Part I

Preface by Eric Parker

Foreword by Rev. B. A. Lester, B.A. (Oxon)

I  II  III  IV  V  VI VII  VIII  IX  X  

XI  XII  XIII  XIV  XV  XVI XVII  XVIII  XIX  XX  

XXI  XXII  XXIII  XXIV  XXV  XXVI XXVII  XXVIII  XXIX    

Part II

XXX  XXXI  XXXII  XXXIII  XXXIV  XXXV  XXXVI XXXVII  XXXVIII  

XXXIX  XL  XLI  XLII  XLIII  XLIV  XLV  XLVI XLVII  XLVIII  XLIX

Note on the Insurrection by E. B. Gibbes

PREFACE

READERS who remember Miss Geraldine Cummins's book, The Childhood of Jesus, published twelve years ago, will know what to expect in this later narrative, The Manhood of Jesus. Other readers, perhaps new comers, will find here in a transcript of strange beauty, the vision of a youthful manhood spent in Palestine; of a Life in the open air, of plain and mountain, desert and flowering valley; of years spent among companions differing in outlook and character, some of them enemies of their fellow creatures, others ascetic and holy; all of them influenced by one Life of love and succour, lighted by an inner radiance not of the kingdoms of men.

As with The Childhood of Jesus, so in this later book, the surroundings are of plain men and women living in countryside and town, among sights common and rare, workers of differing trades and creeds; and through and among whom moves the Figure able to rouse or quieten the minds of fellow mortals about Him. So, through the years the Life passes by road and waste, peopled by merchants, fishermen, outlaws; in the treetops flit "birds that wore yellow sunstained wings"; in the dark move grey shapes of wolves; till the serene Life moves on to fate foreknown. With the Life yet continuing the book ends.

ERIC PARKER

FOREWORD

by

THE REV. B. A. LESTER, B.A. (Oxon)

THE picture that is given in the story that follows of sundry events in the human life of the Son of God, elsewhere unrecorded, is at once intensely beautiful and intensely thought-provoking. Many an artist, dramatist and writer of historical romance, both in ancient and modern times, has sought to portray features and incidents in that supreme life which the evangelists have left to the wondering speculation and reverent imagination of future generations. Such portrayals have not been without value. Where they have been based on reverence they have inspired reverence and where they have been based on intelligent historical intuition they have inspired a deeper interest and a keener study of the factual setting of the world's greatest and most vital drama. And who that believes in a spiritual world at all, can deny that intuition and reverence may at times be unconsciously guided by some flash from an unseen source along the paths of truth?

The profound reverence that is shown for the central figure of this story, entitles the work to a respect from the Christian reader proportionate to the interest and enjoyment that its reading will evoke.

For enjoyment and thought-provoking interest there is&emdash;and in abundance. We are carried away by the vivid sense of human drama and the beauty of the poetic imagery and vision. Moreover, many of the scenes and incidents are historically suggestive. What was the real motive that led to the betrayal by Judas? Can any of the many suggested answers to this question fit in better with the narrative presented by the evangelists than the passionate, militant nationalism here portrayed? And though less closely interwoven with available historical records&emdash;there is much food for thought in the beautiful and dramatic picture of our Lord's early visit to St. John the Baptist while the latter was observing a retreat of silence before his active mission in the wilderness, and in that other dramatic picture describing life in an Essene community.

The early pages of the story deal with the family life at Nazareth and link up closely with a former book&emdash;one also of great beauty&emdash;published under the name of The Childhood of Jesus.

But there are images in the following narrative which convey a vivid sense of memories not of this age and not born in the "Isles of the West."

St. John the Baptist, after a solemn hush of expectation, so it is recorded, "broke the silence as a man breaks bread." Would such an image occur to a western mind? But, once we think of the "Unleavened Bread" of the Passover&emdash;and its form&emdash;a large hard, thin disc which, in the hush of a solemn gathering, would break with a resounding snap&emdash;the dramatic fitness of the image becomes startling indeed.

The book here presented to the public will be enjoyed for its beauty and will provoke deep thought in all who think at all. Above all, it will arouse that sense of the abiding mystery of things which the world to-day needs as a starving man needs food.

For the civilization that has lost its sense of wonder has lost its soul&emdash;and who shall say that its body may not follow it into destruction?

PART ONE

CHAPTER I

WHEN Jesus had reached the stature of manhood and the age of twenty-two years, he parted from Heli, the Outcast, taking sorrowful leave of him. For several seasons these two had been together going on journeys or living with the wandering tribes in the wilderness. And all this while Heli had been as a watchful elder brother to the youth. But they might not remain together, for Heli believed that, though love cherishes it can also overshadow. Thus came the parting. Heli turned his face eastwards and Jesus went northwards.

It was stiff in the first season of the year and the desert was parched and bare, the hot sand blowing hither and thither, the sun strong in its cruelty and might. But in Galilee all living things rejoiced, birds sang, trees put on green garments, the lake smiled and lilies of the field opened to the light. So, as Jesus told James at a later time, his gladness overflowed, his mind perceiving home and that season of gracious flowering in Galilee. He was Son of Man as well as Son of God; and as is the way with those who have dwelled in far places a long while, his spirit fled before him to his own country. Wherefore he was of good heart as he passed through the fiery furnace across that desolate land.

The sun shoots down many thousands of fiery arrows upon the travellers in those wastes, the jackals cry at night and, when they are hungry, have beset the wanderer who dwells in a loneliness that is like no other on earth.

The Son of Mary had known loneliness in his youth when pressed about by a multitude in the streets of Jerusalem or when face to face with the crafty Scribe of Nazareth. But here, on this his first journey alone in the wilderness, he was wholly at peace, walking daily with his Heavenly Father&emdash;his Father being in that blessed time within him and without.

So, when the jackals came seeking their meat and to his resting-place in the night hours, he did but rise and smile upon them, and they gave him greeting of their own kind. Then they drew back and made a circle round the stranger.

He slept and they watched by him all the night. Only when day broke swiftly did hunger draw them away from the One they, though dumb beasts, had perceived was Master, and elsewhere they sought their prey.

In spite of hardships and weariness Jesus was glad, and the gladness went with him even when he crossed the desert borders and came into Judaea.

It was only on the second day of his entering that land that trouble and the shadow of things to come passed across his spirit like a wandering mist.

Evening was gathering, rain falling among the windy hills. To a traveller from the southern deserts they were comfortless and even perilous because of the robbers and the wolves that come out of their dens at sunset seeking their prey. But neither the hardships of the time nor the menace of the desolate heights oppressed Jesus. He was uplifted in spirit in spite of his weariness. Shelter must be found from the coiling vapour and from the cold. Perceiving a cave above him he left the path and climbed among great rocks. Almost he had reached the level place that fronted the mouth of the cave, when the emptiness of that world of torn valleys and giant hills was changed. There came the cry of wild beasts upon the wind, and where there had been no living thing a man stood&emdash;even in the hollow at the entrance, to the shelter Jesus sought.

Grey shapes crept from behind the boulders. They were wolves, fierce and eager, seeking the stranger that they might devour him. Jesus did not carry a staff, he was without defense. Nor did he bend down to pick up stones as shepherds in those hills have done in past times, thinking in vain to frighten these beasts that, when hunger is theirs, may not be stayed by any fear from their desire.

But perfect love casts out desire, and in the presence of perfect love these wolves were, it appeared, stricken, desire perishing and awe quietening hunger, allaying thirst for blood. Jesus gazed upon them, raising his hands, making the sign of benediction, and they were holden.

