with the mumble of the pious lips

  Hannah sat opposite him, studying the kindly furrowed face, the massive head set on rounded shoulders, the shaggy eyebrows, the long whitening beard moving with the mumble of the pious lips, the brown peering eyes held close to the sacred tome, the high forehead crowned with the black skullcap.   She felt a moisture gathering under her eyelids as she looked at him.   "Father," she said at last, in a gentle voice.   "Did you call me, Hannah?" he asked, looking up.   "Yes, dear. About this man, Pinchas."   "Yes, Hannah."   "I am sorry I spoke harshly of him,''   "Ah, that is right, my daughter. If he is poor and ill-clad we must only honor him the more. Wisdom and learning must be respected if they appear in rags. Abraham entertained God's messengers though they came as weary travellers."   "I know, father, it is not because of his appearance that I do not like him. If he is really a scholar and a poet, I will try to admire him as you do."   "Now you speak like a true daughter of Israel."   "But about my marrying him--you are not really in earnest?"   "_He_ is." said Reb Shemuel, evasively.