cents he went away earlier than usual. And mother
walked about with slow shuffling steps from room to
room. As the children were leaving for school she asked
them without looking at them, whether bread and honey
was still given to the children at school.
"Yes," sister said, "to those who bow their heads and
pray." The boy was already out of the room when mother
called after them. "You can bow your heads and pray."
Then she went into her dark bedroom. ^

OUT OF THE SHADOW 163

XXXVII
Mother did not come out of the room that day. In
the morning I was awakened by hearing her moan
ing. I lit the lamp and went in and looked at her. Her
face was red and her chest rose and fell rapidly. For
the first time this morning father looked really discour
aged when he left the house. After the two older children
went to school I tucked the little ones into one of the
cots to play. Every day they remained in bed more
willingly and played more quietly. I gave mother some
water and milk and went in to ask our front neighbour
what I could do for mother. She said she would see
that a doctor came and made me understand that there
were doctors who treated without a fee. And then she
added : "As long as your mother is ill you need not fear
that the landlord will put you out. It is against the law."
I ran to mother with the good news. When I told her she
looked at me as if she did not understand, so I explained :
"It is a law in America that when you are sick  ."
Mother tumed her face to the wall and gave an unpleas
ant chuckle which ended in a sob.
The doctor came at three o'clock in the afternoon. I
lit the lamp and showed him into the sick room. He
stopped in the middle of it, looked about at the walls
and the ceiling, and shragged his shoulders. After he
examined mother he shragged his shoulders again.
Finally he wrote out a prescription, said crossly that he
would come again the next day at ten o'clock and went
away. When father came home in the evening and I told
him that the landlord could not put us out, he told me

i64  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
to use the money which the lodgers had just paid us for
the medicine and bread and coal.
i_ Mother grew worse. All day I walked from the chil
dren's cot to her room, where a little lamp burned steadily
now, and then back to the children's cot I felt as though
I were in a nightmare. I never remembered mother ill
before. She was the strongest in our family. And now
to see her lying so still with her eyes closed and not even
moaning, filled me with terror.3
The doctor came every moming at ten o'clock. He
did not tell me what her illness was and I dared not
ask. Every day he would sit down on the bed, make me
hold the lamp 50 that the light fell on her face, and sit
looking at her. And I watched his face and hers and
tried to understand. Sometimes I saw mother trying
to rouse herself from her stupor. She would give her
head a shake as if she were trying to shake something off.
I could hear her teeth close tightly and her chin seemed
to square a little. Then she would open her eyes and I
saw for a moment a steady, determined look. I had
often seen her so when she had something to overcome.
I understood that this was the fight in her. I re
membered the same look when she was planning father's
escape from the constable in Russia. And I recalled
seeing it one snowy, stormy night when one of the chil
dren woke up choking with the croup and she could not
get any one to go for the doctor. The road lay through
a thick wood and wolves had been seen there. So she
wrapped herself in a shawl, tucked up her skirt, took a
staff and started. At dawn she retumed struggling
through the snow in front of the man, making a path for
him. I noticed that the doctor always looked pleased
when he caught this expression. Gradually I began to

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  165
understand that he depended on the fighting spirit in
her. And I too began to look for it.
Beside the doctor two other people came every day,
the landlord and the young man, our lodgers' friend.
The landlord was a gentle, quiet, prosperous looking old
man with a white moustache. He wore fine black
clothes, black gloves and a high silk hat. It was strange
to see him among us. As long as we had some money
to pay he came every week and inquired whether father
was working. But now that we had nothing to give
he came every day. He would knock gently on the door,
come in on tip toes and ask quietly and cheerfully, "And
how is your mother this moming?" When I told him,
"The same," he would give a short nod and tip toe out
with his head bent a little lower. I used to look forward
to his coming. He was the only person who came among
us that did not show suffering. I used to wish he would
stay a little and talk to me.
The young man would come in, ask about mother and
then sit down on a chair near the window from where
he could see the whole house, and sit watching me as
I went from mother to the children and then back to
her. Once Aunt Masha came. She was dressed in an old
brown dress which in better days she had discarded.
She stayed a little while, gave the children a thorough
washing and went away. I believe now that she must
have come more than this once, but this time is the only
one I can recall during this period.
One day a well dressed strange young man came in.
He made sure of our name at the door and then came
and sat down at the window, opened a little book and
began to question me about my family, my father's name,
his trade, how long he had been out of work, how much

i66 OUT OF THE SHADOW
he had earned, how long mother had been ill and so on.
As I was answering his questions I was in agony of
fear, wondering whether this had anything to do with
the landlord and whether after all we would be thrown
out into the street. He stopped for a few minutes and
I sat down on the cot closer to the children. The young
man continued :
"Where does your doctor come from?"
"From Essex Street dispensary."
"Do you need anything?"
I stared at him. He looked up and asked over again,
patiently, "Do you need anything?"
"Do we need anything!" I could not believe I heard
right It seemed such a strange question and I did not
answer and he repeated the question in Yiddish. I finally
did understand and I heard myself say, "No." Still
thinking that I did not understand he asked :
"Do you need any clothes?"
I shook my head.
"Do you need any shoes?" He looked at mine.
"No," I said.
"Do you need any food?"
"No— ^"
"Have you everything?"
"Everything,** I repeated, but I could not look at him.
He wrote rapidly for a few minutes and then he went
away. I went in to mother and bent over her, thinking that
perhaps I could tell her about it. The heat beat from
her body and her eyes were closed. I touched her and
she opened them. And when I looked into them I knew
she would not understand.
In the evening when father was home our neighbour i

HE FLUNG THEM FROM A STRANGE ROOF.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  167
brought in four dollars. "A strange young man left it,**
she said, and the next day there was a half ton of coal.
C Friday came. Even now, as I look back, it seems
to me that weeks had passed since mother fell ill. And
yet it might have been only days. This morning she
lay in deep unconsciousness and the doctor spent a longer
time looking at her. After I got the children to play
quietly in a comer I began to prepare for the Sabbath.
There was little to prepare as there was no cooking to
do. I polished our candlesticks which we had bought
here, and scrubbed the floor in the large room and then
began to wash up the floor in the sick room. The light
of the tiny lamp hanging on the wall only seemed to in
crease the gloom. How I wished, as I crept about on my
hands and knees, that mother would wake and see how
industrious I was, how I was tormented for ever having
hurt her! ^
Late in the afternoon our lodgers' friend came. When
I looked at him I was shocked and I knew that he had
been to the missionaries. He was dressed in new clothes
from head to foot and his face was clean shaven. He
stood still with his back against the door for a moment
and his face reddened as I stood staring at him. He
asked his usual question about mother, and took his
seat at the window. And, as if to try his first sermon
he began to upbraid me for my pale face and red eyes,
saying that mother would get well much sooner if I
were more cheerful. Also, I ought to cheer up for the
sake of the children, — a girl almost fourteen years old '
ought to know better — and so on.
Cl bought two candles for a cent. I had a cent for
candles, for we could go without bread but not with
out consecrating candles.3 I cut them in half to make
four and placed them into the candlesticks. When it

1^  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
grew dark I lit them, gave one to each of the children,
and we all walked and stood beside mother's bed. It
took us a long time to rouse her. We had to repeat again
and again, "Mother, this is Friday night." At last she
opened her eyes and looked at all our faces one after
the other. And when she realised what we wanted her
to do, she raised her hands but instead of the usual
prayer the words came, "God have pity on my children !"
At midnight I tumbled out of the cot thinking that I
heard her calling. When father and I bent over her we
saw that a change had taken place. Her face was paler
and was wet with perspiration.
"Medicine!" She made out the word with her lips.
Father gave it to her, and then she told us in that voice
less way of the sick, that she dreamt her father who
had been dead a long while came and brought her a
bottle of medicine. Father's face lit up with joy. "Thank
God !" he said, "that was a good dream."
When the doctor came the next day and when he
looked at mother a smile lit up his cross face. Another
doctor was with him. "Look at this," our doctor said,
pointing to the ceiling and walls. "And she has pulled
through in this room. God! but she must have a con
stitution of iron!"
\l With his usual gruffness the doctor now ordered
chicken soup, milk and wine for mother. And only now
father went and told our neighbour openly of our diffi
culties. She advised him hesitatingly to go and apply at
"Eighth Street" Eighth Street was how we referred
to the United Hebrew Charities.
Monday moming after eating some bread father
started for "Eighth Street." He returned in the evening
empty handed and sick with humiliation. When he
reached the building there was already a long line of

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  169
people. He stood all day waiting for his turn. He was
nowhere near the "window" when the place closed. Next
morning, he left at dawn. The day passed and it was
dark when we heard his footsteps in the hall. When he
opened the door, we saw a pair of chicken feet sticking
out of the bag. Father sat down at the table and wept
like a child. '}

170 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XXXVIII
LNow it was sister who was supporting the family.
She ran errands for the women on the block and
"minded" the babies. She was eleven years old and
small for her age, but no one who looked at her face
hesitated to trust her. Sometimes a mother would leave
her children with her and go out to work. And sister
would tidy up the house, dress and feed the children and
keep them out. Often when I ran out for something, I
met her in the street, wrapped in a woman's coat and
carrying one little one on her back while two or three
others were at her side. Her freckled small nose looked
pinched, but she would look up so bravely with her soft
grey eyes as she stood slightly bent under her burden.
And in the evening she would bring home a few nickels]
One night she was taken to a wedding to take care of
two children. The next day we two stood at the window
and she was telling me about it. That hour impressed
itself on my memory. It was cold and raining but there
was a good fire in our stove. Father, as usual now,
was out "looking for work"; the boy was in school;
mother, still a convalescent, was lying on a cot napping;
the two little ones were playing quietly in a corner, and
we two were at the window. What she had seen would
have seemed wonderful to her at any time. In her pres
ent half-fed state, and in the same worn little plaid dress
in which she had come from Russia, she had been almost
overcome by the sight of the splendours. Her eyes were
big and in her voice there was still expression of awe
as she described the immense hall, the lights, the bride
in her white lace veil and train, the bridegroom with a

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  171
white flower in his buttonhole. " As the children in her
care were only two and four years they soon grew
tired of ranning up and down the slippery floor. So
she had to go early to the little retiring room at the back
of the hall. This room was almost dark. There was
a little table and a couch. On the couch a few children
were already sleeping so she sat down on the floor oppo
site the door with one child in her lap, pillowed the other
against her side and sat and rocked them. She sat
rocking them all through the night. The children
weighed heavily against her. But sometimes when she
could raise her head a little, she watched the dancers
Massing the door.
- "The women looked so beautiful," she said, "in pink
or blue, or white silk ; and their hair shone as they danced
by. When the music was low I could hear them laugh
ing, they looked so happy !"
She looked thoughtfully for a moment into the yard.
The rain was splashing down on the red roofs of the
toilets. From a line a few pieces of clothes were flap
ping- "I wonder," she said, "how it feels to be happy !'^J
i_Soon after this the agent came again and told mother
that she had a place for me. This time mother had to
let me go. I did not mind going. It was not only that
we were in dire need, I wanted to know how it felt to
be a servant; also how the rich people lived. There was
no doubt in my mind that the family where I was going
would be rich. How else could they keep a servant ?_j
I packed a few things into a newspaper and mother
went with me to the door. She neither cried nor spoke
but when I looked at her I knew what she wa^ suffering.
We all felt as if I were going a great distance away. I

172  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
kissed the children, and sister ran out and watched me
from the stoop as I walked away with the agent.
This family also lived on Clinton Street, near Broome.
Their name was Corlove. Mrs. Corlove was a tall, an
gular woman with a yellowish complexion and sharp
grey eyes. She engaged me for two months and I was
to receive six dollars for the first month and seven for
the second.
When the agent was gone she told me that the baby
whom she was rocking was two weeks old and that the
floors were dirty because there had been a party the day
before. Then she gave me an old skirt and told me
where to find a pail and brush. There were three rooms.
The kitchen and bedroom had windows looking into a
courtyard but it was as dark in there as in our window
less bedroom at home. And I had to scrub them by gas
light When I was through Mrs. Corlove looked under the
bed and into the dark corners of the kitchen, and I saw
that she was pleased.
There were six people in the family. Besides Mr.
and Mrs. Corlove and their three children, Mrs. Cor-
love's brother lived with them. I sat down to supper
with them at the table. There was soup, meat, potatoes
and a heaping plate-ful of bread. I felt almost overcome
at the smell and abundance of the food. But I clasped
my hands in my lap and waited for the others to begin.
At the first mouthful I remembered that there was noth
ing but bread at home, and I could not swallow.
Directly after the dishes were put away Mrs. Cor
love gave me two old quilts and a pillow and showed me
how to make a bed of chairs in the kitchen. This room
connected the bedroom and the "front room" where a
flaring gas light burned and the family sat up talking.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  173
I heard the clock strike eleven when they went to bed.
This was Wednesday night I fell asleep thinking that
I would ask Mrs. Corlove for half of my wages the
first thing in the morning and take it home so that mother
could use some of it for the Sabbath.
The next day I rose early and worked all day. I swept
and dusted, polished the stove and the candlesticks. I
washed some of the clothes and prepared the vegetables
for supper. And all the time I kept thinking about the
money and could not get up courage to ask. So I kept
putting it off from minute to minute. Each new piece
of work I began I told myself: "When I get through
with this, I'll surely ask."
So the day passed and again it was after supper. I
felt disgusted with myself. I realised that I was ca
pable of putting it off forever. It occurred to me that
I must do it suddenly without giving myself time to
think. As this thought came I fairly ran into the kitchen
where Mrs. Corlove was and asked her breathlessly:
"Will you please give half of my wages in advance?"
She looked at me hard and said she would talk it
over with her husband. Soon I was called into the front
room. I stood before them and they both looked at me.
Mrs. Corlove said :
"You may take the money to your people Saturday."
My heart sank and I stood without being able to say
a word. Then I heard Mr. Corlove ask : "Do you want
it sooner?" His voice was kind. I nodded my head.
He took a roll of bills from his pocket, counted off six
dollars and gave it to me. I crammed it into my hand
and hastened into the kitchen where my little shawl hung
on a nail. I wrapped it around my head and shoulders
and ran out.
I could have sung for joy as I went, half ranning.

174 OUT OF THE SHADOW
half walking. I held my hand with the money against
my breast under the shawl. I had never had so much
money in my possession.
"What will mother buy?" I wondered. "Perhaps
meat and a Sabbath loaf and candles."
I could see them all sitting around the table covered
with a white cloth and bright with the candlesticks and
the lights, and I could hear father saying grace over the
white loaf.
I went into the house without knocking. Ever)rthing
looked so strange to me, as though I had been away a
long time. The lamp in the bracket burned dimly and
was smoking a littie and there seemed so little life. I
could not help comparing this home with that other
brightly lit cheerful home.
The children came ranning to meet me at the door.
I felt their loving arms about me, and mother, both
frightened and glad, asked: "What is the matter! You
are all out of breath!" Then I opened my hand and
showed them what I had.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 175

XXXIX
Living with the Corloves was a great change for me.
At home I had been spared all the hard work for my
health had continued to be poor. But now I was sud
denly treated not only as if my strength were normal
but unlimited. I rose when the men rose to go to work,
and as they had to come into the kitchen to wash at the
sink, I would creep into the niche behind the stove to
dress. On Monday moming, as I crouched there, I
listened for Mrs. Corlove's footsteps and the thud of
the big bundle of clothes on the floor. When I heard
it I crept out quickly, whether completely dressed or not,
and my work began. I carried up the coal from the
cellar and made the fire, I lifted the boiler half filled
with clothes, I washed and scrubbed all day long. When
night came I crept gladly in between the two soiled quilts
on my chairs. And though the house was full of life, for
the gas lights flared, the people talked and the children
ran races from room to room, I slept. Tuesday and
Wednesday I ironed. On Thursday I scaled the fish
and plucked and cleaned the fowl. Soon my hands grew
red and coarse and I was no longer repelled at touch
ing soiled or mushy things. I would run out to the store
with my hands covered with flour or black with the
scrubbing water, for Mrs. Corlove could never wait for
me to wash them.
One Thursday, while I was cleaning out the fowl,
she called : "Run to the store quickly and never mind
your hands." As I was running down the stoop
steps I thought I caught sight for a moment of my
mother's face. It looked so pale in the light of the

176  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
street lamp. I had been thinking of her and in my pres
ent haste and usual absent-mindedness, I thought that
I was still seeing her in imagination and did not stop to
look but ran across to the grocer's. But a few minutes
later, as I was coming back, I was more alive to things,
and the thought of that moment took more concrete
form. I thought that I must have really seen her and
that it would be just like my mother to come and stand
there hoping to see me. I ran to the shadowy spot near
the street lamp, but no one was there. The next moment
I caught her hiding in the hall of the next building.
Mother managed "it so that I should see some one or
other from home often. Usually it was my sister and
brother. They would knock timidly on the door and
come in holding each other tightly by the hand and
remain standing near the door. I felt timid and humble
myself in this house. But to see them hurt me so that
I often wished mother did not send them. Mrs. Cor
love would usually call to them : "Come, sit down, chil
dren." Then she would pick out an apple from the glass
bowl, which usually stood on the table, cut it into four
parts, give us each a quarter and put the fourth quarter
back. Little by little I began to know Mrs. Corlove and the
rest of the family too. I thought her an excellent house
wife but exacting and in other ways too not over-gen
erous to me. She always doled out the food on my
plate. It was usually the tail of the fish, the feet and the
gizzard of the chicken, the bun to which some mishap
had occurred. And she would look through the whole
bowl of apples to find for me a spotted one. She rarely
failed to remark at meals : "What an enormous appetite
you have !" She always said it with a smile of surprise
as if she were merely interested. So she covered every

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  177
act with a coating of kindness. Sunday was wash day so
she would send me to bed early on Saturday night and
without supper. For that night no regular meal was
prepared because we had "a good dinner." The first
two or three times she exclaimed: "Surely you cannot
be hungry after such a meal!" After that she did not
need to say it. I used to lie awake and try to make
believe there was no food in the house. I had never
found making believe so hard as in those days, for all
the time I kept seeing the sweetened bread in the bread
box. Late that night I would see the family sit down to
tea and cake.
It was hard to see sweetmeats and food about and not
take them. Perhaps if I had had enough even of coarse
food the temptation would not have been so great. But
I could never eat enough even of bread with Mrs. Cor
love's eyes watching me. And if you were only fourteen,
and perhaps even If you were older, you too would be
likely to begin thinking of a way to take it. You would
say perhaps, "After all, she never told me not to take it."
And if you did remember her forbidding eyes you would
say to yourself : "Perhaps I only imagined it." At any
rate that was the way I reasoned one day, when Mrs.
Corlove went to the butcher and there was a cold cracker
dust pan cake in the pan on the stove. For -weeks I
had watched Mrs. Corlove bake these pan cakes. I had
often had to carry plateful after plateful to some one or
other in the family, and I could see the steam rising from
them and the tiny drops of hot butter breaking up like
bubbles. At these moments the desire to taste them was
so strong that it was a pain. And this time there was
one such cake left over as if to tempt me. It was morn
ing. I went about sweeping and dusting and all the time
I could see the cake on the pan. Finally I went to the

178  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
stove and stood looking at the cake and tried to imagine
how it would taste cold. My mouth watered and I could
think of nothing else. Then, as if of its own accord, I
saw my hand go out and take it.
No sooner was the act done than I felt like Eve, per
haps, after she ate the apple. I took the two steps into
the dark corner near the stove and pressed my face
against the wall.
Mrs. Corlove missed the pancake immediately on her
return. She said nothing but she gave me a look and
a smile that hurt more than blows could have done.
Mrs. Corlove's brother was a big ill-natured fellow.
His sister put up with all his whims and she seemed fond
and proud of him. I used to hear her boasting to her
friends that he was musical. He was a machine operator
and when he was not working he would sit for hours
in the rocker in the front room playing "After the Ball
is Over" on the accordion.
Mr. Corlove was quite different from his family. He
was gentle and kind to everybody. When he was in the
house I did not feel so timid and liked to come out of
the dark kitchen into the front room. He was a foreman
in a large clothing shop and when he found that I knew
of the shop he spoke to me as to a fellow worker
of the same trade. He often took my part against his
brother-in-law who enjoyed making me get up from the
table and wait on him. He even defended me against
his wife.
(2 I had learned during the first days that being Mrs.
Corlove's servant meant that I was everybody's servant
When Mrs. Corlove's relatives came to the house they
ordered me about as freely as Mrs. Corlove herself. But
I never gave this a thought. This was her home and
they were her guests.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 179
One day a sister-in-law of hers was moving. A few
days before Mrs. Corlove told me tp take the pail and
brash and go scrub the floors in the new rooms. I sel
dom fully realised things until they had happened and
were past. And now too, not until I was in the empty
rooms and saw the filthy, hard trodden floors, did I fully
perceive the injustice of Mrs. Corlove's order. Then I
sat down on the floor and cried passionately. I cried
not only for this but for many other things which I
could not understand or understood but vaguely. I cried
until I was again patient and meek. Then I went on my
knees, scrabbed the floors and went home, ii
The gas was already lit in the kitchen and Mrs. Cor
love was preparing supper. She looked at my face with
surprise when I came in but said nothing. I went about
helping with the supper and keeping out of sight as much
as I could. But Mr. Corlove had not been in the house
two minutes when he asked his wife: "What is the
matter with her?"
"Oh, nothing," she said lightly, "Fannie, you know,
is going to move to-morrow."
"Well?" "So I sent her to scrub her floors."
He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and looked at
her as if he did not understand.
"Do you mean to say," he asked, drawing out his
words, "that you sent her to scrab Fannie's floors?"
"Oh, three little floors!"
I hever imagined that a man so quiet and gentle could
look so angry. His dark eyes flashed fire and he said
hard things. Late that night from my chairs I heard
them talking this thing over, as I had often heard them
talk other things over.

i8o  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
"Every one's comfort is more to you than mine," she
sobbed. "You know it is not so." His voice was very tender.
"You don't seem to realise how unjust it was to the
girl. You hired her to do your work, not Fannie's, and
she is still but a child. Supposing it was our little
Tynke !" His voice dropped so low that I barely caught
the words: "Who knows," he said, "to-day, it is this
man's daughter; to-morrow, it might be ours."
In the silence that followed I heard the little girl's crib
moved and I knew that the mother moved it closer to
her bed.
Near the end of my second month I remember a beau
tiful day in March. Mrs. Corlove rarely left the house
but on this bright warm day she took all the children
and went out and I was left there for the first time quite
alone. It was Wednesday afternoon and I was sitting at
the window making barley noodles. It seemed so quiet
after the hustle and bustle of preparation to go out. I
chopped and listened to the rhythmical sound of my two
knives and watched the streak of sunlight on the window
sill which came slanting in between the two tenements.
Gradually I began chopping more and more slowly.
Finally I laid down the knives and rested my hands on
the edge of the bowl. I saw that my hands were coarse
and red, and here and there where the skin was cracked
they were raw. I remembered how I had wanted to
know how it felt to be a servant and I laughed at myself.
L "I should not like to be a servant all the time," I
thought I looked out of the window and gradually I
began to reason it out. I realised that though in the
shop too I had been driven, at least there I had not been
alone. I had been a worker among other workers who
looked upon me as an equal and a companion. The only