Not one of those beasts leaped upon the traveller. All laid themselves down about him and lifted up their heads, once more crying out in their own speech. But it was not the wolf-cry of hunger, it was the cry of friendly greeting, as one brother may greet another.

Jesus stood there for a small while and spoke to them from his heart. And though the sounds were shaped in the tongue of man and not in the speech of beasts, they were not moved to anger, but in answer bayed their delight. The rocks echoed it, the small creatures hidden in holes came out from them because of that strange clamour.

Then indeed Jesus was a man of light, radiant light, gaiety on his lips, pure contentment flowing from him to the wolves and the circle of rocks and the wild birds that gathered about his head.

He advanced across the level place towards a man who leaped forward, making sips to the wolves, making their own sounds. But his was the command that is given only by the elder wolf to his brethren. It was his fear for the life of the traveller that led him thus to seek to stay the course of the wild beasts.

Jesus smiled. Being fearless, it made his heart merry to perceive the hermit's trouble for his sake. Now the hermit was of great stature, long and lean, and he stood a cubit above the youth as they looked into each other's face. Then the traveller began to speak the words of his request for shelter, but suddenly he ceased, for the shadow of things to come lay between these two men. It fell darkly, oppressively, as in the hour before the heavens open and lightning smites the earth.

Jesus was shaken. He could not govern himself in that time; his soul was filled with anguish. He knew not whence this trouble came. The knowledge was holden from him that this hermit would one day stand beside still waters and show him the road he must follow.

Light had not yet failed on that cliff that hung above the stony valley. And it seemed that this Holy Man, standing there in the last radiance of sunset, was the elder by ten years of these two. Yet they were the one age. But the hermit, clad only in sackcloth, was hairy in the body. No blade had ever hewn off the long beard or the hairs that grew upon his breast. He was stem of countenance, and in all his bearing showed a resolution, a temper of mind that was like the hard metals of the mountains which nought may bend or break.

Only slowly did Jesus perceive these things as he came out of the trouble of the storm that had shaken his soul. Then in peace but in sadness he followed the hermit into the cave.

A rushlight burnt in that dim place and a parchment lay beside the fight as if it had been cast down in haste. It was a copy of the Holy Book, a rare treasure that declared its owner to be one of God's people.

Now Jesus had eaten only a few berries in the past two days. Wherefore his spirit failing, he asked for food. Then the hermit placed parched lentils and a crust of bread upon a rock. But when Jesus would eat his host plucked at his coat with a glance of reproof. For it seemed that Jesus, by reason of his faintness mayhap, offended against the Law which ordains that the faithful wash their hands before they sit at meat. Making a sign to the youth, the Holy Man led him to a pool wherein he bathed himself. Afterwards he returned to the table that was a rock and ate and was filled.

The wind called, the wolves cried without the cave, and the Holy Man went forth, making the sounds familiar to these beasts, silencing them. But when he returned to his guest he did not answer his talk, he gazed upon him searchingly. It might have seemed that he was dumb if it had not been for the sharp fierce cries he had uttered in the language of the wolves. So Jesus divined that his host was one of those who had entered into the Great Silence. For as he knelt in prayer he spoke no words, though his hands were clasped, his lips moved, and his eyes were raised as if to the Ruler of Heaven and Earth.

The spirit of sadness had not deserted Jesus. He was still cast down, his heart failing in the presence of one whom he revered; one who, it seemed, bore with him the menace of the coming years. But even as he prayed he, too, was shaken, caught in his strong desire for his God.

"The Father is in me and I am in Him," said Jesus, who divined that for this man there was no easy welding of his being with God the Father. Nay, it was a wrestle, at times a fierce striving for him to come to that serenity when the soul, filled with light, knows the peace ineffable.

Jesus repeated: "God the Father is in me and I am in Him."

Again there came no answer. But the hermit's trembling ceased. The beads of sweat no longer stood upon his brow, he straightened out his limbs, and they were at rest.

Then looking upon this stern, strange man, Jesus loved him; and glad in that love, he spoke words that came from the very fount of his being.

Our Father which art in heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come,

Thy Will be fulfilled on earth as it is in Thy Heaven."

Never had Jesus spoken this prayer before; he found it in that hour while in the presence of this nameless hermit of the hills.

Astonishment changed the countenance of the Holy Man, but even now he did not speak, though his lips moved as if they would question the youth. In a little while they closed again. Once more he went into the Great Silence&emdash;this time without struggle or pain, finding God's peace.

Jesus lay down to rest, his soul still somewhat shadowed by the token this man's presence offered to his spirit, by a dark riddle he might not read even in the quiet of that lonely night.

But sleep is an awakening. Men slumber while they live another life afterwards forgotten. Nevertheless, at rare times there can be remembrance of that state that lies beyond death and pain.

Jesus dreamed a dream. He saw an old man standing before an altar burning incense, and an angel stood beside this priest. Wherefore the priest perceiving him, cast himself down and was afraid. The angel bade the old man be without fear, and told him that his wife Elisabeth, who was now well stricken in years, would bear a son, and his name was&emdash;Here the sound of that name slipped past the hearing of the dreamer, so that he knew it not. But other words followed that spoke of the life of the babe that Elisabeth would conceive.

"He shall come in the power and spirit of Elias and shall go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways, to turn the fathers to the children and the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just."

Other sayings of the angel flowed into the dreamer's soul; and when the Messenger of the Highest had made an end there was darkness on the face of the dream. But in a little while it passed, and Jesus gazed upon a young woman, beautiful as no other was beautiful, pure as no other was pure. He knew her to be great above all women, but again her name was holden from his understanding. And even as he strove to find the remembrance that was his of that face, it was snatched away and he stood in the room of a house in the hill country of Judaea.

There came to his ears the name of Elisabeth, and his eyes fell upon one who sat weaving, whose hair was grey, her face showing the lines of age, and she was with child.

Zacharias, her husband, knelt apart in a corner. Though he prayed, no sound came from his lips, and later, when he rose and his wife set bread and meat before him, he did not speak to her, showing only his needs by signs.

It was towards evening when that young woman of Galilee entered the room and called Elisabeth by the name of cousin; and on the utterance of her gentle salutation all in that room changed instantly and strangely. Those present fell back, making a circle about these two mothers, the one so old, the other so young in years. But in spite of her youth the marks of past pain and hardship had set their seal upon her brow and mouth. Nevertheless her face shone, and before its light the people bowed their heads.

"Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb."

Then the dream was shaken as the waters of a pool are troubled. And when stillness came upon its face again, the woman who was so young and it would seem so ignorant, lifted up her voice, and hers was a song of glory, a song of prophecy that bore a truth which was and is and shall be for all time, a truth that illumined the understanding of the dreamer.

"How came she by it?" he asked.

A voice made answer: "The words of that psalm are secret words put into the mouth of this woman by the Holy Ghost."

And at the ending of the song the witnesses ran out of that house and noised abroad the glad tidings concerning these two women, the promise and the glory. But they remained alone together, and the elder woman fetched water and washed the feet of the traveller. Then they spoke with one another, and thus speaking, passed from the sight of the dreamer who, climbing down the dark heights of sleep, found himself in the cave, opening his eyes to the light of early day.

And he perceived the hermit's kneeling figure as it had been when he fell asleep. But now no shadow of the menacing years lay between them, joy and perfect peace held Jesus in their hold. Even as the wings of a bird the vision of the night bore him upwards, so that the Kingdom of Heaven lived within him, yet it did not abide within the dark man who knelt, patiently waiting and praying in the dimness of that cave.

