tyrants! And do not let them take advantage of you when you make a mistake."
The days folded away the figure of that dignified old man, and I saw him no more; yet his words kept ringing within me.
And fate would have it that some companions of mine agreed on an outing outside the city, for recreation, and I was one of them. The choice fell on the very place where I used to sit before.
One of us launched into talk — she was quick-witted and sharp, with a biting edge to her tongue that spared no one, and in her way of telling a story a special manner that bespoke a light spirit. She said, after swallowing hard: "It is said — and God knows best — that I had a truthful friend, a very truthful one, and my proof is that she told me one day that a brother of hers was the first man to swim the English Channel." She paused a moment to collect her scattered wits, and added: "And it so happened that one day I was at a bathing place, and there was my friend — and that world-famous champion, her brother, riding a rubber tube with consummate skill to help him float! So I shouted to him: Bravo! Bravo! Well done! This tube will cross the Channel too, God willing!" And when I looked round at my friend to see her, she had buried her face in her hands and gone with the wind... Everyone was delighted with her story and they burst out laughing... As for me, I cleared my throat and said: "Do you know that dignified-looking old man who is in the habit of visiting this shore from time to time?" They nodded yes. I said: "He once confided a word to me, saying: 'I advise you, my child, to speak nothing but lies, for lying is far more useful and profitable than truth.'"
Speak nothing but lies... These words still ring in the depths of my being... The old man said them to me once and vanished from before my eyes, leaving his voice to echo on in my heart.
A glance backward shows a generation fading away with the turning of the days, transformed with the passing of the years, so that a new generation emerges
in its place — a law that has held constant since the most ancient times.
Among the crowded multitudes is a face from which shines the light of devotion and sacrifice, and from which radiate kindness and tenderness. It is my mother's face — a woman of the departed generation.
Her era was an era of turmoil, of transition from darkness into light, and the knowledge available to her was scanty, not fitting her to enter social life or to share with man in the country's work for the raising of its level. Yes, she lived in the world, and yet it is as though she lived in a strange world, far removed from the ways of modern society. Today, however, the girl
who looks out upon the new generation, which has grown up since that period of transition, differs greatly from her mother. She and the daughters of her sex take part in many of the works of this world: among them are the nurses; and in the field of social life they found associations and answer the call of everyone in distress. And there are the institutes that have arisen of late for the training of the rising generation, in which the woman teacher spends a lifetime's effort in the teacher's chair, instilling sound teachings into the souls of her pupils and imparting them to them.
And as the days advance, we see girls becoming ever more prominent in sharing in the battle of life. They have cast behind them the inherited saying: "It is enough for a girl to know a little reading and writing, and no more."
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