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  181
inequality I had ever felt was that of age. The evening
was mine and I was at home with my own people. Often
I could forget the shop altogether for a time, while as
a servant my home was a few hard chairs and two soiled
quilts. My every hour was sold, night and day. I had
to be constantly in the presence of people who looked
down upon me as an inferior. I felt, though in a child's
way, that being constantly with people who looked upon
me as an inferior, I was, or soon would be an inferior.
I was looked upon as dull, nothing was expected from
me and I would have nothing to give. The pancake in
cident had made a deep impression and had been tor
menting me. I understood that under these conditions
and in this atmosphere what had happened once was
bound to happen again. Little by little I would become
used to it and not mind it. My whole being shrank from
this and similar things to which it might lead. I realised
that I could not boast many qualities. But to what I had,
even if it were only not to be sly, I clung with all my
strength. "No," I concluded, taking up the knives, and
beginning to chop quickly to make up for the time lost,
"I would rather work in a shop." D]

i82 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XL
A FEW days later I left the Corloves. My belongings
were wrapped in a newspaper and tucked under my arm,
and I had seven dollars in my hand. I stopped on the
stoop. The sun shone and the April breeze felt like a
caress. It seemed strange not to have to hurry. Only
now did I realise how tired I was. I felt my hands burn
and my whole body tremble a little.
I stood looking about, feeling both joy and regret. •
For I left the Corloves not with indifference. I had
grown fond of the children, and even Mrs. Corlove
herself, as I grew to know and understand her, I did not
dislike her. But what a joy it was to know that I was
free ! Father would find work for me at once, for there
was now a sprinkling of work over the city and he him
self was working at last. But this day at any rate was
before me. How I loved the sun ! I walked home slow
ly, basking in it.
Before many days passed I was working in a shop
on Canal Street. Father had not yet been working a full
week. But after the hardship we had suffered eight
dollars every week seemed a fortune. Mother began
paying off what we owed the landlord and she even man
aged to save a few cents every week for a piece of
material to make up a little dress for whichever one of
us needed it most. The children were going to school
and things were running smoothly.
But it was not for long. Soon again mother went
about her work looking worried and perplexed and we
children were again aware of the darkness in the bedroom
and that the sun never came into the big room. "Per-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  183
haps," mother sighed, "a human being must not have it
comfortable long or he would forget God."
This was the trouble: with the coming of the warm
days my health became so poor that I had to stay away
from work quite often. Mother was the more alarmed
because she could not understand what was wrong. There
seemed nothing wrong. But the slightest exertion made
my temples throb and my head go around. The shop
where I was working now was on the top floor. I would
stand long and look up the stairs before beginning to
climb. It seemed like a dream that I ever ran up and
down stairs for pure amusement Then came a morn
ing when I could not get up at all. I stayed in bed two
days and mother made inquiries and found that Gouver-
neur Street Dispensary was not far away and "quite
free." So on the third moming, which was Monday,
she helped me dress and we started. Many times on the
way we had to stop to rest on door steps. At last we
came to a small ground floor building near Gouvemeur
Street dock. A policeman stood at the door and a few
people were in line. We took our places and the police
man told us the door would open at nine o'clock.
I stepped a little out of the line to lean against the
wall. The sun was beating down strongly on our heads,
but from the water a refreshing breeze came up and
we could hear the boats, while from a reddish, smoke
covered building came the cry of geese.
Mother, too, was looking around. She was easily in
terested in everything about her. She remarked now:
"That must be a slaughter house," and then, partly per
haps to take my attention away from myself, she mo
tioned sadly to the line. This was our first experience
with a Dispensary.
There were three people in the line ahead of us. Next

i84  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
to me was a man with his arm in a sling who looked like
an Irish dock laborer. Next to him another, with saw
dust clinging to his clothes, wavered unsteadily. The
first was a woman whose home I knew was the dark hall
way and the park bench.
As we were going in the policeman handed us each
a red cardboard ticket with a black number on it I
saw the woman, as she passed him, raise her chin and
steady her step. We all sat down on the first bench. I
leaned against my mother, closed my eyes, and sat wait
ing for my turn.
This doctor, like the first I had seen, raised my eye
lids and asked how long I had been so pale. He ad
vised mother to feed me up and keep me outdoors. I
translated what he said and mother asked timidly, "Ask
him what is the matter." He understood and answered
in German "Anemia."
And now I became mother's first care. She saved on
food that the others needed and bought milk and meat
for me, and that I might be able to eat it in peace she
would take the children out of the house. Often the
little girl would refuse to go out. She would raise herself
on tiptoe to look Into my plate and lisp wistfully:
"I wish I were sick."
In a few weeks I was strong enough to go to the shop
again. But what took weeks to build up I lost in a few
days and soon again I was staying home, this time going
to the Dispensary regularly. As I stood there in line or
sat on the bench in the waiting room, waiting for my
turn, I grew to know many of the people who, like my
self, came often, and to be familiar with every nook
and corner in the room. I came every week and one
week was exactly like another. There was the same
room, many of the same people, and each time the

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  185
same thing happened. First, on coming into the waiting
room, we would all sit down, heavily. After this it be
came very still in the room. I would close my eyes for
a moment with a feeling of relief at having my feet off
the floor. Then, rested a moment, I would look about at
the others. I knew at once from their faces, and even
from their unconscious backs, I could gather who was
better, who was worse, and who was the same. Then I
would look about the room. There was the same un
painted, cleanly scrubbed floor, the shining brass knobs
of the two doors on the right, and the one on the left,
and the tiny staircase leading up. Then again I would
study the men and women, more slowly this time, and
aware now of every sound and motion, a hand unsteadily
raised to the forehead, a half suppressed cough sounding
loud in the stillness, a patient sigh, a feverish look. Next
as the time of waiting lengthened, I became aware of
the air in the room, the hot breath of sick people mixed
with the odour of medicines, the breath of tobacco and
stale whiskey. At this period of waiting I lost my inter
est in everything, my spirit had sunk with a heavy de
pression. Of the rest of the people some dozed heavily,
some moved about restlessly in their seats and others, like
myself, were given over to dull apathy.
Then one of the doors on the right would open quickly
and cause a stir on the benches, and a wave of new life
passed through the room. I loved to watch the patients
coming out of the doctor's office. Every face looked
brighter, more hopeful.

i86 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XLI
When we finished paying what we owed the land
lord, our lodgers moved away, and we moved again into
three rooms on the same block but nearer to Clinton
Street. We were glad to find rooms so near, for we
could save the moving expenses. Late one night when
father came home from work he and mother carted over
the furniture on a push cart, the children carried the
clothes and pots and pans in their arms and I stayed
in the new rooms and put things in their places as they
came in.
We liked moving from one place to another. Every
one on Cherry, Monroe and other streets moved often.
It meant some hard work but we did not mind that be
cause it meant change in scenery and surroundings.
None of the places were pretty and most of them were
dingy. But moving even from one dingy place to an
other is a change. And then, too, some were less dingy
than others. Here, for instance, the living room, instead
of being painted an ugly green that had made everything
look dark, and that had depressed our spirits, was a
bright pink. Also there were two windows facing the
street through which the sun came in. And if there was
less privacy, for the rooms were on the stoop, just a few
steps above the sidewalk, it was pleasant to sit down
near the window and watch the people passing by.
^Across the street there was a blacksmith shop. I liked
to listen to the ding, ding of the hammers beating in
unison and we could see the sparks flying. Sometimes a
bright, healthy, young face, all covered with grime, was
pressed against the heavy grating of the blacksmith shop

OUT OF THE SHADOW 187
window. One day the young man saw me looking over
and he grinned. Cherry Street is not a wide street and
he probably saw my embarrassment for he threw his
head back and laughed heartily. All these things were
important when I was fifteen years old and we lived on
Cherry Street. J
The first neighbour with whom we became acquainted
in this house was the dressmaker who lived across the
hall. Her husband was a carpenter. Whenever he was
not working I would see him sitting at the window read
ing a book. One day when I went in to see the Raisens
I found that the husband was out and the book was
lying on the table. I had long been curious about it and
now I took it up and sat down at the window. Of course
It was In Yiddish. I began to spell out the words. I
had not read since I came to this country and had almost
forgotten how. But as I read line after line it became
easier and easier and soon I forgot all about everything
and did not hear Mrs. Raisen working at the machine,
her three little ones romping about the room, the clatter
ing of the heavy trucks passing the window and the
ding, ding from the blacksmith shop. I became aware
of these things again only when I heard Mrs. Raisen
saying, "Girl, you are blinding your eyes." Then I looked
up and saw that night had come.
I found from Mr. Raisen that these books could be
borrowed from soda water stand keepers, if one left
fifteen cents security and paid five cents for the reading
of the book. I listened to all the details with discourage
ment. For when could I hope to have twenty cents saved !
Nevertheless I began to save, or rather, I determined to
put away the very first cent I had. But in the meanwhile
I watched out for Mr. Raisen's book. He rarely forgot
to put it out of sight for he had three mischievous little

i88 OUT OF THE SHADOW
children. But whenever I saw it on the table I would
go in and read it
At last one night I brought home my first volume. I
took the lamp out of the bracket, placed it on the table,
and opened the book. I had told the stand keeper to
give me anything as long as it was with vowels. For I
had only learned to read the Hebrew print that had
the vowels. These consisted in dots and lines printed
under each letter.
In the meantime the children gathered around me and
mother came over with her sewing and looked at me
disapprovingly, sadly, "What a child you are," her eyes
seemed to say. "How little sense you have. If you had
spent this money on nourishing food  " And again,
"True, you did not ask for the money, you saved it But
where did it come from?"
I understood this as plainly as if she had uttered the
words. Poor mother, she was often worried over how
to live and save on our six or seven dollars and over my
health. And so, partly with the hope of cheering her up
a little and partly to draw her attention away from my
self and a possible scolding, I began to read aloud. In
a few minutes I looked up and saw her stitching quickly
on the little dress she was mending. I could see she
was listening but the sad look had not left her eyes. But
when again I looked up the little dress lay forgotten in
her lap and on her face there was a healthy look of
interest and curiosity. The only stories she had ever
heard before were from the Bible.
From that time many happy evenings were ours.
Mother always listened reluctantly, as if she felt it were
a weakness to be so interested. Sometimes she would
rise suddenly during the most interesting part and go

WOMEN AT THE PUSH-CARTS HAGGLED MORE AND MORE
DESPERATELY OVER A CENT.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  189
away into the dark kitchen. But soon I would catch her
listening from the doorway.
L And I lived now in a wonderful world. One time I
was a beautiful countess living unhappily in a palace,
another time I was a beggar's daughter singing in the
street. Of course we never drew more than one little
book a week, about two hundred and fifty pages for five
cents. But I got all I could out of it. I read it aloud,
I reread it to myself and I lived it when I was not read
ing. Almost every book had a song or a poem. These
I learned by heart, found appropriate melodies for them
out of the great stock of Russian peasant songs that I
knew, and when Aunt Masha and her friends came on a
Saturday I would sing to them. Mother always seemed
uneasy when she heard these songs, and sister would
look at me with astonishment and her truthful eyes
seemed to say, "Oh, how can you!" J
I did feel guilty but the next time they came I had a
new song for them.
One day when I went to change my book the stand-
keeper looked over his three shelves of books, high over
his stand, and said finally, "I don't believe I have an
other book with vowels."
"No more books!" I pictured an impossible existence
in our house without the joy of reading. "Look well,"
I begged him.
He stood up on a high stool and began rummaging
about on the top shelf. "Here," he said, "is the last one,
and I don't think you will like it. It is a thick, clumsy
volume." A thick volume! Could a book be too thick? And
what did the clumsiness matter!
"Let me see it," I said, controlling my eagerness. For
I had leamed that people were often charged according

igo  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
to the desire they showed for the article. I tumed to
the first page of the story and read the heading of the
chapter: "I am bora."
Something in these three little words appealed to me
more than anything I had yet read. I could not have
told why, but perhaps it was the simplicity and the inti
mate tone of the first person. I had not yet read anything
written in the first person.
My eager fingers turned to the title page and I uttered
the words half aloud, "David Copperfield. By Charles
Dickens." "I'll take it," I said. I laid the five pennies on the zinc
covered soda counter and walked away slowly, expecting
and fearing to hear the standkeeper's voice calling after
me and demanding an extra five cents because the book
was so thick. But when the danger of that was passed I
fairly ran home with my prize.
What a happy two weeks we spent! We lived little
David's life over with him. Mother cried when he and
Peggotty bade each other farewell through the keyhole,
and then she laughed, at her tears, remembering tiiat it
was "only a story." And as I sat in the shop, felling
sleeve lining, I would go over in my mind what I had
read the night before. With what joy I looked forward
to the evening when after supper we would all gather
around the lamp on the table and sister or I would read
aloud while mother sewed and the little ones sat with
their chins very near the table. For if there was any
joy to be gotten out of anything they must have their
share. And so they would sit blinking sleepily and try
ing hard to understand but finally they would fall asleep
with their heads on the table. Then mother, sister and
I would move closer to each other and I would read in a
lower voice.  ,

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  191
'^ When we were through with David Copperfield we
felt as if we had parted from a dear friend. We could
not bear to read anything else for a whole week.
The next book we drew was without vowels. Sister
and I had never dreamed it would be so easy to leam to
read it In a week we read it as fluently as the other. And
now reading material was not so limited. A flying news
paper in the street, a crumpled advertisement sheet, I would
smooth out tenderly and carry off home, happy in the
expectation of what was awaiting me. I tried to under
stand everything I read but if I could not, I read it any
way. For just to read became a necessity and a joy.
There were so few joys. "^

192 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XLII
One night about this time when I came into the house
I was shocked at what I saw. Father was sitting on a
low box in the middle of the room. He was in his stock
ing feet, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bent
between his hands. Sister stood near the lamp in the
bracket, reading a letter and crying bitterly. My thought
was of grandmother at once. I went over to sister and
looked over her shoulder. After a lengthy and cere
monious greeting, it read :
"Your mother is dead. But you should not grieve.
You should be glad. For she suffered much in these
two years." It was an old woman that wrote the letter
and what she told of grandmother's suffering is too hor
rible to repeat. The letter closed with : "I only hope and
pray, that he who breaks every home, he to whom no bond
is sacred, the Czar of Russia, may know at least for one
year in his life the sorrow and loneliness she has known."
It was also about this time that a man came from
our part of the country and gave us news of grandfather.
He was in Minsk in a Home for the Aged. The man
had seen him, and said that he was well but at times his
mind was like that of a child. He spoke of his children
in America and his eyes were full of tears. But soon
he chuckled gleefully. "Brother," he said to the man,
"come, I will show you something." He took him by the
hand and led him to a cot standing in a corner. He
looked around cautiously like a shy littie squirrel and
then took a tiny bundle in a red bandana from under the
pillow. He patted the littie bundle and smiled brightiy
at the man. "You see, brother," he whispered, "as long

OUT OF THE SHADOW 193
as I have this I have no fear of want." He untied the
knot with his poor old trembling fingers and the man
saw a few little lumps of sugar and a few crusts of bread
covered with green mould. All his life the thought of
want in his old age had been his one fear.

194 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XLIII
The warm days passed but ray health did not improve.
On the contrary, it grew worse and I worked less and
less — a day in one shop, a half day in another, for I
had no steady place now. Often after I had worked a
morning in a shop the boss would pay me for the half
day, and tell me he had no more work. I understood
that I was not doing enough and it did not pay him to
keep me. When I had the strength and the courage I
would go to other shops and ask if they needed a feller
hand. It did require courage to enter a shop for the
people stared, my face was so pale. When I did not
have the courage I went home and was glad to lie quite
still on the couch.
C In the autumn I had to stay at home altogether. What
little I had earned was badly missed. Winter was com
ing and none of us had even half warm enough clothing.
So father decided that sister should leave school and
take my place.
She had just learned to read and write a little, and of
course she could speak English. It was thought that she
had made good progress in the short time, considering
the drawback she had had, in not knowing the language.
We all felt sad, mother particularly, that her education
should end here. Sister herself took it in a way charac
teristic of her. Her days in school had been happy ones.
She had been known and loved by teacher and pupils
throughout the littie Henry Street school. And like the
rest of us she did not look upon "free schooling in Amer
ica" in a matter-of-fact way. She, a littie Jewish girl
from an out-of-the-way Russian village of which no one

OUT OF THE f^HADOW 195
ever heard, was receiving an education! It seemed a
wonderful privilege. But when she saw that this was not
to he after all, she did not utter a single word of protest
or complaint J
On the first morning of going to the shop, for she was
starting in as a finisher on buttonholes, she rose very
early, as I had once done. I lay on the couch in the front
room, which was my place now, and watched her. This
morning reminded me of that first one when I left for
the strange shop. Sister was about the same age, there
were the same preparations, the same grey light in the
room. The only difference was that now mother was
here to put the thimble and scissors into her little coat
pocket, and tuck the little bundle of lunch under her arm,
and close the door after her, and then stand so still witli
her face pressed against it
I stayed in the housfi all day. I felt despondent. I
often felt in the way. [When night came or it was time
for father to be home from work, I went out. I had
begun to feel in the way when father was in the house.
As the illness or semi-illness continued mother became
even more tender and devoted. But father's sympathy
waned. This illness was such a long, drawn-out affair.
It had had no definite beginning and promised to have no
end. And besides, he saw that I suffered no pain, I was
merely pale and not over strong. What of that? He
himself was not strong. He found sitting in the shop
harder and harder as the years were passing. He had
been working as a tailor since he had been twelve years
old. And just now his eyes were troubling him. For
he had inherited grandmother's weak eyes. And so he
felt, no doubt, that just when I should have been a greater
help to him I became a care and expense. J
HBesides this there were other unpleasant /features. For

196 OUT OF THE SHADOW
people in my parents' circumstances it was not a usual
thing to keep a daughter at home. And so, inquisitive
relatives and neighbours began to ask why? Why was I
staying at home ? What was the matter with me ? Why
was I so pale? My parents felt they must hide the truth
even at the cost of lying, for I was growing up — and
what man would marry a sick girl !j But it must not be
thought that now we lived only in trouble. We had our
joys too. They seem very trivial but they helped to make
up our life.
Father belonged to a society in which he was an active
member. The men often came to our house to talk things
over with him and he felt important and often offered
our front room for committee meetings. Before they
opened the meeting they always assured mother that they
would not keep us up any later than ten o'clock. But
when the time came they were so deep in discussion
that they never even heard the clock strike the hour. I
used to sit down in the doorway of the kitchen and front
room from where I could see all their faces and listen
to their heated arguments. Always it was a piece of
burial ground that was the subject of discussion and
when a member, or any one belonging to his family, died,
whether the rest of the members should contribute an
extra dollar to cover burial expenses, and whether as a
society they should or should not employ a doctor and
pay him out of the society fund. At twelve o'clock or
even later they would at last break up with the question
of the burial ground and the extra dollar and the doctor
still unsettled.
Then mother and I would go into the front room
coughing and choking from the cigarette smoke, and open
up the folding cots, and carry the sleeping children to
bed. The two little ones often cried at being awakened

OUT OF THE SHADOW 197
to undress. But father, if he had succeeded in carrying
a point and in the knowledge that he had served the
society in giving the room, went to bed smiling.
Sister was happy in a friendship she had formed. The
little girl was the oldest in a family of boys. The mother
was always sick. And this little woman of eleven went
to school, where we heard she was remarkably bright
And between times she took care of the mother and the
boys and the house. She went patiently, with her back a
little bent, from task to task and was always sweet and
bright Sister made friends with her one Friday night
when she sat with her littie brothers on the iron steps of
the tenement, telling them stories. And my mother, after
visiting the sick woman, would often tell herself and
us too, "Children, we must not sin. Indeed we have a
great deal for which to be grateful."
While I, having more time now, dreamed more, I
rarely had a book to read, now that I was not working.
But, as I lay on the couch with my eyes closed, I made up
stories for myself. They were of the life I saw about
me, with littie variations to suit myself. Some of the
stories were short, some were long and I continued them
from day to day. Once or twice I tried to write the
things. But the moment I had the pencil in my hand my
mind became a blank. I did not know where to begin,
what to say. And when I finally succeeded in writing a
few sentences it seemed to have no meaning. "And yet,"
I wondered, "in my mind a few minutes before, they
did have meaning."
Often too I thought over religious questions that I
heard or which came up in my mind. I was still religious
but I could no longer accept my religion without ques
tion. And these questions perplexed me and I felt guilty

198  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
that they should come up at all and tried to put them
away from my mind.
Now also that I had time I began to go to night school
and sister came too. I only knew how to read a word
here and there. I sat in the class and followed each girl
that read, with my finger on the page. If I happened
to lift my finger I could not find the place. Sister would
have sat near me and helped me but I felt ashamed to
let her help me because I was the longest in this country.
She read well and made good progress. But I sat trem
bling with nervousness all evening. I could never learn
to forget that there were people all about me. And the
time I spent In waiting for the teacher to call on me to
read I can only count among the greatest sufferings I
ever had. I would sit with my hands lying cold in my
lap and my face turning hot and cold by turns. Most
of the time I was unable to follow, I was so upset. And
when the teacher called on me at last and I stood up with
my book in my hand I seemed to see nothing but a blank
page. Then I would hear a queer sound like of some
one sick. The next moment I was sitting down. And
yet I could not bear to stay away. I had a feeling that
the world was going on and I was being left behind.
This feeling drove me on and I went to the class and
leamed painfully a word or two at a time.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 199

XLIV
One day when I was sixteen years old a neighbour
came into our house. She glanced at me on the couch
and at mother sewing at the window.
"What!" she said, "is your daughter still ill?" Mother
bent her head lower over her work but answered lightly,
"Yes, but it is nothing."
"You know," the neighbour smiled after a few mo
ments, "I think I know of a remedy."
Mother looked up for the first time. "Yes?" she asked.
"Yes," the neighbour smiled again. She would not
say what it was and went out with a mysterious nod and
smile for each of us.
In the evening after supper, two days later, while I
was preparing to go out for a walk, mother said she had
no sugar for the morning. She laid the money on the
table and said with unusual quietness, "Sugar is fifteen
cents a paper nearly everywhere but there is one store
where you can get it for fourteen."
"Where?" I asked. I was at the mirror combing out
my hair and stood with my back toward the room.
"It is on Broome Street near Market"
I tumed quickly but mother was already walking into
the kitchen. I thought it very queer, but did not say
anything. I braided my hair, put on my hat and coat,
and ran out. I began to run at once, for I was always
afraid of the cold. As I ran I thought again of my
errand and wondered at it. True, we never stopped at
any distance to get a thing a cent cheaper, but to go as
far as this for a paper of sugar seemed extreme even

