Lovers grew like blackberries only more so; for they were an evergreen stock. Or, as her mother put it in her coarse, peasant manner. Chasanim were as plentiful as the street-dogs. Becky's beaux sat on the stairs before she was up and became early risers in their love for her, each anxious to be the first to bid their Penelope of the buttonholes good morrow.

Isaac's ill-humor scarcely ever survived the anodyne of these mournful cadences. There was another melodious wail which Alte Belcovitch had brought from Poland. The chorus ran: Man nemt awek die chasanim voon die callohs Hi, hi, did-a-rid-a-ree! They tear away their lovers from the maidens, Hi, hi, did-a-rid-a-ree!