"Where is he, Addy?" said Cohen, who had seized an interval of business to come and look on.
"In the workroom there," said his wife, nodding toward the closed door.
"The fact is, sir," said Cohen, "we don't know what's come to him this last day or two. He's always what I may call a little touched, you know"--here Cohen pointed to his own forehead--"not quite so rational in all things, like you and me; but he's mostly wonderful regular and industrious so far as a poor creature can be, and takes as much delight in the boy as anybody could. But this last day or two he's been moving about like a sleep-walker, or else sitting as still as a wax figure."
"It's the disease, poor dear creature," said the grandmother, tenderly. "I doubt whether he can stand long against it."
"No; I think its only something he's got in his head," said Mrs. Cohen the younger. "He's been turning over writing continually, and when I speak to him it takes him ever so long to hear and answer."

"He's in the workroom there," said Mrs. Cohen, nodding toward the closed door.
"The fact is, sir," said Cohen, "we don't know what's come over him this last day or two. He's always what I may call a little touched, you know" - Cohen pointed to his own forehead - "not quite rational; but he's mostly regular and industrious so far as a poor creature can be. But lately he's been moving like a sleep-walker, or else sitting as still as a wax figure."
"It's the disease, poor dear creature," said the grandmother, tenderly. "I doubt whether he can stand long against it."
"No; I think it's only something in his head," said Mrs. Cohen the younger. "He's been turning over writing continually, and when I speak to him it takes him ever so long to hear and answer."