200  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
for us. And mother's manner surprised me even more
as I recalled it now.
When I reached Broome Street I looked up at the
numbers and found that I still had a distance to go. I
walked leisurely now for I was no longer cold. An agree
ably warm sensation was tingling through my whole
body and the air seemed sweet. I was also conscious
of a vague happiness and wondered. There seemed so
little cause. One hour before I had been so miserable.
The cause seemed that father was irritable, mother sor
rowful, and the light in the room was dim, and I knew
that the next day it would be the same, and the day
after, and the day after that
I found the grocery a one-window store. A bell tinkled
over the door as I entered. No one was in so I went
and leaned on the wooden counter to wait. Presently a
fair young man with a ruddy face and stooping shoulders
came in from a door at the back. He asked mechanically
what I wanted and pushed the paper of sugar across the
counter with scarcely a glance at me. I saw a comer
of a lump of sugar sticking out through the bag so I
asked, "Will you please put this into another bag? I
have quite a distance to go."
He looked up quickly and stared at me for a moment.
Then he took a bag and began slipping the sugar into it.
The bag broke so he crampled it up, threw it under the
counter and took another one.
"Where do you live?" he asked, working with marked
slowness and tearing this bag too. "On Cherry Street,"
I said. He was silent but I noticed that his face looked
more animated than it had been. At last my sugar was
safe in two bags, and he handed it to me instead of push
ing it across the counter as before.
"How is it out?" he asked, glancing at me shyly for

OUT OF THE SHADOW  201
the second time and then looking toward the door. With
people that were shy I felt at ease, almost bold. So I
answered pleasantly, "Fine! It is cold, but there is no
wind." And now, since I had spoken to him I thought
it would be rude not to say good night. As I was walk
ing toward the door I was aware that he stood still look
ing after me. It was only later when I recalled these de
tails that I realised I had noticed them.
CAgain, about two days later my mother asked me
hesitatingly and without looking at me, "Well, what do
you think of that young man?"
I looked at her in surprise. "What young man?" I
asked. "The young man from the grocery store on Broome
Street," she said.
"I did not think of him. Why?"
Then with great earnestness mother explained to me
that the young man was a possible suitor and a very
desirable one, that he was getting an excellent living out
of the store and that he very much wished to become
"further acquainted," and, a meeting had already been
arranged for Saturday.
I was bewildered by what had been happening. I was
grown up, a young man was coming to see me ! I would
soon be married perhaps! The thought "I am grown
up!" came again and again. It seemed incredible. I
remember late one night, perhaps it was that very first
night, when it was still all through the house, I rose from
the couch, took the tiny night lamp from the nail and
tiptoed to the half length mirror hanging between the
two windows. I held it up and looked at myself ear
nestly for a long minute. "So I am grown up," I thought.^
During the few days that followed there was a great
hustle and bustle in our house. Our first furniture had

202  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
long ago been broken up, and a second-hand couch for
two dollars that had been added since, now stood
on three l^s. So mother brought forth the homespun
linen sheet, which she had as a relic from home, and
spread it over the couch. "When will there be a bet
ter time to use it than now ?" she said and smiled at me.
And father went out and bought two straight back
chairs and a rocker, and we were ready to receive the
young man.
He came Saturday about three o'clock accompanied by
a middle-aged man who introduced himself as "the oldest
uncle." I shrank behind my mother and a cousin who
had been invited to be present to give her opinion of the
young man. At last the first few minutes, the worst
part, was over. We were all seated. Father and the
uncle sat at the table opposite each other and at once
began a lively conversation to which the rest of us sat
and listened respectfully.
When I felt more at ease I observed the young man.
I felt as if I had known him a long time. It seemed quite
natural that he should sit with his neck shrank into his
collar and keep his hat on like the two older men and
be quite as old-fashioned as they were. Then in my mind
arose the image of another young man. He was the
imaginary companion of my childhood grown older. He
was tall and dark and not at all shy.
I sat thinking so until I noticed the uncle observing
me from time to time and I became uneasy again. But
I too observed him. I liked him. He reminded me of
Mr. Peggotty from David Copperfield. He was a large,
strong, ruddy-faced mail with a hearty, frank manner.
He was leaning on the table with his hands clasped in
front of him and he looked right into my father's face
as he talked. He was relating his experiences as a news-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  203
dealer. At last he sat back in his chair. My heart be
gan to beat uncomfortably.
"Now," he said, "supposing we talk of things nearer
our hearts." I was aware that even the children avoided
looking at me.
^"Tell me," the uncle asked in his frank blunt way,
glancing at me and then looking at my father, "why do
you want to marry off that girl? She is so young, and
not at all homely. What is the haste?" There was a
tone of suspicion in his voice as if he feared a bad
bargain. There was a buzzing in my ears and I wanted to run
away. Indistinctly I heard my parents answer something
and at the same time I suddenly saw the young man
standing before me and asking: "Will you come for a
walk with me?" I rose quickly, went into the bedroom
and stood with my face pressed against the clothes hang
ing on the wall. Then I came out dressed in my childish
hat and coat and we went out. And now I heard him
talk for the first time since I bought the sugar in his
store. His tone was earnest, and a littie eager, his ex
pressions, — we spoke Yiddish, of course, — were almost
Biblically old-fashioned, as if he had just come from
some pious Russian village instead of having been in
America five years. He told me that he had three uncles.
I recall these words spoken confidentiy but piously.
"My uncles are all espoused and with the help of God
they are making a living." I gathered that he wanted
me to know, that as a member of this family he too felt
confident of being able to make a living. He talked the
whole while to the same effect. His tone became more
eager and persuasive. From this and his looks and
manner his thought of myself was very clear to me.
I felt a little pleased, but that was all. j

204 OUT OF THE SHADOW
When we came home we had cake and tea and then
they went away.
That evening and the next day my parents looked
quietly excited and expectant [The next night, while we
were at supper, a message came from the matchmaker
saying that the young man and his family were "pleased"
and would be happy at an "alliance."
Father was so pleased at the news that his face became
quite radiant. He sat back in his chair and laughed
joyously. It appeared that he had not expected it "A
girl without a cent to her name," he said, quite lost in
wonder. Mother too looked pleased, but she was not so
humble. _^
"Not every girl needs a dowry," she saidj
I could not understand why father was so happy. He
looked at me. "And what do you say, Rahel ?" he asked.
The question troubled me suddenly. Somehow I had
never quite realised that this question would really be
put to me and that I would have to answer it I rose
from the table but could find nothing to say. "Well,"
father said in an easy tone, as if he were quite sure of
the outcome, "there is plenty of time. Think it over.
Take until to-morrow night and decide." My mind was
in a tumult
In the meantime the matchmaker practically lived in
our house. He came in during the morning, he came
in the aftemoon and again at night when father was
home. He would sit for hours singing the young man's
praise, — ^his wealth, his business abilities and his char
acter. And soon he succeeded in making my parents
feel that this was one chance in a lifetime.
When next father asked me, "Well, what do you say?"
I trembled. "I have not decided yet," I told him quietly-

HE STOOD STIRRING THE CAN WITH A STICK.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 205
He was patient but he did not look so at ease as the night
before, nor so sure.
"Do you want to see him again ?" he asked.
I said: "No."
L He thought for a moment "I don't see what you
want," he said. "He is a nice quiet young man and the
main thing, he is not a wage earner. The smallest busi
ness man is worth ten workingmen. Tell me definitely
to-morrow night We cannot keep the people waiting
for an answer any longer. This is not child's play, you
know." When father was out of hearing mother added
sadly, by way of help perhaps, "It is true that you are
young, but you see, father is poor and you are not
strong !"
I went into the bedroom and wept with my face buried
in the pillows. "Why did I have to decide this? I had
never been allowed to decide the smallest thing before —
the shape of my shoes, the length of my dress." O
The next evening I could not bear to face father. I
saw that I must answer him definitely and I did not
know what to answer. When it grew dark it occurred
to me to go out into the street I could always think
more clearly in the air and while walking.
It was a mild, clear night and there was a half moon.
I walked so I could see it ahead of me. It calmed me
to watch it and soon my brain did clear a little and I
was able to realise something of my situation.
"Father is poor and I am not strong." These words
had impressed themselves on my mind and now I caught
at them.
C/'It is clear then," I thought, "that I must marry.
And if I did not marry this young man whom could I
marry? A tailor?" At the thought of a tailor the young
man rose in my estimation. I also saw an advantage in

206  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
that he was a grocer. "My people could live near and
get things at cost price, bread, butter, sugar, potatoes.
It will be a great help." But on the other hand I could
not picture myself living with the strange young man and
his mother. I knew now that he had a mother; she was
blind. He was her only son and she would live with
him then as now.
It struck me how similar my fate was to my mother's.
She too had married an only son, and his mother had
been blind. And now I recalled many tragic incidents
in my mother's early lif&l Grandmother had loved her
son passionately and was often so jealous that though
she had been a kind and extremely pious woman she
did not scrapie to talk to her son against his wife and
influence him to unkind actions and speech. Mother
would weep and rebel. "I'll never talk to her again," I
would hear her say. But soon she would remember
grandmother's affliction and she would forgive her.
Would this mother too talk to her son against me?
I realised that I was neither so good nor so patient as
my mother. "I would not stand it," I thought, "I would
run away. But, if I did not marry this young man,
what ti^ien?"
V Again I saw our dimly lit home, father cross and irri
table, mother sorrowful, always the same with no change
and no hope. And now it would be worse. For father
would feel that I had had a chance to better things and
did not do so. But is that all there is in looking forward
to marriage? An uneasy fear — and what is love! J
When I reached home supper was already half over.
I sat down at the foot of the table and mother gave me
my soup. The children seemed to be sitting at the table
more mannerly than usual and father spoke quietly of
trivial things in the shop. He scarcely seemed to notice

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  207
me. He was always afraid of making us children feel
too important But I knew that there was one thought
only in every mind. My heart beat as if it would burst.
I leaned against the table and sat looking into my plate
and stirring and stirring my soup for I knew I could not
lift my hand.
At last I heard father lay down his spoon and push
his chair away from the table a little.
r*"Well," he asked in a "by the wa/' tone, "what have
you decided?" It grew so still, even the breathing seemed
to have stopped. And in this stillness I heard myself
say, "Yes."
I did not look up. I knew that every face had grown
brighter. It was pleasant to know that I was the cause.
I had been nothing but a sorrow so long. J

PART FOUR

PART FOUR

XLV

And now a new life began for us, and for the second
time I became an important person. The children fairly
strutted about and boasted about their "oldest sister."
And father talked to the members of his society of the
coming engagement. How happy his face looked and
how cheerfully he spoke ! To him this was the beginning
of a new life. He had scarcely ever known what it
meant to be free from anjjiety. First, from early child
hood it was the fear of the army where he would be
compelled to violate the laws against God : "Thou shalt
not kill" and the fear for the blind and helpless mother
he would have to leave behind. In this fear he grew
up to manhood. And then with blood money, borrowed
and saved on bread and his mother's tears, he bought
a false name. Then his life was in constant fear
of human beings, often in fear of his own shadow.
Then being found out, and all seeming lost, his
escape to America, then the straggle of a stranger
in a strange land, which led to only a hand-to-
mouth existence, without any change, without hope of
change. But now, he felt, at last things began to look
bright One child was already grown up. He was
branching out, he was to be allied with a fine respectable
family, with men of business. Now on a Saturday after
noon after his nap, he would not have to walk in the
street aimlessly, he would go to visit his son-in-law. He
would sit at a comfortable table, drink tea and talk busi-
211

212  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
ness. His opinion of business men was high. It was his
dream some day to lay down his needle and thread and
perhaps open a little candy store or a soda water stand.
But up to this time it had been no more than a dream.
For when could he hope to put away fifty or seventy-
five dollars ! Now, however, with the prospect of having
a son-in-law in business the dream looked nearer reality.
And so he beamed at mother and teased her. "Hanah,
you are going to have a son-in-law soon." Mother too
looked happy but I did not find it so easy to under
stand her. Her manner to me reminded me of the
time, four years before, when the ticket came for me
to go to America. Her eyes followed me about as they
did then. Often while she sat in a comer over some
work I saw from the expression of her face and the
occasional motions of her head and lips that she was
arguing something out with herself, as was her habit,
looking at it from every possible point of view. Often
too her eyes were on my face in dumb inquiry.
And I, at present, I found it easier to understand
every one in my family than myself. My people were
happy, home was cheerful, I received some new clothes.
The choice was left entirely to me for the first time in
my life. And I chose what I liked, pretty material for
a dress and it was given away to a dressmaker to be
made. I diose a pretty pair of shoes and saw that they
were the right size. And when I put them on they looked
so small and dainty after the others, and fitted so snugly,
that when I walked I felt as if my feet scarcely touched
the ground. And yet deep down in my heart I felt so
troubled. Why? I could not have told. So passed the
first week after I had said that littie word, "Yes."
Saturday the yoimg man came. I still thought of

OUT OF THE SHADOW 213
him as the young man, and we went out to buy an en
gagement ring. We went to a jeweller he knew.
Cl stood at the glass case and watched him try one little
diamond ring after another on my finger. To my sur
prise the pleasure I felt in receiving the diamond ring
was not as great as I had expected. He asked me to
choose and I chose a very small stone in a simple setting.
The ring was bought and left to be made smaller. And
now I would have been glad to go home alone. But
when we came outside he asked me to come and visit
some of his relatives. I realised suddenly that I had
duties now, new duties. In the meantime he entreated,
"Please come! I have promised my youngest uncle.
They expect us." So I went. ^
This uncle had recently married. I found him a very
agreeable man and his wife charming. She took me at
once under her protection. Soon more relatives arrived
and she introduced me as "Israel's bride." Some of
the women exclaimed openly at my youthful appearance
and the men slapped Israel on the back and winked at
him. His face was flushed with pleasure. Soon we
sat down at a feast of fruit, cake and tea. And as the
relatives sat peeling their apples or oranges they became
curious to know whether Israel's bride had any accom
plishments. "Can you sing?" they asked me. I said,
"A littie," and I sang.
When it grew dark and I went to get my hat and coat
the young aunt followed me into the bedroom. She took
my face between her hands and looked into my eyes. "It
is so strange," she said, "to hear a little thing like you
singing these sad songs."
Directly the next day my parents began to prepare
for the engagement which was to be on the coming Sat
urday night A great "crowd" was expected. Aunt

214 OUT OF THE SHADOW ¦ - -- --  ¦— ¦
Masha managed to procure the use of an empty loft in
the new shops on Jefferson Street through the janitor
whose daughter was her friend. And to this loft with
parcels and bundles many excursions were made during
the week by mother and the children or father, when he
came home from work at night. No one looked so happy
and excited as father. He invited all the members of the
society, and their wives and children, and mother invited
half of Cherry Street Every one must come and par
ticipate in their happiness, no one must be overlooked or
offended. Aunt Masha invited all her friends. Aunt
Masha was not the rosy-cheeked girl she had been. But
she looked contented. She listened and advised girls in
their love affairs, and took part at engagements and
weddings with an "elderly aunt" air. We all felt that
she had settled herself down to a single life. But there
were times when she would not talk to us and she looked
morbid and cried for days and days.
LHer friends were four mature girls. They often
came to our house for me to dress their hair, for which
I seemed to have a knack. They praised me for it but
otherwise they never took any notice of me. Now, how
ever, they looked at me curiously, and as I had once been
envied for going to America I was envied now because
I was going to be married. Not one of the girls had
their families in this country, or a comfortable home.
One spoke to me openly. She had been a pretty blonde
girl when I came to this country, but now her face had
no colour and she stooped as she walked. "You are
very fortunate, Rahel," she said. "I am tired of the
shop, I want something more than a folding cot for my
home." And she sighed and walked away from me
with her shoulders drooping more than ever.j
When Saturday came there was a great deal of excite-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  215
ment in our house. All the children had their heads
washed and sister curled their hair and helped mother
get dressed. The smallest boy, six years old now, sat
crying with a swollen cheek and had to be comforted
with sweets. And I walked about from room to room
and was of no help to any one. As soon as it grew
dark Aunt Masha and the girls came, and carried me
off to a' hairdresser, and as usual now I who had always
been last everywhere was first. I sat down in the chair
and my friends stood about me. My hair was care
fully brushed, braided and wound all about my head
and sprinkled with gold tinsel. CWhen I came home and
put on my first long dress, and looked into the mirror
I saw that I looked at least eighteen years old. And
then it occurred to me that this was my day ! That per
haps I'd never have another such day, and the desire
came to be happy this one night .^
I went to the hall early, for indeed the loft looked
like a hall now. It was bright with lights and there
were two long tables laden with fraits and candies
prettily arranged in glass bowls and decorated with
fringed red, white and blue papers and fancy paper
napkins. Folding chairs stood along the walls and
the floor was sprinkled with candle scraping for
the dancing. And when the people began to arrive I
saw that this was indeed my day. No one looked upon
me as a child, every one was kind and attentive. Even
the elderly people came up to shake hands with me. The
blood began to beat rapidly in my veins and my
heart throbbed with excitement After the formal
ceremony, when the plate was broken, and Israel slipped
the little diamond ring on my finger, I refused to sit
down next to him at the head of the table. I felt as if
intoxicated. Instead I walked about, talked to the girls

2i6  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
and flirted with the young men. Then I danced. I danced
with the men, I danced with the girls, I danced until
both families were alarmed and begged me to stop. I
assured my mother in a whisper that I never felt in
better health in my hfe and continued to dance. I saw
that Israel was not looking very happy. He was sitting in
a corner, looking neglected. It meant nothing to me.
Once when I stopped for a few moments he came over
and begged me to sit down. At the same time two young
men came sliding up and asked me to dance. The two
stood disputing and jesting. Each one claimed that he
had been first. In the meantime a waltz began, a third
young man was passing and I took his arm and went
off laughing.
But as the evening advanced I grew more and more
tired and at last I felt quite limp. The guests were
gone, Israel and his family were also gone, and the janitor
turned out the lights on a room hazy with cigarette smoke
and tables covered with frait skins and crumpled paper
napkins. We went out into the still, cold morning, i
fell a little behind my people who were discussing the
success of the party, and walked wearily, listening to
the sound of my own footsteps and wondering, "And
what will be to-morrow?"

OUT OF THE SHADOW 217

XLVI
About the middle of the week a message came from
Israel's mother inviting me to come and spend a day and
a night with them. I looked at mother, I had not yet
gotten over the effects of the engagement night. I felt
worn and looked paler than usual. But she asked me,
"Will you wear your new dress?" So I knew that I
was to go. The minute it was decided I was stirred with
curiosity about Israel's home and his mother, whom I
had not yet seen, for she had not been to the engage
ment. Because she was blind I expected to find her
looking like grandmother, tall and frail, and with sweet
pale face and hands. But soon I found that she was not
at all like that.
I found Israel in the store. He looked so pleased to
see me and at once led me to the door in the back of the
store and as he pushed it open I saw in the middle of
the kitchen and right under the gas which was lit, a large
strong looking woman in a brown dress and wig. "Mother,
here is Ruth!" he said. His voice was full of excite
ment and she put out her hands and took mine. So we
stood for a long minute. The light was on her face
and I could see it working with emotion, and there was
a look in it that I had often seen in grandmother's face
when she wanted very much to see. After a little while
Israel took my hat and coat and the mother walked
straight to the table and drew out a chair for me. It was
a surprise to me to watch her quick sure step. She sat
near me and talked all afternoon. Her voice was
strong, deep and monotonous; and as she talked almost
without a stop it was like listening to a machine grinding

2i8  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
steadily. She told me all about her brothers, Israel's
uncles, their honesty and ability in business, and of their
happy lives at home. She seemed to talk with a view to
entertaining me. But I felt also that she wanted me to
know the kind of a family I was coming into. Then she
talked about Israel. She said that he was a good, dutiful
son. I believed it I could see from his manner, from
the way he looked at her and from the way he listened to
her, — for when there were no customers in the store he
too came and listened, — that he was good to his mother.
I gave her all my attention but when I grew tired I
looked about So this is where I am going to live, I
thought. This room which was a kitchen, dining room
and bedroom in one, was all I could see. But I also
noticed a closed door right opposite the one leading
into the store and a little dark window with iron bars
high up near the ceiling in the wall on the right This
was the only window in the room, and it looked into
the dark hall of the tenement. On the little window
sill I noticed two books, and I promised myself to see
soon what they were,
C Gradually, from talking about the uncles and her
son, the mother led to the marriage. "You see," she said,
with a wave of her large, brown strong hands, "I have
everything that is necessary in a household. There will
be no need to buy a thing." My heart sank when I heard
this. I had dreamed of a new bright home.} "And this
is not all," the mother continued, "there is another room.
Come, I'll show you." She rose and opened the door I
had noticed. There was a current of chill, stale air and
I followed her into a room where there was dim day
light. "When we moved in here," the mother kept on
talking, "we did not bother fixing up." I could see that.
All the furniture stood in the middle of the room. There

OUT OF THE SHADOW 219
was a couch, a bureau, some chairs and an ice box, and
against one wall the pieces of a white iron bed. \Every-
thing was grey with dust and cobwebs hung from the
ceiling. The two windows were long, narrow and barred
with iron. It looked to me like a prisonT] I shivered and
went to the door. "Are you going in ?" the mother asked.
I said, "Yes, I am so cold." I could not keep my teeth
from chattering. I could not picture the room except
with the dust, the cobwebs and the iron barred windows,
and the mother's deep monotonous voice as an accom
paniment. During the evening business was at a lull in the store
so Israel was more in the house. He stood near the stove
with his hands spread out for the warmth, and with a
smile watched his mother moving about the room per
forming little duties here and there and still relating
the merits of her relatives. He often glanced at me.
He looked as if he too had something that he wanted to
say. But he also looked as if it could wait, there was
no need for hurry. We had not yet spoken since I had
come. But I noticed, or, more correctly, felt that his
manner toward me was different from what it had been
before the engagement. It was more intimate though
we had not seen each other since nor did we know each
other any better. I felt uncomfortable.
At last, when there was a pause in the mother's talk
I asked Israel, "Do you read sometimes?"
"Yes," he said slowly, "when I have nothing better
to do."
"What are those two books ? May I see them ?"
He stood up on a chair to reach them, blew the dust
from them and gave them to me. Then he too sat down
at the table and watched me tum the pages. I felt hap-

