city women in the winning of the Titan struggle.

Perhaps in no French town is this so evident as in Marseilles. There upon the Cannebière, amidst the hurly-burly of the trams and troops and drays; amidst all the foreign crowds that pour in and out the city's gates, the sailor folk that line the quays, darkskinned, yellow-skinned, turbaned, strangely pantalooned-there upon that broad and teeming boulevard that leads downward from the shadows of the Allées de Meilhan to the Vieux Port, with its masts and sails and old-time bowsprits, the women never rest. The shops that still are open are kept by women, for many have been closed, awaiting the

tricians, repairing the arc lamps; others, painters, carpenters, and joiners, work with brush and saw and' hammer. Jills there are of all trades. In the market-places all are skirted folk. Down by the wharves, however, the work of women is seen most clearly. There by the long stone stretches of the quays, where ships from all the world load and discharge their troops and cargoes, the call of war on France's men is tellingly revealed. where once only French longshoremen could be seen, foreigners and women now abound. With mobile bodies, with faces, blouses, trousers, soiled and streaked with dust and perspiration, the women bend and swing and lift and haul and shovel. Beneath their hands the mounds of boxes, bags, and crates, the coal, drop into the yawning hulls, or, heaped upon the waiting drays, make off into the city.

return of men. In the cafés women serve the tables, serve the ever-crowding hosts of soldiers that throughout the war have replaced the dusky beauties of Provence who once with blackbearded escorts thronged the Cannebière. Women run the trams. The huge two-wheeled carts typical of Marseilles at least those that are left of them- are driven by the women. With axles creaking, the cumbrous drays, laden with sacks and vats and barrels from the wharves, follow their tandemharnessed horses. Ahead, beside the animals, the women run, swirling their long whips, crying out with all the gusto of the departed men. Girls sell papers. "Le Soleil!" they keep shouting shrilly, "Le Radical!" waving last editions in the air. Figures in short skirts, women in flapping trousers, bear giant loads upon their heads, carry kits of tools, long ladders. Some are elec

As you look upon the women, their ceaseless bending, lifting, straining, the brutality, the cruelty of war, presses close upon you. Why, you keep repeating, has not man yet found the way of living in the world in peace? Why did it have to be that the multitudes of France's manhood, the multitudes of strong young manhood of many lands, were called from work of ships and fields and cities, from work of normal happy lives, to be flung into the caldron of the trenches? Why did it have to be that women, surely not born for industrial toil, were summoned to give their men to battle, and with bleeding hearts to take upon themselves the work of men?

T

HE morning after the fair all was gladness in the home of Mirke. In the first place, Mirke had made no fewer than fifteen silver rubles in her shop on the day before. Secondly, and this was indeed a stroke of fortune,-a sweetheart had been found for Leah.

As Leah stood in the shop, helping her mother because of the increased patronage brought by the fair, she suddenly caught sight of lame Gedaliah passing by in the company of a young man; both of them stopped to look at her. Her heart gave a terrible thump, and the little shovel filled with salt fell out of her fingers. Lame Gedaliah was a secondhand merchant, a fellow who made his living chiefly by converting second-hand clothes into new garments, turning them inside out, and by sewing new suits for the children out of their parent's castoff clothes. But he conducted another business on the side, match-making. This was why Leah's heart pounded excitedly when she noticed Gedaliah and the young man casting eyes upon her. They walked on, but soon returned. All at once it dawned upon Leah that they were headed for her mother's shop. Her face flamed, and she glided over to her mother, sobbing out, "Oy, Mama, I'm dressed like a slob!" Mirke, who happened to be busy with a peasant customer, was startled out of her wits.

"What's the good news, Reb Gedaliah?" Meanwhile she stole a glance at the youth, and continued in even more cordial fashion:

"My little Leah, blessings upon her! is helping me out to-day. I tell you, she has golden, fairy fingers. May no evil eye gaze upon her; she's the most industrious creature in the world. I thought that she was good only for cooking, washing, sewing, and such: but she's a wonder for business, too; nobody can equal her at it."

"Takes after her mother," responded Gedaliah, grasping his pointed beard in his fist, pulling at it, and smiling, and shaking his head in a manner that Mirke found it very easy to interpret; whereupon she beamed with dazzling radiance.

"The Lord be praised! I need n't be ashamed of my children. You know that, Reb Gedaliah."

Leah stood there in a maze, her cheeks as red as fire. She would gladly have run home, yet something restrained her. She desired to get a good look at the young man, and dared not raise her eyes to look at him furtively.

The youth, tall, broad, and sturdy, with a full, florid, good-natured face, a black little beard, and a thick neck whence it seemed that the very blood was spurting, was dressed in a long cloth coat, with flapping coat-tails, boots, and a white tie over black shirt-front. He glanced at buxom, blooming Leah from the corner of his eye, and it was very evident that she pleased him. He ventured to speak at last in a half-embarrassed tone.

"Do you keep hand-rolled cigarettes?"

