It was the girl who knelt by the grave, the tears streaming down her cheeks, but what she said none heard. Cherry Bim, holding his hat crown outward across his breast, produced the kind of face which he thought adequate to the occasion; and, after the party had left the spot, he stayed behind. He rejoined them after a few minutes, and he was putting away his pocket-knife as he ran.
"Sorry to keep you, ladies and gents," he said, "but I am a sentimental man in certain matters. I always have been and always shall be."
"What were you doing?" asked Malcolm, as the car bumped along.
Cherry Bim cleared his throat and seemed embarrassed.
"Well, to tell you the truth," he said. "I made a little cross and stuck it over his head."
"But" began Malcolm, and the girl's hand closed his mouth.
"Thank you, Mr. Bim," she said. "It was very, very kind of you."
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" asked Cherry in alarm.
"Nothing wrong at all," said the girl gently.
That cross over the grave of the Jew was to give them a day's respite. Israel Kensky had left behind him in the place where he fell a fur hat bearing his name. From the quantity of blood