220 OUT OF THE SHADOW
pier now and having the books to which to give my
attention I also felt more at ease.
The first book turned out to be one I had already read.
I was delighted. It was like meeting a friend. And
the thought that Israel had read the same book was a
sort of link and made me feel more friendly toward him.
So far we seemed to have had nothing in common, noth
ing to talk about. But now there was the book. I glanced
at the pages here and there and asked enthusiastically
what he thought of this pr that part, and how he liked
this or that character. He was still smiling but he merely
answered "yes" or "no" to my questions.
The second book was a translation from the Russian
into Yiddish, partly letters, partly diary. I looked it
through and was at once filled with a burning desire to
read it The intimate tone of the first person in which
it was written made me feel as if that some one were
actually talking to me. I could feel his presence. "Shall
I read it aloud ?" I asked Israel. "No," he said, without
any interest. "What is the use?" He even looked as if
he would have liked me to put the book away. But the
only time I put a book away at home was when I was
forced to. And here I knew no one would even hint that
I put it away so I took my advantage and read. But
the thought that I was rude and that the boy felt hurt
perhaps, made me feel uncomfortable. So every now and
then I would look up, say a word, or smile at him. I
could smile now, I felt so happy when I read.
In this way the evening and the next morning passed.
Late in the afternoon Israel hastened in from the store
looking excited. "Rutih," he said eagerly, "will you come
into the store for a minute? I want to introduce you
to a customer of ours." I rose from the table, scarcely
knowing what I did; I was miserable in a mornent. Meet-

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  221
ing strangers was a great hardship. And this seemed so
urmecessary, merely a customer of Israel's. I could say
I did not want to go. But that seemed like a child. And
to say that I did not like to meet strangers was also im
possible. A person of that kind was thought a boor.
Israel looked at me but only saw my unwillingness to
go. He looked slightiy annoyed and explained as if
he were sorry that explanations should be necessary.
"But she is our best and oldest customer, and she asked
to meet you." This explanation made it still worse, though
why I could not have told at the moment. His mother
too joined him in explaining and urging. So I rose and
followed him into the store. My cheeks were burning and
I dreaded the light and the stranger's eyes. At that
moment Israel was more of a stranger to me than he had
been a little while before. I stopped at the counter right
near the door in the back. Furtljer than that I would
not go and Israel had to call his customer to the back
part I saw a tall, dried out looking woman in black
with sharp, dark eyes that looked me over at once. Israel
introduced us. She smiled, I nodded. And now my
only thought was to go back into the kitchen, when I
saw Israel push a slip of paper and a pencil toward me
and lift a basket of bags and bundles to the counter.
"Will you put down these figures while I call them off?"
he sajd. What was my trouble of a few minutes before
compared to what I felt now? I never could add a row
of figures correctiy. And since I had come to this country
I had scarcely even written any numbers.
A sick feeling came over me with the shame that was
awaiting me. I took the pencil and bent over the slip
of paper and heard Israel call "10." Ten, I repeated to
myself, looking at the paper blindly, and wondering,
"Which comes first, the one or the nought ?" Ages seemed

222  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
to pass since I had heard the number called. I put down
something. "17" I heard Israel's voice again. And
again I wondered which came first How the blood beat
in my temples! I decided to keep all the ones on one
side, to the left. "23" Israel called. And now it seemed
as if I must break down. In Yiddish many people read
numbers like the script, from right to left, which would
read three twenty although written (23). When I had
been learning as a child it had been a great puzzle to me
and now it bewildered me altogether. Suddenly it oc
curred to me that if Israel called the numbers in English
it would be easier for me for at least some of them I
could write as they sounded. He did and it was easier.
So I stumbled on from number to number. Often I felt
as if I must give up but still went on. At last I saw
Israel put the last package into the basket. "Now, add
it," he said. This was the hardest yet. Again I did not
know from which side to begin, the right or left. But
I added it somehow, and then I straightened up. "It is
ninety-six cents," I said and stood holding the little piece
of paper in my hand and looking at it. I would have
given anything not to have to give it up. But Israel
was holding his hand out for it and the woman's eyes
were upon me. So I laid it in his hand and stood wait
ing. I thought he would go over it at once and show me
the mistakes right before the woman. But he did not.
He just folded it and put it into the basket. I felt grate
ful for that.
The woman said good-bye, Israel took the basket on
his arm and they went out. When the door closed behind
them I leaned across the counter. Nearly all the strength
of my body had gone in the effort. And as I waited I
thought, "If Israel had known me a long, long time
could he, would he have done this? Why did he do it

OUT OF THE SHADOW 223
at all? Was it to show the woman that he was not
marrying an illiterate or was it to keep me a little longer
in the store and give his customer a chance to see me?
Had he been talking to her about me, or did he wish at
once to begin breaking me into the business?
The bell over the door rang and I straightened up.
Israel came up smiling and said in his inoffensive way
and yet with great eamestness, "There was a mistake."
I opened my eyes wide In pretended surprise.
"Really?" "Yes," he said mildly but with still greater eamest
ness. "It was even four cents more!"
For a moment I could scarcely believe that I heard
right. "Is that all I made a mistake in?" I thought,
"four cents!" Then I looked at Israel, his earnestness
struck me funny and I mimicked him a little. "Four
cents more!" Then I laughed while he looked on puz
zled. I laughed and laughed and tears were running
down my cheeks. "Oh, there is hope for me," I thought.
"In time I can learn to add even with two people looking
on."

224 OUT OF THE SHADOW

XLVII
The next day was Friday and Israel kept his store
closed in the evening. He came to our house about
seven o'clock and showed us two little tickets which
were still unfamiliar to my family and myself. "These
are for the theatre," he said, "for to-night." The children
looked at me with bright eyes. "You will tell us all
about it," they said, and mother looked quite excited as
she helped me dress. I remembered Mr. Cohen's shop,
and recalled what I had heard the men say about plays
and actors. I thought, "Perhaps I'll see Jacob Adler in
King Lear !" QWe walked to the theatre in silence. In
deed we were never anything else but silent This was
the second time I was out alOne with him. The first
time had been when we went to get the ring. Then, I
merely felt awkward while walking with him. But now
I felt nervous and miserable. The silence oppressed me
and as we walked along, his sleeve, as if by design, kept
coming in contact with mine, and I kept edging away,
but very slowly so as not to hurt his feelings. For I
was not sure it was by design that he brashed against my
sleeve. In our seats in the balcony it was the same way.
He was very attentive but chiefly with looks, and his
elbow was on the arm of my seat I pressed into the
farthest corner and the edge of the arm cut into my
back^ I sat and could think of nothing but how to keep
clear. Of the play I have a blurred picture of an angry
king, dressed in scarlet and white, on a throne, and a
throng of people. I knew the play was not King Lear.
The walk home was again a silent one through the
streets now almost deserted. I remember how glad

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  225
I was when I caught sight of our tenement. I never re
membered it looking so nice as it did now in the pale
light of the street lamp which stood right in front of it.
The hall door as usual stood open and the light shone
through the hall all the way to our door. I stopped in
the doorway and Israel stopped on the stoop. I felt un
der obligation to him. I felt that I ought to say some
thing but could not think what. So I said good night and
tumed to go when he called "Ruth !" His voice sounded
so muffled. I faced about and he came and stood near
me. CJ'I want one kiss," he said. I felt panic-stricken.
"Oh, I couldn't!" I said, "I couldn't possibly. Indeed
I couldn't!" "But, we are engaged now," he said in a hurt tone as if
he felt he were within his rights. Then it was, or had
I been realising it little by little all along, that it flashed
through my mind what married life may mean with a
person for whom one does not care. I stepped backward
toward the door repeating again and again, "I couldn't
possibly. I am sorry but I couldn't," and then I knocked.1
Israel said good night and walked down the steps, and
mother let me into the front room lit by the tiny night
lamp. "How was it?" she whispered. I whined, "I am
tired!" She tiptoed away meekly and I sat down on
the couch and wondered how I was to live through the
night. In the moming when mother came into the front room
and looked at me she cried out, "My God, how you look !
Do you feel so sick? Why did you not call me?"
"I am not sick," I said. Then I broke down. I told
her that I could not marry Israel. I clung to her and
begged her not to blame me. She spoke tenderly and
tried to quiet me. The children gathered around the
couch and father came in. I expected he would upbraid

226  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
me. But he was as tender as mother who stood with
her arms tight about me. "Hush! hush!" he said, "if
you feel so unhappy you need not marry him."
"And won't I be forced?" I asked.
"You won't be forced."
"Can no one force me ?"
There were tears in his eyes. "No one can force you."
Still I kept asking it over and over again and laughed
and cried hysterically.
My mother helped me over to her own t)ed in the bed
room and I tried to rest I lay facing the door and
could see all the way through the kitchen into the front
room where mother and father talked in whispers and
the children walked about on tiptoes. I lay wondering
what father would tell Israel. He would come to-day
for this was Saturday and he kept his store closed.
He came about one o'clock. I saw him stop for a
moment with his back against the door and stand there
almost smiling. My parents greeted him about as usual
but more quietly. Soon I heard mother say still more
quietly, "Ruth does not feel well." He was not at the door
now and I could not see his face. But I heard him ask
anxiously, "Did you have a doctor? Shall I call one?"
Mother answered something. All this seemed to me un
necessary conversation. "Why doesn't father tell him?"
I wondered. Suddenly a fear came over me. Perhaps
father would not tell him after all. I remembered now
that he had such a way of putting off doing a thing when
we children wanted it done. And the more we wanted it
the more reason he saw why it should be put off.
"Wouldn't next day do or next week, what is the hurry?
We must learn to be patient and wait." So I thought
that now too he might put off telling Israel. He might
even think that if he let it go for a while this little

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  227
storm about my not wanting to marry would soon blow
over and things would be as usual. I was in despair
again. "What shall I do?" I wondered. Then it oc
curred to me to take the thing into my own hands. I
was sorry I was not dressed but I could not stop to do
it now. Not ten minutes longer could I bear to be en
gaged. I called to mother and asked her to tell Israel
that I wanted to talk to him. Mother went slowly back
to the front room. As he was coming in I could not see
his face very distinctly for the light was at his back. But
I could see that it looked anxious and was sorry, knowing
that I would soon hurt him. He came and leaned up
against the door post. He asked me too whether he
should call a doctor. I answered something and then
I was silent. I did not know where to begin or what to
say. ([Suddenly I burst out that I did not want to get
married and wept bitterly with my head in the pillow. I
said I was sorry for the unpleasantness and the trouble
but I would not get married. I would never marry at
all. "But why ?" he asked finally. His voice sounded as
if he did not take me seriously. A moment before I had
decided not to tell him, to spare him the hurt. Now when
I saw he did not take me seriously there was only one
thought in my mind, to be free of the engagement. Se^
said, "Because I do not love you." "Oh," he said, in a
matter of course tone, "you will love me after we are
married. "3 And then he gave me many instances of his
imcles and his aunts and his mother. I was in despair.
How could I impress it upon him that for me this thiri^
was impossible? And then it flashed through my mind
how I could make him see it in a moment. I sat up and
in my eagerness I stretched out my hand and laid it on
his sleeve and he came a step nearer.
"Listen," I said, "you wanted to kiss me last night"

2^  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
I could see that he felt a little guilty. "That was all
right," I said. "I can imagine that if I loved you it
would have made me happy. But as it is, the very
thought of it drives me mad."
Even in that light I could see that his face changed
colour and he stepped back and leaned heavily against the
door. As I saw him weaken I quickly followed up my
advantage. I took the little ring from under the pillow
and pressed it into his hand. "Now go," I begged him.
"I am so sorry, but please go, go!" And he went, and
I sat and watched him; his step was unsteady and
his back more bent than usual, he looked like an old man.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 229

XLVIII
That night a message came from Israel's mother.
She said, "I pray that you may have a thousand bride
grooms but not one shall you marry. I wish you no
other ill but this!" Mother cried bitterly and father,
who had been so quiet, so silent all afternoon, went out
into the street still without saying a word. Only now
I really believed that the engagement was off. And now
all my troubles seemed small. I rose and dressed in my
old clothes. I did not think they looked so shabby and
faded, nor were the shoes so clumsy and large. I was
not sorry for what had happened. I was never sorry
for any experience I had had. At the time when it was
hard, I could not help grumbling but later I was even glad.
This thing I knew ! I went to mother and tried to comfort
her. Ij crept up to her mouse-fashion. We all loved
fondling but we were not used to showing it. Mother
looked at me sideways and said, "Go away, mouse!"
But I saw the shadow of a smile in one corner of her
mouth, so I pressed closer to her. "Don't cry," I said,
"when you and father are old and the children are all
married, you will be glad to have some one left at
home."J Later that night, when the children gathered around
tihe lamp on the table to do their lessons for Monday I
too sat down among them and as I watched them write I
suddenly remembered the diary I had read in Israel's
home. I took a sheet of paper and a pencil and wrote a
few words, in Yiddish of course. Then I crossed them
out and wrote again trying to improve them. So I kept
rubbing and crossing out. But finally when I was at

230  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
the bottom of the page a sentence stood clear which I
translate now. "I feel new joy in life and in freedom."
I often attempted to write about what I felt or thought
or saw. Most of the time after I wrote a sentence and
the meaning was not clear at once I grew despondent
and tore it up. But sometimes I was patient and de
termined like to-night, and when I succeeded I felt ex
tremely happy and kept the bit of paper. I kept what
I wrote that night and a few days later I copied it into
a little penny note book. I was determined that I too
would write a diary though I did not clearly know what
a diary was.
When next I wrote in the littie book I had already been
working two weeks. [The shop in which I found myself
now was a piece work shop, not of the better kind. The
work was cheap, the prices low and the men scarcely
lifted their heads except to crack jokes. Oh, those jokes !
I was older now and it was harder to sit among the men
and listen. I translate what follows, the first sentence
in the little book. "I hate the shop, I feel sick, I feel
tired, I cannot see any meaning in life." This time I
made a great effort to keep at work and I kept up as
long as I was able to walk to the shop. Then again I lay
on my back on the couch, and now it was as usual in
our hous^ But now I did not care. I did not care about
anything. All I wanted was to be left lying still. There
were days when I scarcely felt any Ufe, when I could not
feel the couch under me. My body seemed to be sus
pended in the air and millions of specks of brown dust
danced before me.
One day as I lay so I felt a touch on my wrist. This
touch had become familiar since I had been ill. It was
a doctor's touch. I opened my eyes and saw a woman,
a stranger, sitting beside the couch. Neither in looks nor

THIS WAS A "piece WORK" SHOP.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  231
in dress had I ever seen any one like her in our neigh
bourhood. She was also beautiful and distinguished.
"How do you feel?" she asked me. Her lips smiled
but her eyes remained almost sad. She spoke to mother
in German, gave her a card and went away. I spelled
out the printed name on the card, Lillian D. Wald, 265
Henry Street. Again I translate from the little book,
though it was a long, long while before I wrote what
follows: "Miss Wald comes to our house, and a new
world opens for us. We recommend to her all our neigh
bours who are in need. The children join clubs in the
Nurses' Settlement and I spend a great deal of time there.
Miss Wald and Miss Brewster treat me with affection
ate kindness. I am being fed up. I am to be sent to
the country for health, for education."
The moming before I was to start Miss Wald herself
went with me to get me a hat We did not go to a mil
linery shop but what I now think must have been a sort
of a class in the littie Henry Street School. She asked
for a hat that would stay well on my head in all kinds of
weather. In the afternoon I washed all my clothing.
How I worked ! Mother said I looked like the old Rahel.
I went to bed and made her promise to call me early.
But when she stood at the couch in the morning it was
as though through a mist that I saw her face. Later in
the day I saw even more indistinctly. First I saw Miss
Wald moving about the room, then Miss Brewster. On
the table there was a red flower in a glass of water and
a little white unfamiliar bowl. Mother saw me looking
at it and brought it to me. "You see," she said trying
to interest me, "it is jelly and when you feel better
you can have some."
Still later the Settlement doctor sat at the couch and
mother was weeping bitterly.

232  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
In a week I felt well enough to go about again. But
now the doctor and Miss Wald thought that I had better
go to the hospital first and get quite strong. And so
it was that I missed the opportunity of the education, for
it never came again.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 233

XLIX
It was not an easy thing for my people to send me
to the hospital. For the very word filled us with fear.
How could a helpless sick person he trusted to strangers !
Besides, it was quite understood that In the hospital pa
tients were practised upon by hardened medical students
and then neglected. Whenever we saw any one miserable,
dirty, neglected, we would say, "He looks like a 'heg-
dish' " (hospital). And so we saw our neighbours all
about us borrow and pawn but keep their sick at home.
And when once in a while we saw a person taken to the
hospital we looked after him mournfully as if he were
already carried to the burial grounds. It was also an
open acknowledgment of the direst poverty.
And so Miss Wald had a great deal of reasoning and
persuading to do and my parents had a great deal to over
come to consent!
Late one aftemoon then, with a change of clothing in
a little bundle under my arm and a letter from Miss
Wald in my hand, I started out for the part of the city
we called "uptown," as strange to me as if it were in
a different country. And now a great experience was
to be mine. Never again could I look upon the life I
was leaving in the same way, for I was to have a glimpse
into a different world.
As I rode along in the Grand Street and Third Ave
nue surface cars I asked this one and that one about my
destination and was glad to hear that people knew about
the place. I felt a little scared, I did not know what I
would find. At last I stood before the building of the
Presbyterian Hospital and then before the clerk's desk.

234  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
"Your name and address," he asked. I gave it "Can
your father pay?" I had never yet been confronted by
this question and my face burned. After a moment I
had to admit that he could not
"What does your father do?"
"A tailor."
"How much does he earn ?"
"Eight dollars, sometimes ten."
"How many are there in the family?"
"Six beside myself."
"Take a seat, please."
Soon a man came and I followed him through wide
halls where our footsteps echoed. We went up in an
elevator and I was taken into an immense room with
two rows of white beds and in each bed a pale face.
Then I saw a nurse, like the nurses in the Settlement,
and I felt reassured at once. She led me to a chair at an
empty bed, put two screens about me, said hurriedly
and without looking at me, "Undress, please," and
went away. I felt bewildered. "She could not have
meant that," I thought and I sat still. At home the only
time we went to bed was when we could not stand on our
feet But I was well now. I also realised that the nurse
could come and go as she pleased and there was nothing
but a screen between myself and all those faces that I
saw in the beds. The more I thought over it the more
impossible it seemed that I had caught the right "English
words." But what did she mean ? I sat and blamed my
self for not having been more attentive. The English
spoken here and by the nurses in the Settlement was so
different from the Yiddish English that I knew. But I
soon forgot all about it as I looked around at the snow-
white bed beside me and at the little table with a glass
top cmd at the screens forming the walls of a small

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  235
room. And I thought with joy, "This is going to be
my room and these are my things." Over the bed
there was also a large window which I claimed at once.
The light from the setting sun was streaming in and
the muslin walls of the tiny room were coloured rose.
I was looking about me and out of the window and reality
was slipping further and further away. Presently I saw
as in a dream a small round toed boot push one side of
the screen away a very little, and the nurse came in
carrying a small tub of water. And when she saw me
sitting there just as she had left me she put down the
tub on the table, placed her hands on her hips and looked
at me and sighed, and her eyes said very plainly:
"Well! What kind of a being is this anyway?"
Half an hour later I lay flat on my back, and my wet
hair was spread out on a towel over the pillow. When
the screen was taken away I saw that mine was the last
bed in a row of ten, facing ten other beds.
A few days later when the clock struck two, visitors
began to come in. I saw that they were all Gentiles and
mostly Americans. All the women wore hats; they
came in quietly and their faces looked calm. I sat up and
watched the door. I scarcely dared to hope that my
mother would come, that she would be able to get away,
but she did. She stopped in the doorway and looked
eagerly from bed to bed. Her face was flushed and she
wore her little shawl on her head. When she saw me she
almost ran over the highly polished floor and I was afraid
she would fall. All the people stared at her and then at
both of us when she sat on my bed. Her face was cov
ered with perspiration. If I had had difficulty in finding
my way to the hospital, what must the trip have been
for her who could neither speak nor understand a word
of English.

236  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
L I had wonderful things to tell her (and much she
could see for herself) about the cleanliness and the care
patients received and about the food which I thought fit
for holidays, though I could not at once like it for our
foods are more highly seasoned. The meat and juice
which the doctor ordered I had not touched because it
was "trafe" (meaning that the cattie had not been killed
in accordance with the Jewish law). But mother told me
that I must eat everything and get strong. "You are not
here for pleasure," she said, "take it as you would medi
cine." And so it was that I now had to break the vow
I had made to myself when I came to this country, not
to eat trafe meat
Mother went away happy and reassured, and I re
mained still happier than she. 3

OUT OF THE SHADOW 237

The first person with whom I made friends (or rather,
who tried to be friends with me), was the assistant house
doctor. He was not at all good-looking but he was big
and strong and good-natured. His small grey eyes
twinkled merrily under his hght bushy eyebrows. The
first time he spoke to me was when he came to take a
drop of blood from my finger. "We want to see," he
said, "whether you have blood or water in your veins,"
and he laughed. "How do you feel?"
"Fine !" I said. He gave my hand a slap and watched
to see if it would get pink. "You will have to feel a great
deal 'finer' before you can leave here," he said. He
tightened his lips and nodded at me as much as to say,
"You might as well make up your mind to it." I was not
at all grieved to hear this. Indeed I should have been
grieved if it were to be otherwise. For I already loved
it here. The second time he came I had a book which
my mother had brought me to read. He sat dovm on
the edge of the bed, took up the book and looked at the
first page, then he tumed to the end, and he looked in
the middle. His face became more and more perplexed.
"I cannot read a word of it," he finally said. "What do
you call this?"
"It is Yiddish," I told him.
"Read a littie." I read.
"Why!" he exclaimed, "It sounds like German."
' I tried to explain to him that Yiddish had many Ger
man words, though they were pronounced somewhat
differently. I tried to explain it in English and I had
to guess at many words. And so to make sure that it

238  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
was clear I also explained it in German, for like every
Jewish person I made some claim to being able to speak
German. "What else can you speak?'* The doctor was looking
quite merry again.
"Russian," I said, "in the peasant dialect of the vil
lage from which I come."
He looked about' the ward and asked the Russian word
for table, chair, plant, window, bed. I told him and he
tried to say each word after me. He had his mouth all
screwed up and he pronounced the words almost like an
infant. I could not help laughing and he laughed too.
His hearty laugh sounded through the whole ward and
many of the patients took it up and laughed with us, not
knowing what it was all about "What a merry people are
the Americans," I thought. We took things more seri
ously. But very often he was serious too. He would
sit on the edge of the bed with his arms folded and ask
me to tell him about home and the shop.
One day I saw him coming into the ward accompanied
by a beautiful woman. She wore a bunch of violets
tied with a purple cord. As they came along there was a
sound like the rustling of leaves and the air about my bed
became sweet.
"Ruth," the doctor said, "I want to introduce you to
a friend." I had never dreamed there was anything like her
beauty, her blue-black hair, her blue-grey eyes, her teeth,
her smile. But though I was so ignorant of life I under
stood at once, somehow, that much of this woman's
beauty was due to the care she had received all her life,
and her mother before her, and perhaps even her grand
mother. It was so clear that every root qf her hair,
almost, received special attention.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  239
She came to see me often and brought me roses. Once
she brought a big box full of pink ones with thick green
rough looking stems. She laid a full blown flower on
my lap and went to give the rest to the other patients.
As she left my bed I wiped hot tears away. I had wanted
a bud because it would last longer. But the next moment
I thought of myself with contempt that it should mean
so much to me. Most of the time she came accompanied
only by the doctor; once she brought a friend, a charming
young girl of twenty-one who told me she had just come
home from college. She plied me with eager questions,
about home and the shop. Even if I had known how to
express myself, what could I tell them? I felt ashamed
before these women that seemed to know nothing that
was ugly or evil.
Very soon I had still another friend. At four o'clock
in the afternoon a professor used to come in. He was
tall, slender and bald. His small face was round and
pink and so jolly that I would feel myself begin to grin
the moment I caught sight of him or heard his voice.
One aftemoon he said, "I am going to bring a friend to
see you. She is very unhappy; will you try and cheer
her up?" I said yes without knowing what I was saying,
with all the doctors and nurses looking on and listening,
for they were making their rounds.
The next aftemoon he came in with a young woman
dressed in deep mourning. He introduced her and went
away to join the troupe of doctors waiting for him at
the first bed. She was as charming as my doctor's friend
though not quite so handsome. But what I chiefly no
ticed and felt was her deep sorrow. Though she made
an effort to appear cheerful I could see that she was
weighed down by grief. It was in her eyes, in the ex
pression of her face, in her every motion. She told me