As he lay there and considered the dream, Jesus was perplexed. He did not know that the things he had seen had come to pass&emdash;that in the region beyond pain and death they were written and were for ever.

CHAPTER II

JESUS was in two minds. One mind drew him towards Galilee, his Mother, Mary Clophas and his cousins, the other would keep him on this bare hill in the company of the hermit who was like no other man he had encountered in his life before.

But his wish for Galilee was the stronger, and he yielded to it. So in the early day while still the valleys were dark he rose up and spoke the words of farewell.

The hermit frowned and made signs of command to his guest that he should abide in that cave and surrender his wish for the road. But Jesus persisted, inasmuch as his own place called him. Then the Holy Man made signs of entreaty that he should stay, and there was sorrow in his eyes and humility in his whole bearing. Gentle and courteous, the young man could not refuse the elder, who seemed in that hour lonely and in need; his sternness, his harshness seeking that kindness which overflowed from the stranger.

Thus it came to pass that the road was not sought on that day. Jesus washed himself in the pool, and then followed the Holy Man out of the cave and along a slit in the cliff that passed across the face of a precipice. And after a little while they came to a small piece of earth which had been watered by the night's vapours. This was the hermit's garden, and the two worked in it until the sun was high in the heavens.

Then they returned to the cave and the hermit served his guest with the best that he had to offer&emdash;a portion of wild honey and locusts as his meat.

When they had eaten, the hermit prayed in silence and afterwards slept for an hour or more. It was his custom to keep vigil all the night, so in the hour of noon deep was his slumber. Jesus watched by him and knew him to be bound to his strange dream. But he could not read the riddle of it&emdash;only he was glad.

So when the Holy Man roused up and went out into the open where he knelt and prayed, Jesus went forth also. But Jesus did not abide in silence, and sought in song to tell of his joy to the Father. His voice no longer made music like the flute. It was gentle and deep as the sound of the waves that play upon the Galilean shore. And the dumb creatures gathered and listened and even the rocks of that wild place would seem to hearken to the psalm:

Praise the Lord, praise O ye servants of the Lord.

Praise His Name.

Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth for evermore.

From the rising up of the sun unto the going down of the same the Lord's Name is to be praised."

In that hour Jesus was again a man of light, a man of joy. Not even the sombre hermit could withstand that delight in praise and song. Indeed, he broke the habit of his life and prayed no more; he rose up and stood leaning against a rock, watching the singer, listening to his melody.

Of a sudden he wept, but his were tears as precious as water in a desert, and they allayed that dryness that had oppressed his soul. Until sunset he remained at ease, the hours customarily given over to prayer and meditation passing idly by. So, as was related by one of his disciples in the after-time, he did not seek God on that day, yet God came to him fully, wholly, as He had never come in such sureness before.

This was the first miracle wrought by Jesus in the years of his manhood. And when telling of it to his disciples, the Holy Man spoke of his own doubt at the end of that day lest he had yielded to the demon of idleness. But in that time he looked on the face of Jesus, and he knew that he had in no way offended.

For three days these men lived the one life, sharing all things. The hermit did not break his vow of silence, though as hath been declared, he was sorely tempted to speak with the stranger, to ask him many questions, to discover his home, so that they might meet again when the time of his vow of silence was accomplished.

But strong was the resolution, unbreakable a promise made by this great spirit. So, though these two were in communion, yet, to each, the other was a mystery.

Nevertheless, Galilee called. Its call was sweet as the first bird's song at sunrise. It might not be ignored. When, therefore, on the third day noon was passed and Jesus had sung a psalm of thanksgiving to his Father, he, too, for a while went into the Great Silence. Before he came out of it the shadows were dark in the valleys and light, clearer, purer, than at noon seemed to wash all those heights, so that though barren, they shone, they rejoiced. In that still time Jesus said:

"While with thee I have taken thought for the morrow. But from henceforth I shall not take thought for it, inasmuch as the road is now open before me."

The Holy Man bowed his head, showing thus that he hearkened to his brother. And Jesus continued:

"There are two ways of life for the seekers of truth in our generation. The first is chosen by one of thy temper of soul. Such a man lives in the Great Silence, speaking to none of his kind, at rare times holding speech with birds and beasts who are innocent of the knowledge of good and evil. Through fasting and prayer, through wrestling of the spirit he seeks the truth, the way and the life. All this is preparation. But there are as many demons in the wilderness as there are in the towns. Yea, it is said that the wilderness is the place of demons. Wherefore only a strong soul may dwell in it and in the Great Silence in any surety and in any peace."

The hermit assented through a change of countenance, his face frowning and darkening, thus telling of his silent warfare with the demons of melancholy and weariness.

Jesus continued:

"But it is not for fear of these evil spirits that I have chosen the second way of life. It is by reason of my temper of soul that I would dwell among men. It is other than thine. Here in the wilderness I must needs labour only for my own salvation. And even though I know that this time in the Great Silence is for thee preparation, yet I may not tarry and abide here as thy disciple, for I must be about my Father's business."

There was authority in his voice as Jesus spoke these last words, and they were followed by others that held in them no doubt or question.

"It is my purpose to travel along the second road, to live in the world and not be of the world. Through fellowship with man I shall seek to do the work of God. Verily, verily, it is needful for me to find, while in the company of all kinds of men, the way, the truth and the life. Thus I am assured I shall do my Father's will. I go to my home in Nazareth where are my mother and my brethren. But I may not abide with them in the one house. I shall find my own place and labour with my hands. Carpenter, husbandman, fisherman, shepherd and wanderer, peradventure I shall be all these; inasmuch as thus I shall learn of the secrets of my Galilean brethren&emdash;their sorrows, their hardships, their cares. Then may I give to them who will answer the knock at the door. Then shall I open it to those who are heavy laden and would have rest. But what is earned by me that exceeds my needs I shall present to the poor, the old and those in need. Thus I purpose to seek the truth. And neither the beggars, the publicans, the sinners, nor the woman who lives in adultery, shall be to me common and unclean. Verily, all are children of my Father."

Here Jesus fell into a silence, and while he was thus withdrawn, the Holy Man made a sign of dissent with his head. Trouble and grief changed his countenance by reason of these words of parting uttered by Jesus. So great was his distress he walked to and fro in that narrow level place&emdash;to the very brink of the cliff and back again. A score of times he walked to and fro. Then wearying he halted, showing a ravaged face to Jesus; and, plucking at his sleeve and with signs of entreaty, he besought him to remain in his company. He showed with movements of his hands the hills, the sky, the desolate valleys, and thus pitifully sought to declare his strong desire that the young man should follow the first way, what seemed to him the better way, to salvation.

At last Jesus came out of his silence again, speaking with authority.

"All life is a leave-taking. We two, who are one in our love of God, are of a different texture of soul. Verily, my love for men comes from the deepest fount of my being. I may not, therefore, gainsay it by living apart from them. But thou hast the gifts of the prophet. These may the more easily be grown and nourished in the silence of this cave, in the stillness of the wilderness. They are best brought forth in meditation, in prayer, in loneliness. Wherefore, the first way is the true way for thee. But I know that for me prophecy is not the end, nor have I thy gift. My gift is to love my brethren. So it would be a great wrong if I hid it and myself in this desert place away from all men.

"Now a certain merchant gave three talents to one man and one alent to another; and he bade them make use of these talents so that they might yield an increase. He who had three talents obeyed the merchant, and when he came again to him he brought him five. But the second man buried his talent in a napkin. And behold, when the merchant came to him in the evening, and this fellow gave back the one talent, the lender was very wrathful.