"Certainly," Mirke hastened to reply. "Leah my darling, give the gentleman the cigarettes!"

Leah was startled. Cigarettes? She

The young man lighted a cigarette, went out into the street, and stopped near the entrance to the shop, gazing upon the fair.

Gedaliah was left alone with Mirke. "You understand, of course, Mirke, that this is a chance for a match?"

"You don't have to put it into my mouth, Reb Gedaliah."

"it's a blessing from God, I tell you. And he took a liking to your girl at first sight."

Some peasants entered.

Mirke attended to their wants and returned to Gedaliah.

"Reb Gedaliah, my dear man, go over to Mayshe-Itsye; if this should really turn out well, you'll probably catch a good fee."

While this was going on, Leah was in hiding behind a wagon opposite her mother's store, spying upon the young man with a palpitating heart and drinking him in with her eyes. When, somewhat later, Gedaliah issued from the store, she heard him say to the youth: "Don't worry. I'll arrange the match She's a wonderful maiden, a

for you.
blessing from God!"

Within her something shrieked exultantly, "Oh, Mother!" She scurried homeward.

That night after the fair had come to an end Mirke sat wearily in her shop. Her husband Mayshe-Itsye came in.

"Well, was Gedaliah to see you?" queried Mirke, languidly.

"That 's just what I came to talk over with you. Really."

"Yes?"

He told her that the prospective husband was a blacksmith from a near-by village, and had served in the army. As soon as she heard that he had been in the army she declared then and there that a match with a soldier and an or

dinary toiler was out of the question. If he were only a goldsmith or a watchmaker!

"But a watchmaker or a goldsmith would not, in all likelihood, care to enter our family," retorted Mayshe Itsye. "Skilled tradesmen, my little goose, and such folk ask for a large dowry."

"And how big a dowry does he ask?" "A hundred and fifty rubles would satisfy him," answered Mayshe-Itsye.

"A bargain, indeed! Where does he come in for such a sum? A soldier and a blacksmith, and has the impudence to expect one hundred and fifty rubles!" "A hundred and fifty rubles dowry is n't so much for a husband."

"And where are you going to get them?" asked Mirke.

And

"What so you mean, 'where'? where is God, do you think?" he retorted, with devotion in his voice. "For the present we can give him a note, and God will be good. Don't worry. The Lord of the universe has enough to go round for His people of Israel."

"Indeed, if God pleases, He sends fortune. Take this very day, for example. I made fifteen rubles. So let us trust Him to send us a more respectable match, too."

"Well, praised and thanked be God for the good news!" replied MaysheItsye in pious accents. "God is good. I told Leah the same. But she, the wicked creature I slapped her face for her!"

"You slapped Leah? Then may your hands indeed fall off! What do you think that she's one of your Hebrew pupils?" growled Mirke, aggressively.

"Then let her not be so impudent. There I was, telling Gedaliah that a soldier is no match for my daughter, when she interrupts with: 'Yes, a match! What sort of match do you expect, anyway-Rothschild's son? And if your own son is a soldier, must he bury himself on that account?' Did you ever hear such words from a hussy? Such audacity to meddle in our affairs!"

For a few moments Mirke was silent, lost in thought. Then she suddenly exclaimed:

"Really, what have we got to be so proud about? Our own son is a soldier,

and my father was himself a toiler,a cap-maker, and have we reason to be ashamed on that account? Perhaps the match is a predestined one."

"But a blacksmith-soldier," grumbled Mayshe-Itsye.

"Don't be a horse, Mayshe-Itsye. Leah is by no means a young girl. When I was her age I already had almost three hildren."

Mayshe-Ityse heaved a deep sigh. "We-ell, I don't know. Maybe." "How about his family?"

"He has a mother. She came along with him. He also has a cow and a smithy of his own. And brothers in America."

"You don't say! In America?" "In America. Beyond all the seas. Under the earth."

"Do you see? A great many Jews, they say, travel from the four corners of the world to America in these days." "Such notions folks take into their heads!"

"Gedaliah says that everybody there is a Rothschild. They send money to their mothers, five and ten rubles at a time."

"Is that so-o-o? So she has rich sons there? Then it looks as if what I heard in Vitebsk, when I was there a year ago, is true, after all."

"What was that?”

"That in America even the poorest people have meat and rolls to eat every day."

"Goodness!

How can that be?"

At this moment lame Gedaliah happened to enter.

"Don't be too particular, MaysheItsye," he warned. "You 're letting a blessing from God slip through your fingers."

The conclusion was that Mirke asked him to bring the young man and his mother to her house the following morning at ten if God should spare them all until then.

And now, which is to say the morning after the fair, Mirke's house bustled with preparations for receiving the groom and his mother. The place was as tidy as rpon a holiday; the floor was sprinkled with golden sand; the table was decked with a white cloth. Leah had spent the whole night cleaning up.