240  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
that her mother had died recently and then she sat quite
still looking about the ward. But I knew that she did
not see the things at which she was looking. After a
while she asked, "Would you like me to read to you?"
I thought that perhaps in this way she would forget
for a while, so I said quickly, "Yes." The next time she
came she had a book with her. All I remember of it
is the name, "Under the Red Robe." I was not in the
main ward now but in the annex where there were only
ten beds occupied by patients that were the least sick and
had to remain long. Beside my bed there was a fine
window facing Park Avenue. And at this window my
friend sat down and read. Her voice was agreeable and
she read steadily. I was thinking as I watched her face
that she seemed very much interested, when suddenly the
book slipped from her hands, she laid her head on my
pillow and wept I looked at her a moment, then moved
my face close to hers and wept too.
One day after she had gone the patients whispered to
each other, and the nearest to me asked, "Do you
know who that woman is ?" Of course I did not "She is
a daughter of one of the biggest millionaires in the
United States. You are very fortunate to have such a
friend." Then she said, "But it is wasted on you." She
was a grey-haired woman with a toothless mouth and she
mumbled to herself about "throwing pearls to the swine."
CBut I thought, "What strange things happen in America,
the daughter of a millionaire and I crying on one pil
low." Then I wondered why I was receiving so much
attention. I did not know that the part of the city where
I was living was called tihe East Side, or the Slums, or
the Ghetto, and that the face of the East Side, or the
Slums, or the Ghetto was still new and a curiosity to the

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  241
people in this part of the city, a sight to cheer any un
happy person.J
But the daily life in the ward I found quite as inter
esting as my new friends. Having a fondness for "look
ing" and dreaming and, I am afraid to say, for idleness,
the life in bed exactly suited me. I heard many of the
patients complain about the food and the attendants and
that they could not sleep, that life was dull and they
longed to be out. But not I. I found every one kind
and not a moment was dull or monotonous. There was
so much to see and every minute something new seemed
to happen. To begin with the early morning at five
o'clock, when our little night nurse brought us each a
basin of water and woke us to wash, I would see that
her face looked paler than it had been in the evening, her
cap a little askew, her apron not quite as fresh, and her
smile not so bright But she hurried, hurried to make up
as many beds as possible before the day nurses were to
come. She was so sweet, so sweet, this little nurse. There
was such a warm touch in her small roughened hands.
At seven o'clock the day nurses came in looking fresh
and rested. I would watch each one going to her task
with something of a soldier's regularity. If the break
fast happened to be up they came in at once carrying
the trays of food. Then our ward, so quiet a minute be
fore, was filled with life. The doors swung back and
forth, there was a clatter of dishes, a smell of coffee, and
the dull pat-pat of the nurses' rubber soled shoes on
the floor as they came tripping in, each carrying two
trays, the upper resting on two cups. The good motherly
nurses brought their trays in looking neat and the food
was hot and tempting, while the careless or indifferent
ones came straggling in late and the food was cold and
spilled over. After breakfast there was a hustle and

242  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
bustle of tidying up, and a sweeper came in. She was
a big, stout woman with dark, angry eyes and a bang
of oily iron-grey hair that curled all about her forehead.
When she took a dislike to a patient she would bang the
broom handle against the bed as she swept under it.
I used to lie waiting and quivering at the thought of her
coming. By nine o'clock not a safety pin was out of place,
the patients lay back fresh and clean, and the doc
tors came in to make their rounds. I would prop
myself up against my pillows, smooth my bed cldthes,
and watch them going from bed to bed. [The nurses
lined up on one side, the doctors on the other. They
looked so different from us, the people I had been ac
customed to see all my life. They were tall, healthy men
and women, so well dressed with such fine quiet man
ners! And I wondered how they lived outside of the
hospital, what their homes were like. These two were
Americans. All Gentile English-speaking people were
Americans to me. These looked so different from our
Americans on Cherry Street. Did they too hate the
I Jews? Since I had been here I had not once been made
I to feel that there was any difference. And I, as I was
' growing to know and understand and love the people all
about me, was losing my intense nationalisml3
On Monday afternoons a missionary used to come
into our ward. She was dressed in black and I always
thought of her as being long and narrow. Even her
features were long and narrow. She would give out
the Hymn Books and then stand in the doorway between
the annex and the main ward and lead the singing. She
had a loud, shrill voice that could be heard above the
voices of the patients. After the singing as she collected
her Hymn Books she talked to each of us. She would

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  243
ask, "How do you feel?" But she never stopped to
hear the answer. In the same breath she would begin to
talk about Christ. LThe first time she bent her tall black
form over my bed I felt very uncomfortable and when
she began to talk about Christ I felt miserable. Finally
I said, "I am a Jewess," and now I thought she would go
away at once. But to my surprise she walked arojmd to
the other side of the bed and only now began to talk to
me earnestly. My face began to bum. I saw that she
wanted to convert me and I on the other hand thought it
a sin even to listen to her. Finally I contrived to put my
fingers into my ears and make it appear that I merely had
my hands over them. And now I lay still and looked
at her.3 Her lips moved rapidly and gradually a
red spot appeared on each cheek, and a tiny white bead
of foam, worked itself into each comer of her mouth.
After a few times I felt that she could never convert me
and I no longer put my fingers into my ears.
When mother came again I told her about everything
else but I did not mention the missionary. I thought,
"I am perfectly safe and they will only worry at home."
But danger came from where I least expected it
Besides the missionary another religious person used
to come into our ward. First he would come in the after
noon to distribute pamphlets. He was a quiet, elderly,
distinguished looking man with longish silver white hair.
He nodded to each patient as he laid the pamphlet on the
bed within easy reach, and only stopped to talk to the
elderly women. I noticed that he did not talk about
religion at all. He asked them how they were. He was
not smiling but his pale, quiet face looked kind and
sympathetic. One day as he laid the magazine on my
bed he stopped and glanced at my card.
"Are you a Jewess ?" he asked in his quiet way, look-

244  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
ing from the card to my face. I said, "Yes." He smiled.
"It is a good religion," he said eamestiy and went
on to the next bed. When had I ever heard any one
praise our religion? The words had a strange effect on
me. I sat up and watched him as long as he was in the
ward. I thought, "to this man I would like to talk." At
the end of the day when the sun was going down and we
were finishing our supper, he would come again to say
prayers. As he came in with his long, even stride his
person invited peace and quiet If a nurse were in the
ward she would sit down for a moment and we patients
handled the dishes less noisily. He would stop in the
great doorway between the annex and the ward and turn
the pages of his Bible slowly, very slowly, that we might
have a chance to finish. Little by little it grew quiet, the
last sounds came more and more softly, the shifting of
trays, the tinkle of a spoon on a glass, a sigh. Then
came his eamest mellow tone, low, yet filling every corner
of the wards, "Our Father who art in Heaven."
After he was gone I would lie quite still, still hearing
his voice ; his words were on my lips. One day I sat up
and took the Bible from the box in the bedstead and
looked at it without opening it. This was the first time I
had touched it and I felt guilty and uneasy. Then I
thought, "How could it be a sin to know this man's re
ligion ?" and I opened it. There had always been a mys
tery about this Bible as well as about the people who read
it The mystery about the people was almost dissolved
and now about the Book too I could see nothing mysteri
ous. It had a musty smell like any other book that was
old and little used ; here and there the pages stuck together
with a bit of food. I put it back into the box. The
next day I took it out again, opened to the first page and
picked out the words that I knew. Those that I could

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  245
not read I spelled over to the next patient and she told
me how to pronounce the words and the meaning. I
read every day and soon I was able to read by myself.
And as I began to understand it I became more and more
interested. Finally I thought about it constantly. I
wanted to understand the Christian religion. I was so
eager to know and understand it, that though I felt so
timid and sensitive I began to talk about it, ask questions,
ask for explanations and soon I gave the impression that
I wanted to become a Christian. One day my doctor's
friend asked, "Ruth, do you really want to become a
Christian?" I looked at her. "Oh, no!" I said. She
laughed merrily. "I thought not"
No, I did not want to "become a Christian." And yet
I felt dreadfully troubled.
In the meantime daily life in the ward became even
more interesting. After weeks and weeks in bed I was at
last allowed up. And when I again learned to walk I
enjoyed helping the nurses. I leamed how to make
beds beautifully. • I used to bring the patients water. I
combed their hair. I rabbed their bed-ridden backs with
alcohol. I often remained for hours at a fever patient's
bed and applied ice compresses. I was happy to leam all
these things. I determined that if any one should be sick
after I returned home, I would attend to them just as I
saw the patients here attended.
So three months passed. It was a bright day in June
when I bade, farewell to all my friends in the Presbyterian
Hospital. When I came out of the building I looked up
at the windows. I thought of the life to which I was
going and a feeling of dread came over me. Then I
remembered that it was three months since I had seen the
children and I tumed and walked quickly to the Third
Avenue car.

246 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LI
L Although almost five years had passed since I had
started for America it was only now that I caught a
glimpse of it For though I was in America I had lived
in practically the same environment which we brought
from home. Of course there was a difference in our
joys, in our sorrows, in our hardships, for after all this
was a different country; but on the -nfhole we were still
in our village in Russia. A child that came to this coun
try and began to go to school had taken the first step
into the New World. But the child that was put into
the shop remained in the old environment with the old
people, held back by the old traditions, held back by
illiteracy^ Often it was years before he could stir away
from it, sometimes it would take a lifetime. Sometimes,
too, it happened as in fairy tales, that a hand was held
out to you and you were helped out.
Lln my own case it was through the illness which had
seemed such a misfortune that I had stirred out of
Cherry Street But now that I had had a glimpse of the
New World, a revolution took place in my whole being.
I was filled with a desire to get away from the whole
old order of things. And I went groping about blindly,
stumbling, suffering and making others suffer. And then
through the experience, intelligence and understanding
of other beings a little light came to me and I was able
to see that the Old World was not all dull and the new
not all glittering. And then Iwas able to stand between
the two, with a jiand in each.3
The first thing that I can recall after I came from
the hospital, is a feeling of despondency. The rooms

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 247
seemed smaller and dingier than they had been. In the
evening the lamp burned more dimly. And tihere was
a general look of hopelessness over everything. It was
in every face, it was in every comer of our dull home
as well as in all the other homes that I saw. It was
in every sound that came in from the street, in every
sigh that I heard in the house. I saw the years stretch
ing ahead of me, always the same, and I wept bitterly.
I had never been so aware of it all.
xin the shop where I found work now it was as at
home. As I looked at the men I could not help compar
ing them with those other men. To the little insinuating
jokes and stories I listened now, not with resignation as
before but with anger. "Why should this be? Why
should they talk like that?" And I was filled with a
blinding dislike for the whole class of tailors.
But I did not give my entire thought to what I saw
about me. As the days passed I became aware that I
was waiting for something, for what I could scarcely
say. Away in the back of my head there was this
thought, "Surely this would not end here. Would this
be all I would see of that other world outside of Cherry
Street?" And I waited from day to day.
In the meantime I filled up the days at work with
dreaming of that other life I had seen. I thought a good
deal about that fine old man the minister. His words and
his voice had remained fresh in my mind. Of course I
must not breathe a word at home about him, about the
New Testament. This necessity for secrecy soon led to
other little secret thoughts and actions. It soon occurred
to me, "Why should I not read the New Testament if
I want to? Why should I not do anything I like? If
four months ago father thought me old enough to get
married, then I am certainly old enough now to decide

248  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
things for myself." So I stopped consulting mother and
began to do littie things independently. It was not hard
to do this for during the three months I had grown away
from home a good deal and now with the thought of
my experience in which they had no part, every day I
was slipping away little by little.
Mother noticed and her eyes looked troubled but I did
not understand their meaning. Father had tightened the
reins of authority and I only tried the harder to writhe
myself free. My only thought now was of myself and
the world outside of home and Cherry Street. But un
derneath all this perversity and selfishness I can see now,
as I look back, a deep longing to see, to know, to
understand. In the Settlement I was not so often now. Miss Wald
saw that I came home looking well and at once found
work. So she thought she would leave well enough
alone. Besides, I had told her about my friends in the
hospital, so perhaps she thought that she would stand
aside and give the others a chance.
The Settlement was, of course, included in my mind
in that outside world of which I dreamed. But I felt
too timid to go there often even on invitation without
a "reason," some one of the reasons for which the Set
tlement seemed to be established.
One day, however, when I was thinking of the New
Testament, it occurred to me to go to the nurses and ask
for it Where would I get it if not from them? They
were Gentiles and they would surely have it. And I
started at once with that new something in me that
was defiant of all the old life.
C I found Miss Brewster in the little basement and asked
her for it timidly and with great uncertainty. For it was
hard for a Jewish girl, brought up as I had been, even

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  249
to utter the words, "I want to read the New Testament."
The thought of becoming a Christian was nowhere in my
mind, but this would be the first real step beyond the
boundary. J
Miss Brewster looked at me silentiy and as if she did
not quite understand and I felt still more uneasy under
her observation and explained eagerly, "I want so to read
it" She finally said, "I am afraid, Ruth dear, we can not
give it to you. You see your father would think, 'True,
the nurses have been kind to my daughter but they have
led her away from our faith.' And that would never
do for the Settlement. Do you see?" I Wks beginning
to feel a little guilty. What she said, the way she said
it and looked at me made me feel that I was wrong to
act in secrecy. Again she observed me for a long mo
ment, then she put her arm around me and said pleas
antly, "Come!" We walked up the little staircase to
the sitting rooms on the first floor. She put me into
a deep chair and then she knelt before the bookcase. She
hummed cheerfully as she looked from shelf to shelf, and
I sat and watched her. Her every motion to me was
new and interesting and charming. She represented the
people I wanted to know, the new life I desired.
She finally held out to me a tiny volume and said with
a smile and in that rich voice of hers, "Here, Ruth, is a
sweet love story, read it." And I took it away with me.
The name of it I do not remember and though it was
not the Bible, for the time being it satisfied me. Indeed
just at present it did more than that, it filled me with
joy, for, strange and stupid as it may seem, it had not
occurred to me that now I could read anything. I felt
so proud that I could read an English book that I carried
it about with me in the street. I took it along to the
shop. I became quite vain. Often as I looked about me

250  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
while walking through the street it seemed to me that
now I did not belong here. I did not feel a part of it
all as I did formerly. But very soon something hap
pened which showed me that indeed it was here that
I belonged. One day a letter came from my doctor's
friend. This was the thing for which I had been waiting
and this too was the first letter I had ever received. But
I could not read it. The children could not read it either
except a word here and there. They pored over the
crisp blue paper while I stood over them anxiously and
then they handed it back to me. "It is written in a
'fancy' handwriting," they said. And then like any poor
Illiterate old woman I had to ran to a drug store and
ask a clerk to read my letter to me. I felt ashamed be
fore the clerk at not being able to read. I determined
to try and leam a little from the children and again go
to night school when winter came.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 251

LII
LMy education, if it can be so called, began in the fol
lowing manner and continued in the same painful
unsystematic way all through the years. Self conscious
ness and timidity were a hindrance and I was always
ashamed of showing my ignorance. But we were all
ashamed of showing our ignorance. A girl who could
not read and write would do anything to hide it. We
were as much ashamed of it as we were of our poverty.
Indeed, to show one was to show the other. They seemed
inseparablej My education, then, began in this wise. An informal
talk was to be given on Shakespeare at the Nurses' Set
tlement and Miss Wald or Miss Brewster, I do not
remember which, urged me to come and I promised.
The lecture was in the sitting room in the East Broadway
house. From the doorway I saw about half a dozen
women of the type that we looked upon as "teachers"
sitting in easy chairs and discoursing in low tones. And
at a little table, on which there was a shaded lamp, one
woman sat with some papers before her. As I took in
the atmosphere, so foreign to me, and the type of people,
I was at once sorry that I had come and I glanced into
the comers for an inconspicuous seat, when an over
kind lady came over and fairly forced me into a chair
at the little table, right opposite the lecturer, and put a
volume into my hands. I felt the light full upon me. It
was on my hands, it shone into my lap, it seemed to shine
right into me, showing my ignorance.
The evening passed in perfect misery and I heard little
more than a buzzing of voices with every now and then

252  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
such words as "Shakespeare," "plays," "new edition,"
"old edition," "a later edition," and then, "You can get it
in the library."
I breathed with relief only when I came out into the
street But by then I was glad that I had gone and glad
that I had remained. And now as usual after it was
all over the things I had seen and heard came back to
me distinctly and I reflected over them. Shakespeare,
this was an old friend. I remembered the men in Mr.
Cohen's shop discussing Shakespeare's plays. Evidently
Shakespeare wrote that book that had been in my lap.
I felt proud of this new knowledge and I walked home
with a feeling of superiority over myself of the day
before. I do not know how but it was now that I found that
there were such things as free libraries and I joined the
one at the Educational Alliance. I felt greatly awed
when I looked around from my place in the line to the
librarians' desk and saw the shelves and shelves of books
and the stream of people hastening in and out with books
under their arms. Nevertheless I held my head high.
Couldn't I read now? And if I could read the whole
world of knowledge was open to me. So I imagined.
When my tum came at the desk I said to the librarian,
"Please give me the best thing that Shakespeare wrote."
She looked at me questioningly. "Do you want his
plays?" I reflected, the word play suddenly suggested
to me entertainment and I wanted something serious.
"Is that the best?" I asked. She shragged and smiled
a little. She was a pretty Jewish-American girl. "I don't
know which is his best," she said. It surprised me to
hear her acknowledge her ignorance so frankly. She
asked again, "Do you want his life?" I thought the
story of a person's Ufe must be interesting, but no doubt

OUT OF THE SHADOW 253
it was hard to understand. Perhaps I had better begin
with a play.
"A play," I said.
"Which?""Any." She brought me a volume and when I was out in the
hall and alone I stopped and read the name slowly —
"JuUus Caesar."
I pored and pored over my book for two weeks. I
put it away and went to it again and tried to understand
it Bpt all I could get out of it were words here and
there. I could not get any meaning out of any of it.
I felt heart sore and humiliated. I think it was then that
I fully reaUsed how little I knew, how ignorant I was.
I decided to be guided by the librarian. Her frank
acknowledgment that she did not know which of Shake
speare's plays was the best made a deep impression on
me and I decided that I too would be frank with her.
The next time I stood before her desk I said to her,
"I can read just a little and I do not understand much.
Will you give me a book? — any book — like for a child."
She brought me "Little Women."

254 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LIII
Leather did not take kindly to my reading. How
could he! He saw that I took less and less interest in
the home, that I was more dreamy, that I kept more to
myself. Evidently reading and running about and lis
tening to "speeches," as he called it, was not doing me any
good. But what father feared most was that now I was
mingling so much with Gentiles and reading Gentile
books, I would wander away from the Jewish faith. This
fear caused great trouble and misunderstanding between
us. Of that period this is the first outbreak I recalU
One day my brother, the one who had once dreamed
of becoming a great Rabbi, and who was still very re
ligious, on looking through my library book found the
word Christ. At once he took the book to father and
pointed out the offending word. Father became terribly
angry. Then his fears were well founded. I must be
reading about Christ! He caught up the book and flung
it out of the window. And when I looked out and saw
the covers torn off and the pages lying scattered in the
yard I turned into a perfect fury, as on one or two other
occasions in my life. I wept aloud that I had a right to
know, to learn, to understand. I wept bitterly that I was
horribly ignorant, that I had been put into the world
but had been denied a chance to learn. Father and
mother stood staring at me. "Wild talk," they said.
Surely! And no one was more surprised at it than I
myself. I could not have told when these thoughts first
began,. whom I was blaming, who was to blame!
After this there were long periods when father and I
did not talk to each other.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  255
But little by little as the weeks were passing I was
again becoming quieter and more submissive. Again my
health was breaking down and at the end of two months
I was almost in the same condition as before I left for
the hospital and I was again falling into despondency
and indifference. About this time the doctor from the
hospital surprised us with a visit and when he saw that
I was again run down he told me to come to the hos
pital and rest. "Come whenever you feel ill," he said.
And so before long I was back once more.
During the weeks when I had again grown so pale
father was gentler and kinder to me. He was not home
when I was starting off but mother and the children stood
at the window and watched me go. Mother's face was
so full of sorrow and I too wept. But this time I was
glad to go from home.