"Thus it is that we upon whom our Father has bestowed one gift or several gifts, should not hide them away but increase them&emdash;threefold, fourfold, according to our powers."

With a sigh the hermit raised his hands and blessed Jesus, showing in this way that he was reconciled to the parting. But in spite of his resignation he was cast down and heavy of spirit, and it was a sadness such as his companion had in no time known before.

He opened the Holy Book that lay upon a rock and searched in it, praying that it would reveal some comfort, some healing for this man's sorrow.

The sun passed away from those hills and twilight gathered before its time. Still Jesus searched, until at last his eyes were arrested by a text. Having gathered it to himself he closed the book and said:

"It is written, 'Behold I send my messenger before my face which shall prepare thy way before thee'. Among those born of woman there is not one greater than the prophet which is to come&emdash;even in our generation. Art thou the man?"

To this question the hermit made no answer by sips or movements of his body. Almost it seemed as if the words had gone past his hearing like the wind. But it was not so. Sadness fell away. There came the change that is wrought by a generous saying. And behold, quiet reigned within and without the Holy Man.

In that stillness the winds slept, no jackals barked, no wolves cried. It was as if God had hushed the world. Then, in an instant, light like the desert dawn broke suddenly, swiftly, awesomely&emdash;a light that shone upon the face of the hermit, that came from his head, his feet, his hands, his whole body; and he stood up tall and straight at the edge of the cliff. His was a majesty greater than the majesty of those heights, greater than the might of that loneliness. And in that hour the watcher perceived that he had found himself, that he was the mouthpiece of all the prophets, yea, he was more than the prophets. So, falling on his face before that presence, Jesus bowed himself down in all humility of heart.

It seemed that Elias and Moses were there, that they were of this great man and were not of him.

In that twilight, in that peace their spirits mingled with each other; and so long as they remained thus, the unnamed prophet of the prophets gave of his light to that darkening world.

When presently this holiness withdrew, the hermit turned back from the edge of the cliff. Now with that radiance quenched he went slowly into the cave, laid himself down and fell into a deep sleep.

Jesus remained alone in the world without, gazing into the darkness before moonrise, seeking question and answer in that night. Finding none, he, too, joined the hermit and slept within the cave.

CHAPTER III

AT sunrise Jesus girded up his loins, gave thanks to, his silent host and spoke the words of farewell. These two showed no signs of grief in this leave-taking; for theirs was a holy calm, a deep serenity. Together on that last evening they had shared a divine mystery, and now their spirits were as one.

When the traveller might no longer be seen the hermit walked to the edge of the cliff, faced northwards towards Galilee and raised his hands above his head, holding them thus for two hours. Because of his vow he might not declare in words his joy and his thanksgiving. So he held up his hands to the heavens in token of praise, and only when the heat of noon came did he from weariness cease thus to give glory to his Lord and his Creator.

But down in the valley in that early day Jesus walked and sang, rejoicing in the freedom of the road. Now and then on coming upon some green place he halted to pluck a rare flower and would study it, marvelling at the wonder of its shape, the grace of its design. Then, when a bird called, he would give back note for note; and his sweet clear whistle at times deceived the singer, who made answer with a pipe or a brave gaiety of song, and Jesus would laugh, and continue this sport till he was wearied, his whistle spent.

For a while a boy was his companion on the road, a lad not more than fourteen summers, who in the aftertime, told of the doings of the young Galilean on that gay morning. He knew not that Jesus was the Appointed One, but in the years of the ministry he found the Master again and became one of the Seventy Disciples.

On this day of grace they parted at the turn of the road. Near noon a traveller joined Jesus who gave his name as Bethuel and told his story. He was going on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and it was his purpose, having made his offering there, to journey into the wilderness and in solitude, prayer and fasting, await the coming of the Messiah.

Then Jesus spoke of the three days he had passed in the company of the hermit, that man of mystery who lived in the cave on the mountains.

"Strange indeed is thy story," said Bethuel, "strange that the Holy One should harbour thee for three days."

"And why is this so?" asked Jesus.

Bethuel answered: "He will suffer no disciple to be with him in this time of preparation. Know that great is his fame in the country round about. For he is pure and without sin, and many call him' the hope of Israel'. Verily I am his disciple."

"His name?" enquired Jesus.

"He is John, son of Zacharias, the priest; and lo, at his birth there were signs and wonders and it was known in the hilly country that a Great One had come into the world. Indeed it is so, for from his youth up he has been spotless, not tempted as other men, always abiding apart in that purity. Some say he is Elias come again. And after the time of preparation we, who are his disciples, will gather round him and then he shall reveal himself to the people."

"Whom sayest thou he is?" asked Jesus.

"Ah, that is my secret," said Bethuel, and then after a silence he continued: "Young man, I know not thy name or thy tribe. But if thou wilt promise to keep secret what I tell thee I shall declare who John is, or will be, in the days to come."

And Jesus promised that until John revealed himself he would keep faith on this matter. So Bethuel answered his question, saying:

"Verily, it is my certain belief and hope that John is the Messiah.

"And what hath led thee to such knowledge?" enquired Jesus.

His powerful spirit and his purity of life, the promise given at his birth, and because the time and the season are at hand when the Comforter shall come and redeem Israel."

After this saying Jesus did not speak for a while&emdash;brooding as some eagle that is perched upon a rock on a cliff and gazes from heights into depths, spanning the world with a glance.

"From whence comest thou and where dwell thy kindred?" Bethuel asked and repeated this saying three times before Jesus roused himself from reverie and answered:

"I am of Nazareth. My mother dwells in Nazareth and I go to her now."

"No good thing comes out of Nazareth," said Bethuel, and his countenance darkened; his face was shadowed because he walked with a Nazarite.

Jesus smiled, making answer: "The Spirit bloweth where it listeth, and good is not bound by region, place or race. Behold, my mother is of Nazareth, and hers is a goodness that sets her high among women; yea, and there are other folk in Nazareth whose righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the elders in Jerusalem, of men of great repute and learning. The Nazarites are husbandmen and simple people. Verily, blessed are the meek and the lowly, for they shall inherit the earth."

But Bethuel was greatly cast about, for he deemed that he walked with a sinner in being in the company of this Nazarite. Wherefore, in a little while, he said that he would go apart and pray. And when Jesus offered to pray with him, this holy man answered that he did not pray in the company of a Nazarite.

So Jesus said: "God be with thy prayers, brother," and went onwards alone.

In those lands the traveller rests and sleeps during the heat of noon. At sunset or after, if he is without possessions and therefore not fearful of thieves, he continues his journey.

When the moon had risen Jesus rose out of a sweet sleep and travelled onwards through the silver night.

After a while he came upon a man and a woman who followed his road. The man walked five cubits ahead of the woman and carried a light wallet, while she bore an infant and toiled behind him, stumbling now and then beneath its weight.

They were dark-browed folk who came from the borders of the desert. And Jesus spoke to the one the woman called Isaac, but he replied with sour looks. Hearing the crying of the child, the young Galilean halted and waited for the man's wife who now was a number of cubits behind them, bent with weariness, her head cast down. Then Jesus spoke courteously, persuading her to surrender the child to him; and he smiled upon the boy, who ceased crying and was instantly comforted.

Together now these two went forward, following the man. Jesus gave her to drink as they walked, and she was refreshed and told her story.

Since their marriage Isaac had worked on a parcel of land on the edge of the wilderness, and for them all times were lean times. But one day a band of desert robbers came and in wantonness burned their hut and stole their scanty possessions. Then because the earth was dry and parched, Isaac said he would no longer labour and starve, he would go up to the City of the Great King where there was, he had been told, plenty for all.