Mirke was arrayed in Sabbath attire, and had sent little Shlayme to take charge of the shop, with the admonition that he must not in God's name purloin any sweets. On this day MaysheItsye sent his little students back home and put on his Sabbath attire, too. So, too, old Avrom-Layzer. As to Leah, she donned her pink dress, braided a blue ribbon into her red hair, and went about as in a dream. The younger boys, who had no shoes, were given a copeck apiece for candy, and were sent out upon the street to play; the two younger girls also donned their best, and likewise braided ribbons into their hair. At last they came. First, lame Gedaliah with his cane; behind him the groom, followed by his mother, a tall, well-built old woman with a florid countenance, hands as red as beets, and a kerchief on her head. For years she had served as housemaid in the home of a wealthy family in a large city; for the last three years, however, she had dwelt in retirement with her son, the blacksmith, on the money sent to her from America by her two sons there.

Leah became more confused than ever; her face was a glowing flame. Her mother made her sit down beside the groom's parent, and herself took a seat at the other side. Mayshe-Itsye placed a flash of brandy and a saucer of preserves upon the table. Then he seated himself near the groom, who was beside old Avrom-Layzer, opposite his mother and Leah. Lame Gedaliah was at the end of the table, and was nodding to Leah's two sisters, who were standing to one side, casting furtive glances toward the groom.

That fellow, the former soldier, who had met more than one girl in the "big eity" in which he had served, now eyed Leah far more boldly than on the previous day, and surveyed her from every angle. She felt his glances upon her and kept her eyes lowered.

Then the groom's mother propped her chin upon her hand, shook her head, and spoke loudly, that all might hear:

"She's no weakling; made for hard work. She'll be able to do plenty of labor. She strikes me favorably, my son."

Leah lowered her eyes more than ever,

and the groom smiled good-naturedly. Mirke burst forth, with a beaming countenance:

"Girls like Leah simply can't be found in these days, even if you look the whole world over."

"She strikes me favorably," repeated the groom's mother. "She 's no weakling. And what 's your name, long life to you?" she suddenly asked, turning to Leah.

"Leah," replied the latter, bashfully. "And how old are you? May you live to a hundred and twenty!"

"Just turned eighteen. May she live to a hundred and twenty!" came the hasty reply from Mirke.

Lame Gedaliah entered the conversation at this point.

"I said eighteen, too; for I'm a friend of the family. I know."

"She looks to be a little older," commented the prospective husband's mother. "But perhaps that 's her nature. Orre, I'm satisfied with her, my son." And here the groom himself became bold enough to venture a word in a deep bass voice:

"No offense, kind folks, but before we go any further, we must make sure that everything 's being done methodically. When it comes to marrying, you must understand." He began to brandish his powerful fists, with which he had mastered many a horse while shoeing the beast, and continued to speak. "You understand? A bride, a wife that 's no cat in a sack. You 've got to have a talk with her, eye to eye. You never can tell. You understand me, of course? No offense, I hope."

Gedaliah interrupted with:

"Of course, of course. He's right, upon my soul. Leah darling, go out for a little walk with him. Show him you 're no fool. God forbid."

Mayshe-Ityse rose to object. "What do you call this? Likejust like we-ell? Fie!"

Old Avrom-Layzer, too, shook his hoary head in dissent and grumbled: "A burly bumpkin!"

Leah was thrown into confusion. Gedaliah cried out angrily: "Reb Maysye-Ityse, don't be a boor. You don't know the world. He simply

wishes to have a conversation with her, because that's the way things are done these days. Maybe she has some defect? Maybe she is deaf? Maybe she's a stupid nag, a silly cow, a goodfor-nothing?"

"Hush! hush!" counseled Mirke, smilingly. "What 's all the talk about? I'm a modern woman. By all means let them go out and take a walk in the best of health, and return in the best of health, and, if it is so ordained by Heaven, marry in the best of health. Go, daughter. Don't be ashamed."

She thrust her daughter forward from the table, and herself arose, too. The groom likewise stood up.

"A-akh!" groaned Avrom-Layzer, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Well! well! well!" grumbled MaysheItyse, shrugging his thin shoulders.

But Mirke shoved Leah out of the door after the groom, with the parting advice:

"Don't be ashamed, little goose! don't be ashamed!"

Leah was so upset she could not see her way out.

Mayshe-Ityse hastened to his wife's

side.

"Shameless one, what do you call this? Do you think they're a pair of peasants?"

Mirke replied in a low voice:

"You blockhead, you, don't meddle! Can't you see that he's on fire for her, and that his very eyes are bulging out of their sockets? We may be able to match her off to him without paying a copeck's-worth of dowry, and remember that she 's twenty-four years old. Silence! May you be stricken dumb!"

Then she joined the groom's mother, stroked her shoulder fondly, sat down beside her, and asked:

"What is your name? Long life to you!"

"Mariasha," replied the woman. “And you, long life to you!"

"If it is so fated, we will be relatives by marriage," said Mirke.

"May the Lord of the universe send that good fortune! I like the girl. She's none of your skinny, scraggy creatures, like others we've looked over. May no evil eye glance at her!"