256 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LIV
LThe winter was divided between the hospital and the
shop. When I was well I worked; when I felt sick I
went to the hospital. And here was my chance. I was
hearing good EngUsh, I was reading and with the trait
of my race for adaptability I was quickly learning the
ways of this country.J
But at home and in the shop life became harder and
harder. Once or twice I tried other work. I tried do
mestic service again. I went to take care of a baby and
a house but my mistress found it more profitable to
put me to sell newspapers at the newsstand which she
kept. It was near a, saloon in a wretched neighbourhood
and I soon left it. \The second place was good but here
I had to light the fire on the Sabbath. Now I was no
longer pious. I observed very few of the rites but there
were some of the laws that I could not break. To obey
them seemed bred in the bone. While I was in the hos
pital, of course, I ate the meat that was there but I was
conscious all the time that I was eating trafe meat And
to touch fire on the Sabbath I could not bear. Then, too,
besides, when I was leaving for this place of service
mother begged me not to break the Sabbath. In her own
words, "I would rather walk barefooted than that you
should earn money while breaking the Sabbath." So
I left this place too.J
Then I went to work for a tailor who was a member
of father's society. He told us he was working in a suit
establishment on Fifth Avenue and Thirty-eighth Street.
The suits were valued from fifty dollars up and he needed
a girl to help him with the lighter work, pinking ruffles,

OUT OF THE SHADOW 257
feUing lining and so on. Here I went gladly. I thought,
"It is uptown and they are working on silks." I pictured
an ideal shop. But I soon found that it was the same
thing. I saw finely fitted up offices, beautiful salesrooms
and fitting rooms, but we, the tailors, were huddled to
gether into the dark basement. The men joked that we
were pressed together like herring in a barrel. The
tailor who sat next to me once said that he was sur
prised at his own decency. He wondered that he was
not a worse animal than he was. I soon left the shop
in disgust.
One day when I was leaving the hospital, after a
lengthy stay there, the doctor's friend said, "This will
not do. I can't imagine what those places are like where
you work that you get run down so quickly." She looked
thoughtful for a few minutes, then she added, "I am
going to find you work myself." She said this as though
now she was going to settle the thing once and for all.
She took me into her carriage and we started. I could
not help smiUng at this unusual and pleasant way of
looking for a job.
On the way she explained to me that she would take
me to the establishment where she was having her suits
made. She was a good customer and Mr. S. would
surely find work for me among his tailors. The car
riage stopped before a fine brown-stone building. But
when I looked out my heart sank. This was the place
on Fifth Avenue where I had worked. It did not even
occur to me to tell her about this shop. What was the
use and what could I say to her? What one heard in
a shop I felt was not to be talked about to anybody, espe
cially to one who knew nothing about shops.
She left me in the carriage and went in to inquire
while I sat and prayed that there might be no work for

258  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
me. When she retumed she said that there would be
work for me in a few days. But I never went to this
place, for little by little I became indifferent to work
altogether, at least to the kind of work that was within
my reach. What with the long periods of idleness after
each job, the months of inactivity in the hospital, the
natural apathy due to the illness, the miserable conditions
in the shops, I lost all taste for work, I lost my pride of
independence, I lost my spirit.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 259

LV
In the spring, a year from the time when I first went
to the hospital, my health was poorer than ever and my
friends there began to look upon me as a problem, and
finally to send me to various institutions for recupera
tion. The illness had procured me that freedom from
home for which I had longed. But though I was so free,
now less than ever my destiny seemed in my own hands.
The illness and my friends seemed to steer it and I did
meekly whatever I was told. I asked no questions. I
offered no resistance.
At first, as to the hospital, I carried a change of cloth
ing wherever I went. But I soon realised that I did not
need it. We were provided. In some of the institu
tions we wore blue, in some grey, in others checks or
stripes. In some of the places my companions were old,
in some young, in others mixed. And when I put on
my wrapper I felt that I became a part of the rest of
the dependents, a part of the house, a part of all that I
saw about me, and I felt dreadfully troubled, but little by
littie I became used to it.

26o OUT OF THE SHADOW

LVI
When the warm weather came I was to go to a place
in the country called White Birch Farm. I was in the
hospital when the doctor's friend told me about it and
also that she was sending out another girl, Irene, who
was not strong and that I must be friends with her and
take care of her. Then one day, just as I was leaving
the hospital, I was called to the office to see the doctor.
He said in his cheerful kind manner, "You are going to
the country and I think this will take you to Grand
Central," and he pressed a half dollar into my hand.
After this I neither saw nor heard and scarcely knew
how I left the building. When I was outside I stood
still. In my hand was the half dollar, the first direct
gift of charity to myself. My face burned. "I can refuse
it," I thought. "I can take it right back — but then, I must
refuse everything else, the help, the going away" — ^and
going away had become a necessity. I could no longer
stand the mournful looks at home, and I was by now
used to having a bed all to myself. When I reached
home and told them that I was going away mother cried
bitterly : What would be the end of all this going away,
of staying away from my own people, what would it
lead to?
The next day at Grand Central I was met by a lady,
with her was Irene and when we took our seats in the
train I realised that I was going further away from
home than I had yet been.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 261

LVII
White Birch Farm (there were no animals except
a white bull dog and none of the ground was tilled)
turned out to be a summer house run for needy city chil
dren sent in batches of about sixteen every two weeks.
The house belonged to a doctor — who, I heard, was a
very kind man. He bought the place for the purpose
and he was supplying all the money to run it The house,
which was white, large, and had green shutters, stood
close to the road. Across the road there was a barn,
greyed by time and weather, and beyond it thirty acres
of ground for the children to play on. On these grounds,
down one hill and up another, there was a small wood
they called the Grove and at the foot of it a brook ran.
There was a dam and a good stretch of the water was
deep enough for swimming and diving.
The house was in charge of Miss Early who brought
us down. Besides her, and Irene and myself, there were
two coloured women as help. The children had not yet
begun to come. The house was being prepared for them.
I was helping but had a good deal of time to myself and
I walked about outside. I did not go far from the
house. I felt troubled. There was the great quiet. The
fields lay so still. Yet life seemed to be teeming and
the air was filled with silent voices.
Then it began to appear as though the things were
coming out of a dream. It was all so strange yet
familiar. In about three days I went further from the house
and walked among the trees. I walked in among some
low bushes. The leaves touched my face and I stood

262 OUT OF THE SHADOW
still. The quiet seemed to surround me and every now
and then there was a twit, a rastle, and overhead the
sky shone blue. There seemed to be all this and I alone
with it. I felt my body quivering with strange feel
ings, strange thoughts came into my mind.
In the house too it seemed as if I were living in a
fairy tale. There was a dining room and a sitting room,
and off the porch a- little writing room. Upstairs there
were bedrooms. Irene and I shared a small one. From
the window in my corner I could see some fine old trees,
a bit of road, a field, and in the distance the side of a
house gleaming white.
There was nothing of the "institution" about this place
and I soon recovered my spirits as well as my health.
My face became brown and rosy. The sun bleached my
hair, and again I began to find pleasure in whatever
work I did but that was also perhaps because I loved
Miss Early. I was often jealous of her, at which she
laughed, scolded me and looked pleased. I worked well
but it seemed to me that this summer I did little more
than play — or else even work was play.
I saw here modern, orderly, systematic housekeeping.
There was time for everything, room for everything,
money for everything that was necessary. The thought
did not come to me that all this was possible because
there was means. I only saw the facts. Miss Farly was
a trained nurse and a woman of education. She could
also do things that I had only seen men do, or that I had
not seen done at all. She could paint; she could cal
cimine ; dressed in a linen walking skirt and a shirt waist,
and a paper cap I would make for her, she would work
for hours at a stretch, studying directions as she went
along and her fair face was flushed with the exertion and
the pleasure. She could do wonders with a grocery box,

OUT OF THE SHADOW 263
a few yards of cretonne and some brass-headed tacks.
And I would be helping her. There again, then, was my
chance. In the hospital I had leamed how to take care
of a sick person, of a sick room ; and here I was learning
something of modern housekeeping. Miss Farly also
had excellent taste for shape, design and colour. And
this too I was learning — or else, seeing things, I knew
what I wanted.
From the children I was learning their games. They
were from the ages of seven to twelve; I was seventeen
but now I too was twelve. I ran races with them. I
played wolf and when the boys played baseball and were
"short of men," they would magnanimously take in Irene
and me and I was as happy as could be when I managed
to make "a home run." We played in the grove, we
swam in the brook — I learned how to swim and dive.
I loved the spot near the brook. The trees here grew
close, bending into an arch over the water. The sun pene
trated only in spots so that here it was greener and fresher
than anywhere else and the air was sweet and moist
and cool. The water over the dam fell with a rustle and
the children's voices in the grove sounded far away. I
loved to sit here on one of the rocks and dream.
On rainy days and evenings we played in the basement.
The walls here were rough and whitewashed. There
was a large fireplace and a few benches. Of an
evening then we would hang up some lanterns, make a
good fire and draw up our seats. Some of the boys
played on their harmonicas, the girls sang the latest
songs and I sang Russian and Jewish ones.
It was with reluctance and at a great deal of urging
from Miss Farly that I began to sing. I expected
laughter and ridicule from the children. And I was not
wrong. But Miss Farly made an example of the first

264  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
boy who tittered by sending him out of the room. After
that it was quiet whenever I sang and little by little they
became Used to hearing me.
The children were descendants of many nationalities,
Irish, German, Italian, American. The Jews had not
yet begun to come. They would only begin with me.
Some of the children were rough, like the roughest on
Cherry Street. Many of the children were very poor.
When they sat down at the table it was evident
that those who had been receiving little bread had also
little manners. They ate greedily as If they would make
up for the time when they had not had enough. Soon
I also leamed to tell which children had never seen the
country before. These usually greeted the great out
doors with a whoop and a yell and a busy time began for
Miss Farly and her two aid-de-camps, Irene and my
self. The boys began to run about wildly, scurrying over
fences and ignoring all boundaries, climbing trees, tear^
ing down whole limbs, filling their pockets with green
apples, filling even their stockings and trying to smuggle
them up to bed to take home. And the little girls would
begin to pick hastily everything in sight, not stopping
to distinguish between flowers and weeds and pulling all
up by the roots. But after a day or two the boys began
to play more quietly and the little girls would select their
flowers and content themselves with few, knowing that
the next day they could pick again.
Sometimes as I watched them, I tried to picture our
Cherry Street children scattered over the fields. And on
the following summer I did see them there, and my own
sister and brothers were among them.
Miss Farly treated Irene and me very much like the
rest of the children. She counted us in among them
when asked how many there were at the house and w/

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 265
ate with them. But otherwise, in the house as well as
out of doors we were her companions. Often then while
the children played in the fields we three would sit
on the piazza sewing, and Miss Farly would talk to us
confidentially, particularly to me — for of Irene and my
self I was the more interested because to me it was all
so new. I would perhaps lead up with some remark or
question on the subject that still troubled me, religion,
and she would explain to me as simply as possible many
little things of Christianity, of the various denominations,
and of the differences between them. And as for her, I
don't think she had ever known any Jews intimately be
fore, so she was as curious about me and my people and
our customs as I was about hers. I would explain to her
as best I could our life as Jews and some of the laws,
many of which seemed trivial on the surface but many of
which had good reasons, either moral or physical. [$0
we would converse ; nor did she make me feel that there
was any difference because I was a Jewess.
. But twice the most serious question came up between
us — the question that so often has agitated the whole
world, that has often no doubt filled even the kindest
Gentile heart with doubt and suspicion, that has made
Jews all over the world band together and appeal to God
and men against the false accusation — the question of
the Jews' needing the blood of a Christian child for the
Passover. This question was by no means unpopular
at the time.D Somewhere in Europe a child had been
found murdered and a Jew was accused and was being
tried for his life.
The first time this came up among many other mat
ters, she merely wanted to hear my explanation of it; it
was quite understood that she did not believe it. I felt
my face flush. What could I explain? I could not ex-

266 OUT OF THE SHADOW
press myself well enough in English. To myself it was
quite clear. All our laws tended to point against it. No
Jew himself may kiU even a fowl but must take it to the
one certain man who has studied the laws in regard
to it and made it his profession. There would perhaps
be one such man in a whole town. Ten miles my little
grandfather used to walk to have a rooster killed that
we might have meat in honour of the Sabbath even if
we had to go without it all the week. For weeks and
weeks we would be without it altogether because it was
inconvenient to go. And yet we would not kill ! Even
the little children knew that this law was necessary so
that each individual might not become hardened to the
habit of killing, also because a professional hand would
save the animal unnecessary suffering. How could it be
possible then that we needs must kill a little human child !
Within my own knowledge and remembrance there
was just this  . One warm afternoon in the spring
when I was a child in our village, our little old great
aunt from the next village came running. Her white
close fitting cap was aU awry on her head, her face was
pale, her lips dry and covered with dust "Children !" she
cried at the door. "Fast! fast all of you, large and small.
In a town not far away Jewish blood is flowing Uke
water. A Christian child has been found murdered and
they say the Jews have killed it for the Passover." And
she ran on to warn the one or two Jewish families in
the next village and my mother shut the door care
fully and put the supper away for the morrow.
The second time this question came up between Miss
Farly and myself was years later. It was a cold evening
in September, the children were all in bed and Miss
Farly and I, perhaps Irene too, I do not recall, were
in the sitting room. There was a good fire in the grate

^^^'^y^^

HE AND MOTHER CARTED OVER THE FURNITURE ON A PUSH-CART.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 267
and we felt friendly and congenial as we sat reading.
Then, I don't remember how it happened, but Miss Farly
picked up a large new volume bought recently I think,
and began to read to me a poem right from the beginning
of the book which appeared to be a sort of an introduc
tion or opening poem. It told of a garden where there
was sunshine and flowers and where two little boys,
neighbours, one fair, one dark, were playing. Into the
garden the windows of the two neighbours opened.
Through one window the fair-haired mother often looked
out and saw the sunshine and the flowers and heard her
child laughing. At the other window the dark-haired
mother often stood. After this I remember only my
impression. The fair-haired child disappeared. Its
young blood was used as a sacrifice for the Passover.
I have the impression of the mother's agony — of the
garden still in bloom — of the sun shining — ^but only one
little child playing, the dark one.
It was a well written poem. It would touch any heart
with pity and horror.
When Miss Farly was through she sat quite still Jceep-
ing her eyes on the page. Her face was flushed. LAfter
a moment she said, without lifting her eyes, and her
voice was quiet and strange with controlled emotion,
"This might have been a custom you know — Perhaps it
is not a custom of all Jews — The children wotild not be
apt to know about it." I was dumb with horror and was
silent What could I say? After all the years of her
knowing me so intimately what could I say !
That night Miss Farly and Irene and the two coloured
women and all the children were together and I felt
alone, a stranger in the house that had been a home to
me. In that hour I longed for my own people whose
hearts I knew."]

268  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
But after all we were living in the nineteenth century.
And so in a day or two all was as usual. I gave her my
affection and she was glad of it and she seemed as fond
of me as she was fond of Irene.
So that first Summer passed and the month of Sep
tember came. I thought this month the most glorious
of the whole summer with its golden rods and the trees
and the little creepers along the stone walls, turning
scarlet, the brisk walks on crisp days, the daily dip in the
brook, the sting of the cold water and then the feeling
of sweet cleanliness. And indoors in the evening there
were the open fires, the harmonica music, the dances, the
songs. And when the children were gone to bed the
pleasant chat with Miss Farly in the pleasant warmth
of the room scented with the odour of sweet fern drying
on the hearth.
Then a chilly day came. The last batch of the children
were with us. Miss Farly began to pack away little
bundles for the winter and from home a letter came ask
ing me whether I knew that the Day of Atonement was
approaching. Yes, I knew.
Then for a day or two again new life, like the breath
of midsummer, swept through the house. Word came
that the doctor, who had just arrived from Europe,
was coming to spend a day or two with us. So I was
to see the man who so generously had been supplying this
family of twenty people for three months.
For a day we cleaned and polished and then we were
ready to receive him. He drove up from New Haven
late one afternoon. And I saw from where we had
gathered near the road to meet him, a mature, well-buiU,
handsome man such as I had learned by now to asso
ciate with the professional type — "like the doctors in the ;
hospital." He sat still for a moment with the reins in

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  269
his hand as if he were tired and the picture of us suited
him and he wished to hold it for a moment He smiled
at the whole group of us. His face was all kindness and
gentleness and in his eyes there was a look of childlike
inquiry which a little later I understood was due to im
perfect hearing. His gentleness showed itself in his
every act, the way he handed the reins to a boy who came
to take the horse, in his greeting of Miss Farly and
Irene, in the courtesy he showed the little ones who after
staring at him for a minute, began to sidle up to him
shyly. Mathilda, the cook, came to take the ice-cream
he had brought, which stood in the tub packed with salt
and ice and was very heavy, and he hastened to help her.
When a little later I came into the kitchen for something
Mathilda said to me, "Ruth, does you know a gentleman
when you sees one?" I was puzzled for a moment Then
I understood. The doctor had helped her as he would
have any other woman, regardless of her colour !
He stayed with us two days. During the day he came
walking with us, and in the evening, when we hung up
our lanterns in the basement and laid a good fire, he sat
on the bench among the children and attended with the
greatest interest to our performances, and we all dis
tinguished ourselves. The little Italian boy who per
formed acrobatic stunts was more like an eel than ever
and the boy who played on the harmonica and who, his
admirers assured us, was so musical that he could play
on the piano alike with his hands or toes, this time per
formed on the harmonica with his nose. Irene led the
Virginia reel and Miss Farly made me sing my songs.
The doctor applauded and laughed heartily and Miss
Farly, who often had to suppress the t)oys' shouting and
stamping, whispered aside with a smile that the doctor
made more noise than any of the children.

270  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
When he was going away he thanked the children. He
said with his kind smile that he had had a very nice
time; he said it as if he were the guest and we were
his hosts.
And when I went home I knew that the next summer
I would come again.

PART FIVE

PART FIVE

LVIII

LIt was hard to get used to the old life again when I
came home. It was all stranger than ever, the home, my
people ; their ways. The children's faces looked lean and
a little pale in spite of the sunburn from ranning about in
the streets. Our couch now stood supported by a grocery
box; the kitchen looked like nothing more than a black
hole; the meals were chance and meagre — oatmeal gruel
for dinner. I had good teeth and digestion and I craved
substantial food, meat and potatoes. I craved variety .J
Once when I had first met Miss Wald, and was feeling
downcast as I was leaving the Settlement to go home,
she urged me to tell her the cause. But I did not know
what to tell her, how to put our dull existence into words.
She was thoughtful for a moment; then she gave me
some money and said with great eamestness, "Will you
do something for me ? Will you go and buy a good, good
supper, you all ?" I had wondered then what a meal had
to do with one's outlook on life. I knew better now.
In the shop where I found work soon I felt more and
more disgusted with conditions. I found the life almost
impossible. My sister and I were working together in a
large new loft. Half of it was occupied by cloaks and
the other half by a contractor of skirts and capes. Sister
and I were working on the skirts and capes. There were
seven of us at the finishers' little table, besides sister and
myself two other girls and three men. The room was
not bad to work in, for there was plenty of light and
273

274 OUT OF THE SHADOW
though the table was small those of us who did not
mind stretching out for the scissors and thread could
sit a little distance away and so have more space. But it
was in other ways that life was made impossible. There
was one man in the shop, the designer and sample maker
of the cloaks, to whom the other men looked up. He
wore a white collar and a coat at work and thought him
self clever and witty. (Whenever he was not busy he
would come and amuse himself by telling obscene stories
and jokes. He did not Uke me, for when I had first
come I had managed to gather courage to ask the boss
whether we girls could not sit at a separate table. The
news of this unusual request soon spread and I began
to be looked upon as one who put on airs. "The tailors
were not good enough for her to sit with." One asked
me: "Do you expect to make the world over?" So it
was quite understood that here was a girl who must be
downed and the designer, soon learning what I was most
sensitive about, sought to do it with his jokes and stories?
And whenever I saw him coming the blood in my temples
would begin to beat like a hammer.
One Friday he came, placed himself where he could see
my face, and began in his leisurely way, sure of being
listened to — "I was at a wedding last night" There was
a burst of laughter. The men foresaw what was com
ing. And lie, encouraged by the effect he was making,
continued after a moment of significant silence. He
talked as he had never talked before. He talked of the
most intimate relations of married people in a way that
made even the men exclaim and curse him while they
laughed. We girls as usual sat with our heads hanging,
and I was aware that sister's face almost touched the
work in her lap. His eyes were on my face and they
were hurting me. I was thinking that I could not even

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  275
hide by merely pretending not to hear as the others did.
Suddenly a feeling of rage shook me. "Why did we
pretend? Did pretending cleanse our minds from the
filth thrown into them?" Then I felt that if I could only
stand up, if I could only stop pretending at this moment !
I could never quite be a part of the filth I had absorbed.
The blood beat so in my head that I was half blinded at
the thought of showing myself so openly. Then I rose,
and scarcely knowing what I did, I flung the cape from
me; its purple silk lining caught on a nail, in the waU
opposite, and hung there — and I cried to them half
sobbing, "You have made life bitter for me. I pray God
that rather than that I should have to go into a tailor
shop again I may meet my death on my way home." All
this seemed to have taken a long, long time and I gradu
ally realised that it was very still in our comer of the shop
and that now it was the men who sat with their heads
hung and sister was standing close to me. I took my
coat, gave her her littie shawl, and we went out. In the
half-dark hall her face as she turned it up to me was
pale and her lips trembled. "You go home," she said.
"But I am not going. It is not as hard for me because
the men think I am too young to understand." And I
could not make her go with me. She would not lose the
half day, she would not lose the place. And she went
back into the shop and I went down into the street.
I walked away from the building and turned and
looked at it. I was leaving the shop! All sweatshops!
When the idea had come to me I could not have told but
the thought of going to look for a job in another sweat
shop was somehow out of the question.
I sauntered along through the street. What now?
Housework was the only thing left to me. I shrank
from it My experience had showed me what my life

276 OUT OF THE SHADOW
might mean as a servant, a drudge in some one's dark
kitchen, sleeping on chairs, eating at the washtub (ance
the Corloves I had leamed that eating at the washtub
was the general rule), being looked down upon as an
inferior for whom anything was good enough. A year
or two of this and I would be coarser and cruder, the life
would grow upon me, I would lose all sensitiveness, I
would cease to care.
1^ Suddenly I wondered why I should not go and talk
to Miss Wald about the shop. I had confessed to her
about so many other difficulties, our own and those of
our neighbours, and she had always helped us out.
Perhaps she could help here too. We had come to feel
that there was nothing she could not do. But the next
moment I thought with shame of letting Miss Wald know
to what I had been listening in the shop, of letting her
find out what my mind had been fed on. "But my little
sister is sitting there and listening and I am ashamed to
talk to Miss Wald — another woman V'-^
During the next night and day I fought it out with
myself. Beside the sense of shame there was the ob
stacle of not being able to express myself well enough
in EngUsh. It was so easy to be misunderstood and mis
construed. People, busy people, Ustened to your stut
tering and blundering, and finally brushed you aside.
And this would be particularly hard to tell. However,
I was sure of one thing, that Miss Wald would listen to
me patiently and try to get to the bottom of what I was
saying. But would she think it possible? Would she be
lieve me ? Or perhaps this thing that appears so horrible
to me is not so horrible after all.
Sunday morning at ten o'clock I started for the Set
tlement Miss Wald was not yet down, she had worked
hard the day before and had been up late; would I go

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  277
up to her room? I found her mother with her and an
other woman. Miss Wald moved a chair for me near
to her couch and introduced me. At the sight of the
strangers my mind became altogether confused and I
heard their voices as though in a dream. I heard her
mother ask: "Is Miss  French?" Miss Wald
laughed. "Why, because she is blonde?" So the French
are dark, I thought. My mind fastened on this as though
it were very important and I kept thinking, "So the
French are dark!" Then I thought that the strangers
must be wondering why I was there. The thought also
came that I could still go without saying anything about
the shop. But suddenly I leaned over and whispered to
Miss Wald that I must see her alone. She glanced at me
quickly, laid her hand on mine in my lap and pressed
it affectionately as she talked to her visitors.
At last they were gone. They seemed to have gone
quite suddenly. What happened after that I could never
remember except a look of horror in Miss Wald's face
and the words, "Why, Ruth ! they always told me — ^they
assured me that — Oh, that place is not fit to work in."