And Jesus sighed, saying: "I have been in the City of the Great King, and hunger is there, and the lean times are there also. 'Twere better if ye came with me to the green quiet of Galilee which uplifts the heart. Nay more, its earth gives forth abundantly&emdash;wheat, olives and wine; and there your husband will find work, food and gladness for yourself and for your child."

Pleasantly these two conversed as they walked, and, talking of the child, this dark girl of the desert-borders found that the road sped beneath her feet. Yet an hour before she had been spent and overcome with the weariness of the journey.

Of a sudden her husband halted, turned back and commanded the stranger to lay down his child. Jesus obeyed him but said: "Suffer me to carry the babe inasmuch as his mother hath not the strength to bear such a burden at the end of the day."

Then Isaac called his wife a wanton and smote Jesus upon his left cheek felling him to the earth. And the woman cried out piteously and withdrew in fear lest her husband should strike her also, for his face was as that of a wild beast, so fierce was his fury.

But Jesus rose to his feet and coming between the man and woman said: "Brother, here is my right cheek. Smite it as thou hast smitten the left and thus thou mayest win thy peace."

And the man cried out: "Thou art a craven and a coward as well as one who beguiles women."

"Nay," answered Jesus, "I but carried your burden following the command of the Spirit which saith, 'bear ye one another's burdens'. Verily, brother, tell me is it easier for me to smite thee who art a man stricken in years and weaker than I, or is it easier that I should suffer thee to strike me again and yet again?" Blood fell from a rent in his mouth and cheek as he spoke, fastening his gaze upon this man. So commanding, so fearless was that gaze, this wild creature fell back astonished and perplexed. But in a little while his wrath went from him, for now he knew that he was in the presence of purity and truth, and he said:

"Sir, thou has the appearance of a beggar, but thou hast the mien of a warrior and a nobleman. Wherefore I ask your pardon for this violence, if pardon can be given for such an offence."

Then Jesus smiled and granted it on the condition that the man would permit him to continue to carry his son for him on their journey. And though Isaac Eked not that he should do this thing he consented, inasmuch as it was not easy to refuse Jesus any request in those days of his youth when he smiled and was gay of heart.

Together they travelled the road, and that night they sought shelter in the same stable. Then, on the morrow, good comrades, they continued on their way, Jesus still carrying the child and listening to Isaac's eager talk. He told the young Galilean that, in early childhood, he had been beaten and starved, that he had gone hungry all his life. On the borders of the Dead Sea the parched earth yielded him and his kind such small measure that, for all their husbandry, they always lived in fear of dearth and the morrow.

"Again and again when we had laid by a little store of food, wandering bands of thieves robbed us of it. So I have no trust in any man, for all come but to plunder. Wherefore, I seek to strike first, knowing that only thus may I guard what little is mine. I treated thee with rudeness, misjudging as I did thine intent in bearing the child of my wife."

Jesus reasoned with this man. But he remained stubborn in his belief that he should give blow for blow. Then he came to speak of his dream.

"At Jerusalem there is plenty for all. In this great city I shall find work, bread, yea and maybe treasure. For I am not one to idle. I can work all the day even into the night."

Jesus made answer: "There are many like you in Jerusalem. Yea, they work all the day and receive at the end only a pittance that scarcely buys bread for them and for their children. Come with me to Galilee, come to the great green plain of Esdraelon where the labourer receives fair measure and corn grows in abundance. Or go further still to the land of the vines and the olives in northern Galilee. There, too, thou wilt find not treasure of gold but gladness and all thy needs supplied."

But Isaac would not yield, though his wife besought him to follow the stranger's counsel. Howbeit, the gold of the Great City was ever in the mind of this ignorant husbandman, and, coveting it, at the turn of the road where one way led to Jerusalem, he bade Jesus farewell, taking the child from his arms.

Jesus was troubled in spirit, for he saw about these twain the cloud of a dark and sorrowful destiny.

The woman would not go till he had blessed her, for she said: "The word of a good man endures, and we shall need it in the coming time." She was cast down at this parting and vexed that she might not go into Galilee, but must follow her husband.

Raising his hand, Jesus said: "Sister, the peace that the world cannot give, be with you always, even unto the end."

Then the woman went after the man, saying no more, her heart too full for speech.

Standing on the brow of the hill, Jesus perceived as they pursued their journey along the valley road, that, this time the man carried the child.

That darkness about them seen by the spirit of Jesus was a true sign of what came afterwards. There was not room for a husbandman like Isaac in Jerusalem. No one would hire him, and he and his wife fell into great need. First the child sickened and died. Then slowly the mother perished for lack of bread. But even in the agony of those last days passed in the great loneliness of that crowded city, she was at peace&emdash;the Stranger's Peace remaining with her even unto the end.

CHAPTER IV

IN Nazareth it was said that Joseph's household prospered and stood well in the world. This seemed a true saying. Nevertheless, it was Mary's gracious charity and the gifts of her heart to the sorrowful, and not the signs of ease, that led the family of the wanderer, Jesus, to be esteemed by the people of the village and the country round about.

Mary never turned a beggar from the door empty handed; and Thomas, her third son, who now was master and bread-winner, often chid her for the largess she gave to the poor. But since Jesus had departed into the desert she had found her peace and joy in such giving. So, customarily, she stinted herself, eating what would scarcely support life, keeping thus the measure over of her share of food for others who were in sore need. And she wove cloth till late at night, then sold it to the hucksters who came from the cities. Thus she gathered a little store of pennies that was her own, but from which she swiftly parted. For if her daughters did not require it she made her offering in the lean times to the sick, the old and those who were perishing from lack of bread.

Now, in middle age, the women of Galilee wax gross. But because she thus spent herself for others, Mary remained slim of body, the bones showing, and once and again she fainted from the need for nourishment and from the weariness of too great labour. But when again Thomas chid her she made gentle answer:

"We people of Galilee are all one family. These beggars who come to the door are as much my kin as are your cousins. Thou well knowest that thou wouldst aid those of thine own blood if they hungered or went in rags."

"But what we earn should be kept for the needs of the household or laid by in store for lean days," said Thomas.

Mary answered: "Jesus, my beloved, said to me once in a far time, 'Take no thought for the morrow, the morrow will take care of itself. Behold this flower,' he said, and plucked one white blossom from the grass, 'it lives by faith and taketh no heed of the morrow, inasmuch as our Heavenly Father careth for all things under the sun'. I am an ignorant woman, and at times, I have no understanding of the words and ways of Jesus. But these sayings of his, which I have reported, are true and lovely and always I keep them in my heart…. We are all one family, members of one another'," repeated Mary, and sighing, ceased.

Then Thomas was vexed and speaking out of his jealousy he said: "My father hath been sick these four years, and he will not rise up again from his bed because his side, his arm and leg are dead. But all this time I have failed thee not, neither did James. We worked as carpenters and did not let our father's commerce go from the household. We have kept our parents and our sisters, and Jesus departed from among us&emdash;giving no share to the household. Yet thou dost set up as first in thy heart this vagabond, this deserter of his home and family."

Mary's countenance hardened by reason of her trouble at these signs of jealousy, and she answered:

"Behold, Joseph's commerce was fair and flourished. So it was no hardship for thee and James to continue it. But thou didst drive Jesus from the house. Dost thou not remember thy words to thy father? 'Choose between me and Jesus. I will go hence even unto Tiberias if Jesus remains'. Wherefore, because he would not vex a sick man by compelling him to choose between his two sons, Jesus went from us. And as he had roused the anger of the Scribe of Nazareth and others of repute he departed from Galilee. He would not be the cause for our censure among the neighbors.

Verily, Thomas, my eldest son is strange and beyond our understanding in the things he utters, but in this matter he was just and acted in all fairness towards his family."

"But thou lovest him best. And I, the son who Works for thee, takes only the second place in thy heart," came the young carpenter's wrathful answer.

"Thou art dear to me, Thomas, and I respect and love thee as a good son. But I cannot change the courses of the wind, neither can I change the love that is of the spirit," Mary strangely said, then held her peace.

Though Thomas spoke angry words he could not draw any further answer from his mother. Neither time nor the absence of Jesus brought him contentment and forgetfulness. Secretly he nourished resentment, and like an ill weed it grew apace. Nevertheless, as his eldest brother did not return, he must needs expend his bitterness on some other, and he chose his brother Seth, scourging him with his tongue, finding fault with his work.

Now Seth was a lad who had seen only sixteen summers, and he was somewhat in the likeness of Jesus. Wherefore, his face calling the wanderer to remembrance, he received the share of unjust speech that would have been given to Jesus if he had been there.

In this matter Thomas was incited by his wife Sarah, whom he obeyed in all his dealings with his family. She was an idle woman, and therefore a maker of mischief, and at times as a snake in the grass that strikes secretly and with cruelty. By much talk and through complaints she compelled Thomas to buy a large house and a garden, and it was always her desire to five well. So she made her sisters-in-law serve her; and however hard her husband worked he remained in debt to a friend.

Now Thomas had a kindliness of heart that would have given gladness to all his household if it had not been for the worldliness and covetousness of his wife.

So this woman led Seth to seek comfort outside his home. And one day he came to his brother and told him that he was betrothed to a girl named Ruth, the daughter of a poor widow. Then Thomas cried out upon him and told him that he was bound as an apprentice and might not marry until the two years of his service were accomplished. "Also thou art too young to marry, and we are in debt. Wherefore we may not increase the number in the household."

Seth answered: "I am as tall as a man, and therefore a man's right is mine. I shall marry if my mother and father give me their blessing."

Whereupon Thomas went to Joseph and persuaded the sick man to withhold his blessing from Seth. But Mary said: "I cannot withhold my blessing from the lad. For then he will go from us in bitterness, and the world is a hard place for the youth who enters it in bitterness and without the goodwill of those who love him."

She remembered that Thomas had caused Jesus to depart from their household, and she would not have another son lost to her as Jesus had been lost those several seasons. So one evening she reasoned with Seth, and he promised to wait three months. But in spite of her entreaties he would not consent to wait for the two years that were his brother's due while he served as his apprentice in the workshop.

Thus, after a time of happiness, care once more was woven into the very warp and woof of Mary's life. For, as the days went by, Seth declared that he would go from them, and nothing would turn him from his purpose, that of marrying Ruth.

Mary knew that the lad could not earn what would suffice for a family, and she was afraid for him and had, therefore, neither rest nor peace of mind in that time Jesus travelled slowly from the desert and across Judaea towards Galilee.

CHAPTER V

THE mountains were crowned with a wreath of gold and the colors of the sunset lay upon all the hills and valleys of Galilee. In this glory Jesus came home to Nazareth.

A hundred cubits from the first house of the village he perceived upon the road before him a woman carrying a pitcher. Now it was ever his custom to be courteous to the old and to women, so he halted beside her and offered to carry her load. She raised her head and smiled up at the traveller. The smile swiftly changed to tears, then to laughter and to tears again as Jesus put his arms about her and held her to him crying: "Mother, mother, I am come home to thee&emdash;home."

When they had mastered their wondrous delight in each other, they went into a field and sat beneath a plane tree. There they talked, and Mary's voice was as the murmuring of birds at the end of day. Its melody pierced even into the depths of her son's soul&emdash;so great was its gladness, so sure the heart-ease that it told of in its sounds.

"I knew thee by thy speech, Jesus," she said, "but I knew not thy face, for verily thou art changed and hath grown from youth to manhood since thou didst go from us and from Nazareth."

And it was so. For the face of Jesus was darker in hue than the bark of an oak&emdash;burnt by the light of the desert suns. Now he was&emdash;though of no great height&emdash;a man in build, in his manner; and there was authority in the glance of his eye. So Mary was proud as never before that she had borne this son. They were one in that hour between sunset and moonrise. In the after-time, speaking of this meeting, Jesus said to his disciple John:

"It was peradventure the most joyful hour in all my life. We two were verily one in that time, with neither kith nor kin nor the cares of this world between us, spoiling and marring our delight."

But to all things, a passing, a fading. No hour, however lovely, might remain even with this Mother and her son. When the moon rode clear above the hills Mary spoke no more of what alone lay between them.

After a silence she told of the happenings of each season. How Joseph still lay sick and no physician could cure him, of James who had departed for Jerusalem. For now that he was a man he desired, before all else, to live beneath the shadow of the Temple. And she spoke of Thomas, of Seth and the quarrel between the brothers, of Sarah who compelled his sisters to serve her. All these things she imparted to her first-born, and when she had finished he gave of his own wise counsel concerning them.

He promised his mother he would seek to win Seth and would strive to find some way whereby peace might be brought to that household and the brothers led to be of the same mind and heart once more.

"But Thomas may not welcome thee, and he is stubborn, so I cannot tell whether he will suffer thee to remain in Nazareth," cried Mary, and she told of those words spoken by him concerning Jesus and of the old remembrance of those days when the people of Nazareth were turned against him.

"Remembrance perishes as last year's leaves," said Jesus. "Be not troubled about the neighbors. And as to Thomas I will walk warily with him. I come, mother, in peace. My time is not yet. So I shall not suffer the head of jealousy to be raised like a serpent in our home."

With these words Mary was well content. And it seemed that they would be fulfilled. For so merry was Jesus in his greeting to Sarah at their meeting that she spoke well of him to Thomas. Wherefore, glad that his wife was of a peaceful mind, Thomas welcomed Jesus to his house.

Thus for the first days of his stay in Nazareth the presence of Mary's eldest son brought joy where there had been bitterness, and even Seth and Thomas spoke kindly words to one another; inasmuch as Jesus compelled them. Also he offered to be last in the carpenter's shop, to serve in it without reward. And as at that time Thomas had a press of work and cared not to hire labour, he was glad and even proud that the elder brother should serve him thus with a courteous humbleness that seemed strange to this young carpenter.

Jesus was forebearing in all things. Only when alone with Mary did he show his love for her. He did not contend for the first place at the board, the right of the first-born, he took the lower seat, thus declaring, without uttering any words, Thomas's title of master of the house.

So in time each member of that family brought their troubles, their secret vexations, to Jesus. To each he listened patiently. To certain of them he gave counsel. But he forebore from counsel when Thomas spoke in heat of Seth and told of his revolt against his authority. Jesus knew that no words are of avail in such a case with a man of choler and of pride.

But when Seth came to him and said, "Now that thou art here for my mother's comfort I may go hence and seek Ruth in marriage," Jesus made him declare the whole matter, and at the end made answer:

"Thy word remains thy bond. Thou hast promised thy service to Thomas for two years more. Is it not an ill thing to break an oath though it was given in ignorance?"

"But my mother, to whom this promise was made, has released me from it," answered Seth.

"It was also made to Thomas, inasmuch as he had charge of the household and the workshop. So it seems that thou art not loosed from thy bond though my mother has given thee thy freedom."