278 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LIX
Monday moming at eight o'clock I went to the Nurses'
Settlement As the outcome of my confession to Miss
Wald, I was to learn how to make shirtwaists in their
little shop.
And now I was to know An O'Ther, the wom
an who made a great difference in my life. The
shop was on the top floor in the East Broadway House.
To get to it one had to pass a gas-lit anteroom. I
cUmbed the stairs and stopped before this room. My
heart beat violently. I was entering on a new life. What
was there for me now? As I opened the door I was
surprised, then delighted. Before a large table a woman
stood, cutting. I had already met her and she had made
a deep impression on me, and now when I saw her I
knew at once that she was my "boss."
A short time before this she had come to cut out gym
suits for the gym class to which I belonged, and show us
girls how to make them. She had noticed me because I
could baste faster than any other girl. So I basted still
faster and observed her. I saw that her ways were so
gentle and quiet and she bent over each girl as if she
had known her a long time. The suits were made in two
or three Friday nights, and the last night she came down
stairs with a group of us girls, and as she was bidding us
good-night I watched her with regret. Then I saw her
glance at me and I was sure she would come and talk
to me. She did.
"Where do you live ?" she asked. When I told her she
slipped her arm through mine and walked with me a
little ways.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 279
I had made up my mind that she belonged to a family
that were rich and accomplished.
"How then could she be so splendid?"
She learned how to sew, perhaps, that she might be
able to teach girls. Then I learned from some one in
the Settlement that she was a working woman, of work
ing people, and a champion of labour.
This morning she greeted me in her quiet gentle way.
Then she opened the door and we went into a little
room where three girls were bending over sewing ma
chines. "This is Miss  ," she said, and I was amazed. This
was like coming to a sociable and not a shop in which to
work. She gave me a seat and showed me how to make
buttonholes in a scrap of blue gingham.
Many times that day she came to look at my button
holes. Her long slim hands touched mine tenderly, her
eyes were saying kind things. I could scarcely believe
that I was not dreaming. Nevertheless I felt discour
aged. For years I had been working for money and now
I was sewing on rags!
The little shop turned out to be more and more like
a shop in a dream. I was reading at the time a book
translated from the Russian called, "What Is to Be Done,
or The Vital Question," by Chemeshefsky. In this book
there was an ideal sewing shop and I felt as if our little
shop too was. out of a story.
We all sat in a group in the centre of the littie attic
room where the best light fell. On my right there was
a shelf with some materials, on the left was the door
and behind it a littie gas stove which we used at lunch
time. The older of the three girls we consulted in regard to

28o  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
the work when: An O'Ther was not in, Then there
was Margaret, who was fifteen. She was tall and slim
and pretty and her grey eyes were bright with fun and
laughter. She had never yet worked anywhere. Fan
was a Jewish-American girl of sixteen. She had come
from the sweatshop, her life at home was hard, and she
worked as if she had never had time to leam anything
right. She read greedily, even in the street as she walked
to and from work, and she knew how to drive a bar
gain. Her people were in dire poverty. Perhaps it
was this that taught her the art At any rate it would
take a clever pushcart pedlar to get the best of Fan.
After a few days a machine came for me and I was
taught how to make shirt waists. And now while I was
learning how to make a shirt waist I was also learning
something of the meaning of things or many things that
had seemed without meaning. An O'Ther took my meas
ure and said I was to be her shirt waist model. The
fitting room was a few steps below, where everything
was covered with blue denim and we called it the "little
blue room." And in this room, with her mouth full of
pins and while pinning me into a shirt waist, she would
talk to me. With a few words at a time she slowly
opened my mind to one thing after another. And I,
when I found that I could ask questions, that it was
neither improper nor would I be thought a fool, became
as greedy as little Fan in her reading. There were so
many things that I wanted to know. I wanted to know
about our race, about myself, about the Irish on Cherry
Street, about the shop. The questions went tumbling all
over each other in my mind and in my speech. But she
interpreted each one. I did not need to worry about my
English. She looked at me, and she seemed to under
stand me better than I understood myself. And I too

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 281
soon learned to understand her. I became sensitive to
her every motion and expression.
It appeared that there was a reason for everything.
Things were not thrown into the world in a haphazard
way. She told me something of the history of the Irish
people, of their joys, of their sorrows, of their humour,
of their bitter struggle to free themselves. And grad
ually I lost my fear of the Irish on Cherry Street She
explained my own race to me. She explained the shop.
What a revelation ! The men's conduct in the shop could
be explained! "Just look," she would say, "what are
their lives? You know, sweating from early to late,
some haven't even their families here. Talking? It is
perhaps the only joy within their reach. I suppose it
is a kind of joy, and when you work like an animal you
live like an animal." So I began to see tailors in a
different light The new world she opened to me did
not make me sad. On the contrary, it had been far
more sad to see things happen and not to understand.
All this time the life of all of us together in the shop
was continuing as in a dream. It was Uke a dream to
be working only from eight o'clock until five with an
hour for lunch. For lunch one of us three young girls
would get off a littie earlier and make cocoa for all. We
each paid ten cents a week toward it and two cents a
day to Fan for the frait which she bought. And it was
like a dream to sit down to a prettily set table with blue
dishes, and bright silver, which Miss Wald placed for our
use. I did not at once fit in with this new life. I would
sit a little distance away from the table and brood. I
longed to be with them, but something seemed to hold me
back. At five o'clock when we stopped work one of us
three younger girls had to sweep up. When my turn
came I told her with tears that I did not want to

282 OUT OF THE SHADOW
sweep. Sweeping was housework and housework out
side of your own home was degrading. You were looked
down upon, you were a servant. And so she would talk
to me and would reason with me as my mother had done
when I was a child. "No work was high or low," she
would explain to me; "all work is honourable if honestly
done." Then I developed a feeling of deep jealousy. I could
not bear the thought that all the other girls were as much
to her as I was. Having found her I wanted to keep
her all to myself. But soon she drew me into the group.
On Saturday Fan and I did not work at all because
it was our Sabbath. Now I would have been willing to
work for my religious scruples were gone. But my
parents would on no conditions consent to it so I was
off both days and Fan too, but the rest worked the half
day. And after it, on many mild afternoons, we all went
to the park. Always it was wonderful to me to hear
An O'Ther explain things. There was always some
thing new in the way she saw them. Always there was
a touch of seriousness under everything. She treated us
all as if we were her little sisters, and taught and guided
us. We led a sweet life.
We received very little money, a doUar, a dollar and
a half, two dollars a week. At this I wondered for I
did not know what this little shop meant, that it was
established to teach me and the others a trade, and that
what littie money we did receive was merely meant to
encourage us, or help our families. I did not know.
Perhaps it would have been better if I had known. I
might have tried harder for its success. Having been
trained to work under the lash of a whip, it is a question
whether I was fit to be left entirely to my honour. What
was true of me was I think trae of the other girls too.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 283
At any rate, one day when I had worked at the shop
about a year. Miss Wald and An O'Ther were locked
up aU afternoon in the little blue fitting room. At five
o'clock we learned that the shop could not pay for itself.
We all wept at the news. And soon we were scattered
all over the city, placed at work for which we were best
fitted, or wherever there happened to be an opening. I
had kept with scwne neatness the materials on the shelf
in our little shop, so I was placed as a stock keeper in a
Fifth Avenue dressmaking establishment. I had great
difficulty to keep my job with the few words of English
I knew how to read and write. But the work fascinated
me because I had to use a pencil instead of a needle.
Using a pencil meant "education" ! So I begged Madame
to be patient with me. Here I learned some new words
and a little spelling while labelling the stock.
We worked regular hours. But often the girls had to
stay overtime, for which they received twenty-five cents
supper money. We worked from eight until seven. We
entered the brownstone building through the basement,
felt about in a pitch-dark closet where we hung our
clothes, and stood about in the dark hall adjoining the
kitchen and peeped in curiously at Madame's coloured
domestic help hustiing about, until we heard the bell up
stairs tinkle for us.
The dressmakers were three sisters. The oldest was
a large woman with grey hair, stern face, and an uneasy
self-conscious look in her eyes. She had charge of the
waist lining. She kept her girls about her in a group
and her face never relaxed for a moment to any of them.
The youngest had charge of the waists. She was small
and pretty and I never heard her speak harshly to a girl.
The middle sister was Madame K. She was good looking
and she had a tall, slender, pretty form. When she came

284  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
into the room all the heads bent lower over their work.
It was then that the uneasy self-conscious look came into
the grey sister's eyes. Yet I did not think Madame K.
unkind. She was the only one who, it seemed to me,
understood how really difficult for me was the work I
was doing. While she was often impatient and spoke
harshly she was also sometimes kind. After I had worked
a couple of weeks I asked her whether I was doing any
better ; I was anxious that she should not be the loser by
having kept me. "Why, yes," she said in her brisk man
ner. Then she looked at me and her busy fingers, which
were draping a piece of silk, stopped for a moment.
Madame K. rarely took time to look at any one. "Why,"
she said, "you are a queer little thing!" She said it as
if she were seeing me. for the first time.
Her admitting that I was doing better meant much
to me. It helped me keep the job as long as I did, for
I had to put up with hardship and a great deal of hu
miliation. I missed the congenial spirit of our Uttle
Settlement shop, all for one and one for all. Here it was
more as in the sweatshop, each one for himself. I had
not made friends with any of the girls. All but one of
them were Americans. When I made blunders they
could only stare at me, and I thought them proud and
unkind. This one girl was Irish and when I had leamed
to understand her and her brogue I liked her. She
worked on the skirts and she often came into the stock
room to baste on a large table that stood there. She kept
her book of measurements open before her. I glanced at
it curiously one day. "Do you know how to write these?"
She caught me up.
"Not these things," I pointed to the fractions.
"Well, you better learn," she said. "One of these days

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 285
Madame will call you into the fitting room to write the
measurements, and if you don't know how  "
That day I spent the half hour lunch period writing
fractions. It was in this way that I liked best to learn
because I could see the use for the thing I was learning.
Of the greatest interest to me here perhaps were the
garments. From these I tried to get an idea of the
wealth in the world and the lives of the wealthy people.
As light and as flimsy as some of these garments were,
their expensiveness was evident and suggested to my
imagination heaps of gold coins. Everything seemed an
occasion for the wealthy and there was a garment for
each occasion, a dinner gown, a tea gown, a morning
gown, an aftemoon gown, an evening gown, an opera
gown, a ball gown, a street gown. Some of the cus
tomers fitted two and three at a time. When did they
wear them all? What else did they do beside attending
balls and dinners?
At fitting time it was my part to take the garment
from the girls and carry it into the fitting room to Ma
dame K. So I soon began to know many of the cus
tomers by sight. Their looks and bearing did not sug
gest simple homes. I pictured mansions and hosts of
servants. My reading helped me in the picture making.
Lrhe stock room was a little dark room that served
also as a passage between the work room and the fitting
rooms. A heavy portiere hung at one door, hiding the
work room from the fitting room. Looking into these
two different rooms was Uke looking into two different
worlds. In one, the work room, the girls sat with their
heads bent, muscles tense, faces dull or absorbed, stitch
ing silently. Here it was always silent, for either one
of the sisters was always there, or both. The faces and
the clothes of the girls suggested their life, the life that

286 OUT OF THE SHADOW
I knew. In the other room, through the portiere, many
hours of the day one woman or another would be stand
ing before the long mirrors gazing at herself. Beside
her Madame K. kneeled with the long train of her black
silk dress spread behind her on the green carpet. Here
there was always a light babbling which I could not help
overhearing. There were often little bursts of con
fidences. "I know I looked well last night, because the
women were asking me whether I was not growing fat."
Usually it was on clothes. "Yes, I like my hat and it was
a bargain this time. It was only sixty-four dollars  "
"Sixty-four dollars! — ^Father would have to work six
weeks for sixty dollars. I received four dollars a week."
It came quite natural to figure it so. But I felt no envy
and no resentment.3
I worked here until Christmas or rather over Christ
mas. Christmas Eve two of the girls had to stay over
time to finish a gown. That night I sat in the little
darkened stock room and waited to pack it; downstairs
I knew the coloured man was waiting to deliver it. From
where I sat I could see the whole workroom, dark except
for the one comer where the two girls sat bending over
the white satin gown between them. One of the girls was
weeping. I had often thought her proud, but now she did
not look a bit proud, she looked so human and loveable.
Tears were running down her Uttle straight nose. When
ever the tears came she would turn away a little that
they might not fall on the small pink roses she was stitch
ing on to the hem. She reminded me of the many times
I had been felling sleeve lining until late at night after
the other workers were gone.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 287

LX
And now I went to the factory to make use of the
trade I learned in the Settlement shop. An O'Ther
found me a place. I learned that to find a job it was not
necessary to go from factory to factory. Instead you
read the advertisements in the newspapers. And strange
enough, the printed names and addresses turned out to
be of "real people." An O'Ther, who came with me,
inquired for me. Yes, shirt waist makers were wanted,
and I was "taken on."
I followed a forewoman through long aisles of sew
ing machines till she placed me at a machine in the middle
of the loft and showed me how to work the treadle. It
was run by steam power. I pressed my foot, there was
a terrific noise, and I did not hear the forewoman go.
Then something made me tum my head and I looked up
and found her standing at my machine. So it was all
day. She brought me a bundle of work and told me to
make up a sample waist.
I worked very carefully. I measured the centrepiece
with a tape measure I brought. I made dainty French
seams and stitched with a small round stitch. I felt
confident In our little Settlement shop I had worked
on silks, French flannels and fine chambray. This was
ordinary material.
Shortly before noon I finished the waist I was not
mistaken. The forewoman looked pleased as she ex
amined it. She turned to me. "This is beautiful !" she
said. "But, my dear girl, working like this you won't
earn your salt. Do you know what these waists pay?"

288 OUT OF THE SHADOW
I shook my head. "A dollar and a quarter a dozen." I
was dumb with surprise. She looked at me a moment.
"What you need," she said, "is speed! I'U show you
how to work !" I rose and she sat down at the machine.
She lengthened the stitch to three times the size, her
back bent over, her eyes fastened on the machine, her
hands flew, and the machine whirred. She seemed to
become one with it. I remembered this picture later.
It was the typical picture of a sewing machine operator.
I worked a few days, then I was sent away. I was not
worth the machine and space I occupied. In my place
they could have a woman turning out a dozen and a half
waists a day. So now I went from factory to factory
trying to acquire speed. I worked a day here, a few days
there, till they found me out. Ut is as hard to become a
botcher as a good worker and I was often discouraged
and despondent. The thought, "What is it all about —
what is it for?" came rather often. To tum out a good
piece of work had been a satisfaction. Its place now
was taken by : "How many more waists can I do to-day
than yesterday?" But how long can this kind of thing
satisfy one?^
At last I came to the immense shirt waist factory
of F. Brothers. Here I had applied as a tucker in the
hope that by specialising I would do better. The fore
woman soon noticed, no doubt, that I was not a tucker
and needing "a hand" on one of her special machines,
she asked me if I would like to try it and told me its
merits. A "hand" who could earn a good day's wages
would have hesitated to accept. But what had I to lose ?
I had not yet earned three dollars a week as a shirt waist
maker. If I had not had my people and my home, where
would I have been now? And besides, I was always
eager for new experiences. It turned out to be an eight

OUT OF THE SHADOW 289
needle tucking machine. I was at once delighted and
fascinated by it. A machine that could make eight
tucks in almost the time that it took to make one ! The
strain on my eyes was terrific. I had to watch eight
needles instead of one, but then, I told myself, I would
earn several times more than I would have otherwise!
"What a wonderful inventor! What a wonderful ma
chine !" I soon leamed, however, that I was paid no more
than if I were making one tuck !
But the machine continued to interest me, and I was
doing here better than I had yet done. So when there
was an opening I brought my sister and settled myself
down to stay. Sister was put to make shirt waists at
the extreme end of the block long loft and I in a group
of several other eight and five needle tuckers, stood in the
middle of it And now aU day long I sat feeding white
lawn and eight pin tucks came out All day hundreds of
yards of lawn slipped over my table and fell into a large
basket. At first I dared not lift my eyes from the
needles. In the evening my eyes smarted and my back
ached. But when I learned to understand my machine I
did not have to watch so closely. I could tell by the
sound it made when a needle grew dull, when a thread
broke, when a stitch sUpped. Every different trouble
made its own different sound. And as I watched my ma
chine from day to day it seemed to me like a human being.
When I did not take care of it, oil it, clean it, it did not
work properly. I began to love my machine and in my
mind I called it my partiier because it helped me to earn
my six dollars.
We were piece workers. Some of the girls who could
work without Ufting their eyes earned more than six
dollars. That was how my sister worked. But I could
not do that! Indeed, I did not want to. I did not want

290  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
to become like my machine. So while I fed it the lawn
I listened, and looked about a Uttle and thought over
what I saw. From where I sat I could see the whole
floor from end to end. I saw hundreds and hundreds
of girls bending, over sewing machines. The floor vi
brated, beat steadily like a pulse with the steam power.
The air was filled with the whirr. I had to keep my head
low to distinguish the noise of my own machine and we
girls shouted and watched each other's lips when we
talked. But we did not talk much! Right in front of
me at a big table stood a large stout woman with a red
handsome face. She was the head forewoman. All
day long she stood or sat at the table draughting pat
terns, drinking beer with her head bent under the table,
and watching us. There were also assistant forewomen,
and foremen and assistant foremen, and superintendents
and assistant superintendents. They were all watching
us. The "bosses" we only saw once a day pass through
the aisles. One was round shouldered with a Uttle black
beard and a cross eye. He walked through quickly with
his head bent and a preoccupied look on his face. The
other boss was straight and tall and he wore a grey
French beard. He walked leisurely with his head in the
air and looked about.
One day we heard that one of our bosses had gone to
Europe. When after some months he retumed to the
factory there was a celebration. The steam power was
tumed off and the assistant forewomen announced that
downstairs in the salesrooms there was cake and wine
and music. But few besides the forewomen went down.
We remained sitting at our machines talking to each
other. Our own voices sounded strange to us in the quiet
and we felt self-conscious.
Soon the forewomen retumed and each one of us

OUT OF THE SHADOW 291
re<;eived a sealed little envelope with her number on it.
We were all called here by the numbers of our machines.
My njachine and I were 93.
In the Uttle envelope each one of us three hundred
employes found a littie trinket in Roman gold.
When the head forewoman retumed her face was
redder than usual and beaming with joy. She had re
ceived a curiously made ivory cross. She called us to
her table and showed it to us. She raised her hand for
attention and we all pressed to the table. She cried, "It
is no wonder they are so prosperous. They are so good
to us ! God is blessing them !" Some of the girls looked
at her in bewilderment and listened doubtfully. The year
before, two weeks after the gifts had been received, the
prices had been cut, a quarter of a cent on a yard of
hemstitching, five cents on a hundred yards of tucking,
twenty-five cents on a dozen waists.

292 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LXI
I was eighteen when I met L. V. I had come home
from work, had supper, and sat on the stoop looking into
the street when suddenly a small dog jumped into my
lap. I stood up so quickly that he fell like a bundle at my
feet. Then I saw that he was on a chain and tugging at
the end of it was a small, dark young man. He slapped
the little dog. "I am so sorry !" he said. I saw that his
eyes were not serious. I said I was all right. I brashed
my skirt and sat down again, and he raised his hat and
led the little dog away.
The little animal I knew belonged to our neighbour
in the front, a middle-aged, childless woman who repaired
wigs for her living. "Who was the young man ?" None
of our men raised their hats like that and from the few
words of English he had spoken I understood that he was
not only an American but a person of education.
He came back in a few minutes and stopped near the
stoop and I knew that he would talk to me and I sat
there. The dog soon made it possible. He kept pulling
at the chain toward me. I had sometimes stopped to pat
him. "Does he know you?" the young man asked. I
said, "Yes." So we began to talk. He told me that
he had come from Chicago to visit his aunt.
The next evening when I came out on the stoop he too
soon came and again I let him talk to me. I had never
before spoken to a young man to whom I had not been
introduced. Yet this seemed all right and I spoke to him
as if I were in my own house. To the house I did not ask
him. It was nothing unusual to receive "company" on
the street. In fact it was often the only place. It was

OUT OF THE SHADOW

293

hard to entertain guests in the one room. For the little
dark bedroom was filled with clothing and folding cots
and the extra bedding and other things, and the little
dark hole of a kitchen was out of the question. So
there was really only the one room. And this was the
living room of seven of us. Here we slept, and washed,
and dressed, and ate. We had to make great prepara
tions to receive a stranger. Now it was not as when
we were little. We felt conscious of the inevitable dirt
and the dinginess and the broken up fumiture and felt
ashamed. So we met on the stoop. L. V. told me he had been to
many places. And I was proud to tell him what I knew
of life outside of Cherry Street. I told him of the
people and White Birch Farm. He showed surprise
to meet any one here who knew anything outside of
the old customs. Our common knowledge outside of
here was at once like a relationship between us and
seemed to separate us a Uttle from the rest.
My parents saw me talking to the young man and
they smiled at each other. The aunt also saw. Then
one day I noticed that my mother was no longer smiling
and she told me that L. V.'s aunt felt it her duty to
tell us about her nephew. "He was really not a bad
young man, but he got in with the Christians, with the
missioners!" the aunt explained. At this my heart be
gan to beat so quickly that it pained. I felt a foreboding
of coming trouble. Soon I leamed that L. V. was bap
tised and that the missionaries were training him for
their own profession.
By now L. V. was coming into the house and I con
tinued to see him as before. But to my parents now
there was aU the difference in the world. A Jew who
forsook his own religion, his own people, was worse

294  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
than a Gentile, worse than a heathen. He was an "apos
tate." He was a disgrace! Supposing the neighbours
learned who the young man was; that their daughter
went about with an outcast ! For he who forsook Judaism
for another religion belonged nowhere. He may be bap
tised a thousand times to the Christian he is still "The
Jew" and his own people can only pray to God to have
pity on him. [if, then, it should become known that their
daughter associated with a "meshumad" (apostate), the
whole family would be disgraced. And what would her
chance of marriage be ! And marriage was all important.
As a specimen of a daughter I was a disappointment
First there had been the illness, then disobedience and
queer notions, and what kind of an influence was I for
the children? Clearly, then, it would be a blessing if I
were married. And then, too, I was already eighteen.
And it was really high time, the two younger girls were
coming up very fast/}
As to myself, I felt bewildered. Between my parents
and the young man and my own feelings and ideas which
seemed all tangled up, I could not easily distinguish one
thing from another. To break friendship because his
ideas happened to be different seemed narrow-minded.
And I did not want to be narrow-minded. I also felt
that my parents must allow me to judge for myself.
And they must trast me. But they would do neither.
Father, as of old, wanted me to submit to him in the old
custom. His opposition antagonised me now more than
ever. I fought against him with all my strength. Mother
hinted that I drop the acquaintance with L. V. but I
ignored it Father commanded and I refused. Of
course, they could do nothing. They even had to smile
that neighbours might not guess. But what trouble tiiere
was within our four walls!