Then Seth was vexed and cried out, "Bond or no bond I cannot any longer contain myself. For Ruth is my comfort and my delight. I cannot wait two years for her."

Jesus reasoned with the boy, saying when no argument would persuade him, "But, Seth, perfect love casteth out desire. Thou mayest seek the company of thy beloved in the morning and in the evening. And if thou dost truly love her thou wilt forebear until such time as thou art free to cleave to her as a man to his wife."

Seth frowned and walked restlessly to and fro. "Nay, nay, I will not be gainsaid by thee. I shall wait no longer, I shall go to my love and no longer deny myself of what is a man's due and his birthright&emdash;that he shall have his household and rule over a woman."

Jesus made signs upon the ground with his stick, then sighing, said: "There are certain men who have more desire unto women than to land or to any goodly thing whatsoever under the sun. For the sake of their desire they will rob, sail upon the seas, break their bond, look upon a lion and go into darkness. But in acting thus a man showeth neither respect for a woman's dignity nor her honour. In honouring himself he honours his wife. It is well to distinguish between these two things, love and desire. Desire perishes; but love is faithful unto the end." And Jesus smiled and said, "Verily, verily, perfect love casteth out desire."

Then Seth became very thoughtful. In the following days he considered this thing well and perceived that numbers of women, old and young, came to Jesus and talked with him. To all he was the same, dealing out to each a gentle courtesy, laughing and singing with some, sorrowing with others, giving good counsel to those in need either of the spirit or the body. Seth also perceived that women did not trouble Jesus as they troubled other men with their looks or their fleshly appearance. Neither did he, as was the way with many proud elders, speak of women with contempt as being lower than men, no better than the meanest slaves. To all women he was a good comrade and showed his love for them, but in no case even when one or two sought to tempt him, did he show any desire.

So after six days Seth said to his brother: "I have watched thy comings in and goings out. I have perceived thy strength and now I know that love and desire are two different things, though the one may enhance the other. Wherefore I am determined to abide by thy sayings. I shall serve Thomas to the full measure of the bond. Only when I am free of it shall I seek out Ruth, and thus I shall honour my wife as she should be honoured. But watch me, brother, and pray that my strength shall not fail."

And Jesus bade Seth tell his mother of this covenant with himself. On hearing of it Mary overflowed with gladness and told Thomas of the good deed wrought by Jesus. So for a while joy and peace reigned in that household.

But Sarah was a woman who took pleasure in battle and in setting one member of a family against another. So she spoke against Seth to Thomas and declared that he had treated her despitefully. She whispered dark sayings about him and Ruth because these two met after the day's work, seeking each other's company in all innocence.

Incited by his wife, Thomas spoke hardly to his brother and set him heavy tasks. Yet, because of the example of Jesus, the lad bore well such ill-treatment. But when one day in the heat of noon before them all, Thomas called Seth a liar and a fool, the boy cried out saying:

"I will not remain in this house, I will no longer be thy bondman, such words break our bond." Then, because his anger was too great for further speech, he fled weeping from the workshop to a grove of olives.

And Jesus remained behind face to face with Thomas. His mother was also there. Troubled by her stricken face he turned to the master-carpenter saying

"Whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause is in danger of the Judgment. But whosoever calleth his brother a fool is in danger of hell fire."

Then Thomas became the more wrathful and cried, "I am master here. If thou, Jesus, who art last in this workshop, doth set thyself up against me thus, I shall not suffer thee to remain with us. Be silent and attend to thy work or go, and this time return not again."

And Jesus answered him saying: "In thus deriding thy brother thou hast wrought an ill thing. For he may in his bitterness of heart go from among us and thus break his bond with thee, or else he will show his resentment openly and secretly and fail thee in his work. Know that a kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation. A house divided against a house falleth…. Brother," here Jesus held out his hand and smiled, "put rancour from thy heart. Go, seek out Seth and ask his forgiveness. Then shall we, as brethren, dwell together in unity."

But Thomas would not take the hand of Jesus; and without making any answer he went straightway from the workshop to the olive grove. There he found Seth and asked his pardon. So these two became reconciled and good friends. But Thomas was a proud man and could not forget the shame he had suffered through being rebuked by his brother in the presence of his mother, Juda and a hired man.

In those days a radiance seemed to come out of Jesus that could not be denied, that gave courage and laughter to all about him as he worked. It might well have been that resentment would in time have dried up like drops of water beneath the sun's parching rays, if it had not been for Sarah, who now in her idleness hatched other mischief. She loved power and desired to make a captive of Jesus. So she was vexed in spirit when, each evening, after the day's work, he did not seek out her company but went into a field on the slope of a hill behind Nazareth. A number of women came there, some leading their children to him. He would cause them all to sit down in a circle like one great family. Certain of them asked for his counsel concerning their children, spoke of their naughtiness or their sickness, of the many perplexities these roused in their minds. And to each mother Jesus spoke a few words. They were treasured for they were like the kernel of a nut, the very pith and heart of every small trouble being contained in such grave sentences.

Afterwards Jesus played with the children and in parables related to the women some of the wonders of the great world of God. He made a story of the fife of the seed, of the stem that sprang from it, the leaves, the blossom and the flower. He told tales of the robbers of the desert, of the wild deeds committed by the wandering tribes; then he would come again to Galilee and relate stories of the guiding stars, of shepherds who strove with the wolves and died for their sheep. And many a gracious chronicle he span for them concerning the birds, the beasts and men and women, kings and princes. But within each history always there was some truth that caused his listeners to become thoughtful and to talk afterwards about it among themselves, saying: "Its meaning is this or that," and, "Verily, it showeth of what we are made and declares the gracious mercy of the One God."

Now the fame of these evenings reached even to other places, and women of all kinds but especially the needy and sorrowful, those of no account, came to them to receive a measure of courage for the hard journey down the years.

But Sarah's first liking of Jesus had turned to jealousy and hatred. So she drew her husband apart and said to him: "Behold, women of ill fame and women of no account come in the evening and talk with Jesus; and much scandal may be caused thereby. Then your trade will suffer and the people of repute, who are now our friends, will give us cold glances and withdraw from our company."

So Thomas told his mother of these gatherings and declared that he would compel Jesus to leave their home if he continued thus to be a cause for scandal in Nazareth.

Fearing to lose her beloved, Mary spoke to him coldly, not measuring the hurt of her words, asking that he should no more gather the women about him but seek only the young men of his own age.

"The children beg for bread," was his answer. "I may not withhold it from them."

Then Mary wept, and Jesus was troubled in spirit, knowing the good work he wrought among these folk, and vexed because what had been a lovely and innocent intercourse had been soiled and made a thing of nought.

Howsoever, because of his mother's tears he surrendered to her demand and passed no more evenings on the slope of the hill telling wise tales and fables to the women and children. But he divined that behind his mother's request was Sarah's malicious spirit. Wherefore his speech with her was "yea" and "nay," and he would remove himself from her presence, living little in the house in the evening, walking the hills alone.

So Sarah spoke again to Thomas and said, "Jesus is unskilled. He should, therefore, work longer hours in order that he gives his full share to the house." And she said this also to Juda, the silent brother, who loved Thomas and was a skilful carpenter.

Thus it came to pass that Thomas would not let Jesus go when the others in the workshop laid down their tools. He set him tasks he must accomplish after sunset by the light of the lamp by which Mary worked. For his mother's sake Jesus submitted himself to his brother's hard rule and was glad even of such labour when he might work in her company.