OUT OF THE SHADOW 295
In the meantime I learned to know L. V. better and
better. He talked religion just as the woman missionary
in the hospital had talked. It sounded like a lesson
leamt by heart. Then, too, there was a certain lightness
about everything he said. Always the eyes lacked seri
ousness and the lips almost smiled as if Ufe were a joke.
I felt dreadfully troubled.
One Saturday he came to our house with a young
man friend of his and introduced him. I little thought
that day to what his introduction would lead later.
It was late in the afternoon and our candlesticks which,
we placed on the table Friday night still stood there. We
would not touch them until it grew dark and at least
three stars were out. Only the very orthodox Jews
observe this custom. But in our house father made us all
observe it, no matter what other customs were neglected.
L. V.'s friend noticed it with surprise. He said he had
not been to such a strictly orthodox looking house since
he had come to this country ten years before. I could
see that he looked at us all with pity. Knowing L. V.'s
ideas on reUgion, he understood what trouble we were
all in.
I had never seen L. V. before with other people except
with those of my own family. He and his friend dis
cussed politics and religion. And I sat and listened and
watched them. They were so different. L. V., as always,
spoke jestingly about everything. The friend was seri
ous, yet he could jest too. He was very outspoken, al
most blunt I liked him.
When they were gone mother looked at me with her
pleading eyes and said, "Now, do you see the difference ?"
Something within me seemed to harden in a moment.
And I said, "No, I can't see any difference."
What would have happened I cannot tell, but he

296 OUT OF THE SHADOW
soon left for Chicago to prepare to go to a theological
seminary out West and we began to correspond. And
now an unexpected joy came into my life. Writing!
And here again, as with the other things that I had
learned, it seemed accidental. It is to this correspondence
that I owe a great deal of what I learned of writing in
English. With the help of the children I could read and
write script myself now. All day long then at the ma
chine, I thought over what I would say, and looked for
ward to the evening when I could write This to me
was not like writing a sentence which no one would ever
see. The thought that what I wrote would be read and
weighed and thought about filled me with excitement.
So I wrote and re-wrote my letters using up a great deal
of paper. Months passed, and one day I was filled with
joy and pride. I realised quite suddenly that I had
leamed to read and write well enough to do the corre
sponding myself.
In the spring L. V. retumed to the city to start West.
One day he told me that he loved me and asked me to
wait for him two years. I thought of my parents and
I could not help weeping at the suffering I must cause
them. But I also thought it right for me to do what
I thought was right. I saw my life so empty without
the letters. "Surely, that was love." And I promised to
wait. He went away and again he began to correspond.
How joyfully I greeted the first letter that came! I
knew and loved every line and curve of the simple, clear
handwriting. I spent a great deal of time in copying
the phrases that pleased me. I gave these letters most
of my time and thought I almost Uved for them.
In his letters, L. V. sometimes told me of boyish
escapades, flirtations, but as long as letters came noth-

OUT OF THE SHADOW 297
ing mattered.^ Sometimes when I thought it over it
seemed queer that it did not matter. CSometimes, too, I
tried to think of myself married, but I could not picture
myself married to him or any one else. I liked the com
panionship of men, but the thought of marriage often
filled me with fear, even with disgust. So the sweatshop
left its mark. 3

298 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LXII
Father felt relieved when L. V. was gone. Upon
the correspondence he chose to look as "nonsense." He
thought if he showed he looked upon it — ^the correspond
ence and the promise to wait — as nonsense, it would
soon, in my mind too, be "nonsense," and come to noth
ing. But it was not at all so. I arranged my Ufe now, or
it arranged itself, in some sort of a systematic way.
This was the end of June; I soon left for White Birch
Farm. Since that first summer I continued to go there
every summer though my health was better now. I had
many little responsibilities there by now, and both Irene
and I felt a part of the place, and it was so that we were
looked upon by the doctor and Miss Farly. Not to go
there now that I was well never occurred to me. I even
thought that it was fortunate for my people that I could
go. Since I was no comfort to them, the less I was
home the better. And as for me, the very thought of
that sweet, quiet life out there was a joy.
When winter came I went back to my tucking machine.
In the evening I wrote my letters and read a good deal.
I went out little. I wanted passionately to be "true."
On a Sunday or an evening during the week I would
go to see An O'Ther, who lived in Brooklyn. I would
walk to and across the bridge thinking over all I wanted
to talk to her about But often when I came near the
little house my courage failed me. I was in constant
fear of meeting strangers, and I would turn and walk
back. One night what I feared happened.
Once when I came and she opened the door for me, I

OUT OF THE SHADOW 299
heard voices, laughing and tallying. I wanted at once to
run away. I knew that some of the girls who were visit
ing her were teachers, and some were still attending
normal college. I thought. What have I in common with
them ? What can I say to them ? What can they have to
say to me? And I mumbled that now that I had seen her
I would go home. She looked at me, and there was a
twinkle in her eyes. I could never hide anything from
her. The next moment she begged me earnestly to meet
the girls.
"Stay and make friends of them."
And I begged her, "Not yet, wait till I leam a Uttle
more." "But they too will be learning," she said. "Do you
suppose they will stand still ? Come, you will leam from
them. And, Ruth, you too might have something to
teach them."
The next moment she opened the door. "Meet my
friend," she said, and I saw five girls of about my own
age stand up. Through the years each one has become
so dear to me, and I do not know where to begin and
what to say. I can tell of that first evening only. I
did not get their names, but in the course of the evening
each one did something different and it was so that I
remembered them later. Three of the girls were sisters;
the eldest, an athletic-looking girl, with a wealth of
brown hair and a hearty laugh, played the piano. The
next sister, who bubbled with enthusiasm, sang Scotch
songs and the youngest, with fine dark eyes and her hair
still in a braid, read aloud from "Margaret Ogilvy" by
J. M. Barrie. The fourth girl had a sweet voice and sang
German songs. And the fifth, a quiet girl, would every
now and then say something in her quiet way and there
would be a burst of laughter. But they did not perform,

300 OUT OF THE SHADOW 
all evening. They also talked. They t^ed about the
theatre, the opera (foreign language to me). They
talked about school and coUege. The labour champion
was there, they talked about labour. There seemed to
be no end to their knowledge and their plans. They even
tallq^d in a dreamy way about taking a trip to Europe
when all the girls should graduate and earn money. An
O'Ther was with them in all their dreams and her white-
haired mother was as young as the rest
After this the girls would hunt me up and make me
join them. One of the sisters helped me to a little
more systematic study.
Besides these girls there were my old friends, the
women I met through the hospital, whom I would visit.
Most of them were unhappy in some way or another,
and tried to forget. They and their lives still fascinated
me. There was one who lived in one of the most beauti
ful homes there are in the city. She gave me the New
Testament, which I still have, and would talk to me of
the "Simple Life."
There was another, a very charming woman. I used
to hear her friends say of her with a great show of
enthusiasm: "Those big rough men at the church are
like putty in her hands." She felt she knew the
working people's lives. Yet she used to invite me to
come and see her at the queerest hour, six o'clock, when
I would be coming from work. I could no longer listen
without criticism, and it was often hard to go from their
homes to my own.
But there was one whom I loved to visit. She was
twenty-five, and she was a mixture of three different
nationalities, German, French and American. She was
so good and so beautiful that it seemed she inherited only
the best qualities of the three nations. She showed

OUT OF THE SHADOW 301
frankly that she knew nothing about the working people
and that she was curious. She could never stop wonder
ing at my going "out alone at night. She had never been
out without a chaperon. She would often urge me to
put on a veil.
"At least," she once said, "put it on when you come to
your own neighbourhood." ?
I laughed at her and assured her that I was safer in
my own neighbourhood than in hers.
"In your neighbourhood," I said, "there are so few
people in the street and the houses stand so dark and
still." To her, I, too, would talk frankly. And we often got
into arguments. She defended her people and I defended
mine. She talked of refinement and culture. I was at
a loss. What was refinement and culture? She ex
plained to me simply, "When for generations you live
in a beautiful home, you are surrounded by beautiful
pictures, you listen to beautiful music, you eat good food,
you are taken care of. Do you see?"
I said that I saw, but It was aU so puzzling.
C"It seems to me," I said, "that when a man, my father,
works all day long, he ought to have a beautiful home, he
ought to have good food, he too ought to get a chance
to appreciate beautiful music. All day my father is mak
ing coats yet his own is so shabby, and my mother, if you
ever saw her hands! Why should she know of nothing
but scrabbing and scrimping? Why should her children
go without an education?" J
Then her pretty forehead would pucker up; she moved
closer to me, if we were on the couch, her hand would
clasp mine.
"Yes, it does seem so," she would say thoughtfully.
So a part of the two years passed on. But father re-

302  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
alized that I had not the least intention of dropping the
correspondence and he felt ill treated and became bit
ter. "Good God, was it possible that the girl meant to
keep up that nonsense?" He commanded me to drop
writing the letters. I refused, and our troubles began
once more. Now he fairly burnt me with his anger
andll thought him cruel and was more relieved than
ever when summer came and I could escape to the
country. Father hated to see me go there. He was
in constant fear that I would forget whatever little there
was in me that bound me to my race.
And this year, it was the second, my father whom
I remembered so gentle, cursed me as I was leav
ing and I went from home without a word of fare
well to him. Mother ran after me into the hall.
She suffered more than any of us from these rup
tures. She begged me not to leave my father with
out a kind word. But I would not even look back.
She turned back into the house weeping and I went
into a strange hallway and wept too at all our mis
ery. When I returned home in the autumn I could not hold
out against father, and I finally had to give up the letters,
but of L. V. I heard through a friend. What those let
ters really meant to me I only now understood.
C The letters out of the way, father gave me a few
weeks to forget and then began to consult matchmakers.
Several nights a week now on coming home from work
I would find a matchmaker and a young man. Father
no longer kept a secret my friendship with L. V. He
was in terror about it. He began to consult friends and
relatives and they all seemed to combine against me.
Wherever I went to visit now I was sure to find a young
man, and the relative or friend acting as matchmaker.

IT WAS A ONE-WINDOW STORE.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW 303
The younger and seemingly more enlightened friends
would argue. "What are you waiting for? You are
wasting your best years. You are losing your best
chances." A lawyer we knew, who married money to
establish an office, said, "There is no love!" And still
others spoke with pity. "You are chasing after a
shadow! This is not the age for religion. The young
man is a mercenary, he is not sincere, he is being sup
ported by missionaries. He is selling^his soul for an
easy Ufe! There are others like him. "J
And father would demand, "What do you want any
way? The young man you saw last night is worthy ten
of your kind, with your queer notions. He has fifty
tailors working for him. He will give you a home with
carpet on the floor, a servant and a piano."
I would answer, "I promised to wait."
L But sometimes there were moments when I was tempt
ed. A home! A piano! But was this all I wanted?
And what was love? Now I knew that I still did not
know.j With all my troubles I went to An O'Ther whom I
gave my every thought, and she even in her affection
never failed to tell me the truth. These moments were
always painful to both of us, for I was so often wrong.
One night in the spring when I came to her — it was
the end of the second year, and I was complaining of the
old life and customs and father's treatment — I suddenly
noticed that she was all upset and I stopped talking quite
abraptly. I suddenly felt guilty and uneasy without
knowing why.
"You are always complaining about your father," she
said, "his selfishness, his narrow-mindedness, his hard
ness. And soon summer will come and you will go away
to the country. Every summer, no matter where you are.

304  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
what you are doing, you leave your work and you go
away while the rest remain here sweating. Do you give
a thought how your family lives here without your help?"
I felt horrified. I never saw it in that way before.
She went on.
"You say he is scrimping, he demands your board
whether you work the week or not; he lives for money.
One has to live for something. His ideas? Right or
wrong, according to him, you have been a disappoint
ment He had placed all his hopes in you, his oldest
daughter. Who knows what this disappointment may
have meant to him?"
So I gave up White Birch Farm. At first life seemed
hardly worth living. All day now lost in the clattering
noise of the machine there was nothing to which to look
forward. Now it would always be so, feeding, feeding
the machine. And then the night. The nights were the
worst. I had forgotten what it was like in the hot summer.
There were five of us, the two boys in one cot and we
three girls in the other, in the one room filled with the
odour of cooking, of kerosene oil, the smell of grimy
clothes, of stale perspiration, the heat of the body; at
first as I lay with my two sisters in the sagging cot, with
an unconscious limb of one or the other thrown over me,
I wept. Then I thought. Why need it be so? Why?
And later little by Uttle I became used to it and at my
machine I would Uve certain moments in the country
over again. I would imagine myself in the grove. I
heard the children's voices. Under the trees were tihe
red and green benches I had helped to make. I walked
down to the brook and sat on the rock from which I used
to dive and Usten to the quiet I smelt the grasses grow
ing on the edge; I felt tiie cool, moist air on my face.

OUT OF THE SHADOW 305
I sat perfectly still. From far out came a familiar shrill,
cheerful call "Bob-White !" And I was not so unhappy.
I saw that I could still visit White Birch Farm. I was
helping my people and my friend's approval meant much
to me.
In August it was slack in our shop. It was slack in all
trades. An O'Ther urged that I deserved a vacation,
so I packed a few things and went to White Birch Farm,
and was heartily welcomed. Again I was in my little
room with the pale, blue walls and the window looking
into the green trees. Again I played with the children
in the shade of the grove. I bathed in the brook, I
wandered about in the fields. But what was it ? I could
not find the joy of the other years. Wherever I looked
I seemed to see Cherry Street. I could not shut it out.
I saw the children on the hot and none-too-clean side
walks, the fire escapes littered with bedclothes, overheat
ed sickly infants, tired out women. The sight of the
beautiful green fields irritated me. And I went home in
spite of An O'Ther's letter urging me to stay, of the
forewoman's letter telling me that there was still no
work, in spite of Miss Early's arguments. I felt strange
ly glad to be home and share the good and the bad with
my people.

3o6 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LXIII
One day in the third year I met L. V.'s friend. I
had seen him twice since the first time he had been in
troduced. Once during the first year he came on receiving
a letter from L. V. asking him to come. Because he was
L. V.'s friend I too looked upon him almost as a friend.
I felt no awkwardness in talking to him. I asked him
that night to come again. But he never came. And I
never saw him until I met him now in the street. I was
so glad, he was L. V.'s friend! To him I could talk
of L. v., whose image was growing more and more
vague in my mind. And the more vague it became the
more I wanted to think and talk of him. His friend
guessed how it was. He watched me curiously, and
smiled as if he were a little amused. We walked about
and we talked. We talked of books we had read. He
was a Russian and he had some education In that lan
guage. English he had picked up in some such way as
a hen gathered food, a crumb here and a crumb there.
He was extremely well read in both Russian and EngUsh.
I asked him to caU. But again I never saw him until
we met once more by accident. And again we walked
and talked all evening. This time, when he was leaving
me at my door, I did not ask him to come and he asked
me quite suddenly in his blunt way, "Why?" I felt
confused and did not know what to answer. He bent
and looked at me and then threw his head back and
laughed. I left him abruptiy and went in. The next
night, to my surprise, he came up to our home! He
stayed all evening and talked to father about his work

OUT OF THE SHADOW 307
and father looked pleasanter than he had been for a
long while.
After this he came often and brought books.
Once almost two weeks passed and he did not come.
Then we met, by accident, as I thought. It seemed to
me he looked thinner and I asked, "Were you ill?"
"Oh, no!" he said, and added, after a moment, with
out looking at me, in his blunt way, "It is just this, I am
not ready to get married."
I stared at him a long minute before the full meaning
dawned on me. I felt my face flush. I was indignant
"So sure is this young man."
He noticed my discomfiture.
"Oh, you know how these things end," he said. "At
least I do," he smiled.
I felt calmer by now and decided to deal with the
young man.
"By aU means this must end, if you feel there is danger
for you. Of course," I assured him, "there is none for
.,, , JJ
me. To my surprise he looked anything but happy, at which
my spirits rose.
"Let us say good night at once," I said cheerfully.
"I see," he said crossly; "you are only too eager."
I laughed and we walked in silence for some moments.
Then an idea occurred to me at which I could not help
laughing. "I have a bright idea," I said; "Let us be friends.
But as soon as one of us feels the least bit of danger
for himself he must teU the other at once."
"That is brilliant," he said in Yiddish, and laughed
too. "But remember if it should be you!"
"I'll tell," I assured him, and laughingly we parted.
And now we saw each other often. We would go to

3o8 OUT OF THE SHADOW
lectures, often we would go for long walks and talk
nonsense. He said I was too serious and teased me until
I had to laugh. X)ne day he asked me to go to the
theatre with him, but of course I would not go. Be
sides, he had once said that women generally liked men
for what they could get from them. I was very touchy
on the subject of my sex and I meant to teach him to
have a different opinion. I would not take anything
from him, at which he looked miserable and I thought
it an excellent punishment and a good lessonTj Then a
time came when he began to demand to know what I
had for supper and would insist on my coming to a
restaurant. He said I looked hungry and I would be
indignant and accuse him of trying to "boss" me. If I
had allowed myself now I would have been happy. But
how could I ? When I thought of L. V. I felt miserable
and guilty. He had not retumed at the end of the second
year. But now it was almost three years and he must
surely soon come. What would I say to him?
When he came I explained as well as I could.
One night in the spring a year later, D. C. and I were
taking a long walk. It was windy and we walked with
our heads a little bent I thought that he scarcely talked,
and he had remarked that I was so silent At ten o'clock
we stood on the stoop before our door. He was still
silent. Suddenly I could not have told what came over
me. I said : "I think our friendship better cease here."
No sooner did I utter the words and he looked at me
than I remembered the agreement we had once made in
jest and I could see that he too remembered it. I felt
panic-stricken. I rashed to the door, pulled it open and
ran through the dark hall, — the gas was already out.
I ran up a flight of stairs and there I stood, panting. The

OUT OF THE SHADOW 309
next moment I heard the door open, a quick footstep in
the hall and my name :
"Ruth!"
I pressed my hand to my heart. He had never called
me Ruth.
"Please come down!" came from the foot of the
stairs. "I can't," I said.
"Just for a moment."
"I can't."
"I want to see your eyes."
"Not to-night."
"To-morrow then?"
"Perhaps.""Good night!"
I found the house dark when I opened the door. From
every corner came quiet breathing. I felt the way to
my cot. Sister, too, was asleep. I sat down beside her,
and sat still. I could almost hear my heart beating.
Then I remembered that sister once wondered how it
felt to be happy. I touched her face, "Wake up!" I
wanted to tell her that I knew.

310 OUT OF THE SHADOW

LXIV
That summer work was slow in father's shop, and as
he had at last saved a hundred dollars he thought, "When
could there be a better opportunity to try business?" So
the fall found us established in two rooms in the back
of a little grocery store and the whole family was bent
on making a success. Sister was behind the counter, as
she was the most competent and modem and really
showed a knack for the business and father and mother
did the rougher work and looked on. Now it was nec
essary and they must IfiaaBe-tirc-motferB-j^ays, learn from
the children. Father shook his headlifthisSadly, "What
a strange world !" he said.
At first the pennies came in so slowly that there was
great fear for the long saved hundred dollars. But Uttle
by littie business began to improve. Indeed, how could
it be otherwise? Sister, who was so good and kind and
sweet tempered, would wait on a Uttle girl buying two
cents' worth of milk with a courtesy as if she were buy
ing a dollar's worth. And father and mother and the
younger girl and boy would, any of them, climb five
flights of stairs at six o'clock in the moming with five
cents' worth of rolls for a customer who bought nothing
else. So trade was coming their way. The store soon
became one of the most successful in the neighbourhood,
and sister became very popular. The women told her
their troubles, the children saved their pennies in her
care. When she would pass through the block, from
everywhere children would come dancing up to her, call
ing her name and greeting her affectionately. Every one
loved and trusted her.

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  311
But there was one trouble about this store. It threat
ened to absorb her whole life. As neither father nor
mother could write or keep accounts she was completely
tied down to the store. Father, who was happy to be
making a living independent of the tailor shop, found
it hard to see how she should care for anjrthing else but
the store. Nevertheless he began to leam how to write.
Of an evening then, when business would be slow, he
would sit down at the counter with pencil and paper
and try to copy the letters or numbers we would write
out for him. After poring over his slip of paper for a
while he would look up, his forehead covered with per
spiration. Then he would lay down his pencil to rest
his stiffened fingers and sigh, "It is hard to leam at my
age, children, it is hard to leam."
The boy, nineteen years old now, the one who had once
dreamt of becoming a great Rabbi, was not in the store.
He was bringing home the laurels.
Though he was earnest and studious, at thirteen he
stiU had two years of public school ahead of him, since
he had begun late and what education he had was foreign.
So, as he was of an extremely independent nature, and
also perhaps because he wanted to see something of the
world, he had made a great plea to be allowed to go to
an agricultural school instead. There, he heard, he could
finish his elementary education and earn his living by
working in the fields after school hours and at the same
time leam a trade. He would be an agriculturalist. And
it was from that school that he graduated two years
later. He was placed by the school with a Gentile farmer.
It was Passover and he thought of home and felt lonely
and strange. And one day he walked off to the station,
carrying his little trank on his shoulder — ^both were very

312  OUT OF THE SHADOW 
small, the trunk and the boy — ^and for the present this was
the end of farming.
After this he worked as a grocery boy, a drug store
boy, a boy at a newsstand, a delivery boy on Wanamak-
er's wagons and through it all he had his troubles. He
was so honest and outspoken that as he went along he
made as many enemies as friends. Above all he dis
liked pity and patronage. One day while working on Mr.
Wanamaker's wagon he delivered a ninety-eight cent
parcel. The woman who received it at the door gave
him a dollar and told him to keep the change. He said,
a little huffily, I imagine, that he did not take "tips" and
held out the two cents. She looked him up and down
and shut the door in his face. So he laid the two pen
nies at her door and went away. Two days later there
was a complaint of discourtesy against him and he was
discharged. Because of his independence he was often in trouble
but he managed somehow. He paid a certain amount
into the house and the rest he saved always for some
purpose of study. He often got into debt to the house
but as soon as he would get work he would pay scrupu
lously every cent.
During an interval of out of work he had leamed
bookkeeping and typewriting and this was his work now.
While doing this he was also making Regents counts.
And it was at this time that he took a Civil Service exam
ination and was appointed clerk in the Bureau of Educa
tion in Washington. His dream was to earn enough
money to go to Columbia University.
(_ He realised his dream, and it was while in his last year
at the university that he won the second prize in the
"Worid Work" contest on "What the School Will Do
for the Boy of To-morrow." From the material side this

 OUT OF THE SHADOW  313
money came now as if in answer to his great need. He
had nothing with which to pay his last year's tuition, and
he was worried and discouraged. But far greater than
the value of this money was tihe honour, for so we felt it
to be. Mother had tears in her eyes. Her boy was at
the great university! Her boy's article was valued sec
ond to that of a superintendent of Industrial Schools!
And father looked on at us silently unbelieving; then he
said, "Ah! After all this is America.",_i

3 9002 00468 6433 ^

»•'"., ?¦'

*

s -

' .> >

r

1

i 1.
{-
t
-^,
I
.1 i
U IM