So Sarah perceived that she had failed to trouble the peace of Jesus; that he remained serene, treating her with courtesy but still holding to his speech of "yea" and "nay" when she would talk with him.

Then she was indeed vexed and sought to strike through his mother; she assumed authority, and as the wife of the master of the house, commanded Mary to go here and there. Wherefore, Jesus, not liking that she whom he respected and loved should be the young woman's servant, entreated her to take the place that was hers, become the head of that household and, for Sarah's sake, make her take the lower seat.

But Mary feared to be a cause for strife between Thomas and his wife. So she refused her son's request, saying, "All are at peace in our home. Let that peace remain with us. Son, you have said, in past times, that the one who is in authority should serve. As the mother of Thomas I am by right first in the family. But to preserve his happiness I choose the second place and grant to Sarah the authority."

Then Jesus said no more, but he was provoked in spirit. So on the Sabbath he climbed to the summit of Mount Tabor. There he remained until evening praying and seeking communion with his Father. And when he descended the hill near Nazareth in the darkness of a sudden great storm, his head and his body gave forth light. Encountering him, Mary Clopas withdrew from his path and fell upon her knees crying softly:

"Thou hast seen God."

CHAPTER VI

NOW, on the third day of the week, a rich merchant came to the workshop and asked that he might speak with Jesus. Because of his repute Thomas bowed down before him, for here came one who might command his work in another season.

He bade Jesus remove his ragged coat and put on the fine apparel that he wore on feast days when he took his place among men as master-carpenter.

But Jesus answered: "Nay, nay, it is what is within and not what is without that shall reveal the worth and value of any man." On this saying he went out of the workshop and greeted the merchant who desired to walk apart with him.

"Master," said this elder, "one evening I came with my wife and listened to thy sayings when many women were gathered about thee; and in that time I marvelled at the wisdom of thy words. But what appeared of greater import to me was that peace thou didst bestow upon all these women who came to thee with the cares of the world clouding their understanding."

"And what of it?" asked Jesus.

"I would have thee come and dwell in my house at Capernaum. Numbers of men work for me, and I would make thee my overseer. Thus will I, through thy noble peace, cause my workmen to serve me well."

In the after-time Jesus told of this meeting to John, his disciple, and of his first determination that he would not be overseer and set in a place of authority. Then, as the merchant continued speaking, he was tempted for he perceived that, with the price of his hire, he could keep a household and cause Mary and his sisters to live in serenity with him away from Sarah and the evil she contrived. Because the young man remained silent, the merchant told him he would come again for his answer in three weeks from that day. So it was agreed; and then scarcely heeding the request of Thomas that he should sit at meat at his board, this man of authority went down the road, journeying back to Capernaum.

Now because of the many hours of work set him in that season of his life, Jesus had little time when he might be alone and seek refreshment for his spirit. What time there was he shared with Mary and Joseph.

Always there had been a gulf fixed between him and the carpenter. Joseph was a good man, but in his heart he feared Jesus inasmuch as he had so often in his youth roused the anger of the neighbors by reason of his strange sayings. But now Jesus sat beside his bed and seemed to the old man to be a changed being. Few words were spoken by him; but he caused the one who was sick to talk of this and that and find pleasure in speech concerning past times.

There came an evening when Joseph told of his secret torment saying: "Night after night my sleep is troubled by the faces and the woe of crucified men. I cannot blot out this trouble and obtain ease in sleep. For these dark witnesses of the night testify to an offence committed by me in a generation of years away." Then he told Jesus of the revolt of Juda against Roman authority in those Galilean hills.

"The flower of our youth sought to cast off Roman rule and redeem Israel in that time," he said. "But Varus came with his legions and slew the young men in these Galilean hills&emdash;scattering their band, which was ill armed and could not contend against the weapons of the soldiers. Many young men were taken and the Centurion came to my workshop and commanded me to make crosses upon which the soldiers would crucify these youths in all their loveliness and strength. My soul was revolted by this command, and if I had had neither wife nor children I would have spurned this order and perished at the hand of the Centurion. He drew his sword and menaced Mary and my babes with it. Better had it been for me if I had suffered him to slay us. But my spirit failed me in that dread hour, and I served the Roman, making crosses upon which hung friends of my youth, Galileans I had known all the years of my life.

"And now, Jesus, as I lie here, the crosses, these men hanging on them, their bloody sweat, pass before my sight. And no prayer of mine delivers me and raises me out of this pit of destruction which I digged for myself in a far day. I may not cry out lest I rouse Mary from her sleep. I must wrestle with this thing alone." In these and other sayings Joseph declared his agony.

And time passed swiftly, softly by, and night's darkness stole into that room.

At last Jesus spoke. His words were gracious in, their healing for the sick man.

"I am comforted," said Joseph when he ceased.

I am easy in my mind. Such ease I have not known for many weeks. But of what avail words of comfort? In the hour thou art not with me these young men will come again and destroy my rest."

Jesus answered: "An evil spirit works this mischief, and he is aided by want of faith, pain and the feebleness of thy body. We must cleanse what is within so that all may be fair without."

Here the speaker stood up and cried: "In the Name of God, Our Father, I conjure this evil spirit to come out of thee. In the Name of God, Our Father, I command him to go hence and no more return."

In another and earlier time Joseph would have rebuked the young man for uttering the Great Name. But now it fell upon his hearing like the blast of a trumpet. He quaked in all his limbs. Then, after a little while, that trembling ceased; the dead limb that had been given life by it, lost life again, and the old man lay still.

Jesus fastened his eyes upon him, and he was with power. Joseph sighed and fell asleep, sleeping sweetly till morning. And when the healer came to him after Mary had risen and gone to prepare the meal Joseph was glad.

"I saw naught," he said.

"Our crucified brothers are at rest," answered Jesus, "and the evil spirit who conjured up their images is gone also from this room and from this house."

On the two evenings that followed the first evening when Jesus spoke the Great Name and bound the room fast, the evil spirit did not enter it any more; and in a little while from remembrance, Jesus blotted out for Joseph the agony that had risen from the grave of youth and had gathered about old age and infirmity.

Mary was greatly uplifted when she learned of the sleep without fear that had come to Joseph through her son. So Jesus spoke to her of the work the merchant had offered him. He told of his will that Mary, his sisters and Joseph should come and live with him at Capernaum. But when he had made an end of the telling, Mary became dark in herself and sorrowfully answered:

"Son, it may not be. Oft-times I have dreamed that I should live in thy house, and great to me was the Joy of that dream. But it may not be."

And Jesus was vexed in spirit, for he had set his heart on this thing. Nevertheless he contained himself and asked, "Why may I not give comfort to my mother and my sisters? Why may I not, now I have worked this good deed for Joseph, deliver ye all from this woman Sarah?"

Mary made swift answer: "Son Jesus, I am weary. I am not, at my age, able for the conflict that would arise through the break up of the household. The sparrow and the eagle may not nest together. Even if thou dost Persuade Joseph through thy power to go with thee, he will be sorrowful and ill-content, living in thy house. For Thomas is as the apple of thy father's eye. Those who are kindred spirits may not be separated from one another. Joseph's only joy is the good and seemly work wrought by the master-craftsman who is indeed in his own image. Nay, son Jesus," she cried and laid her hand upon his cheek with gentleness when he would protest. "Surely thou knowest that thou art not as other men. As overseer in this merchant's counting-house thou art in bonds to another. He win tell thee to go here and there, to wrest the pennies from the poor, and thou wilt refuse to obey him. Verily, thou art not born to serve merchants; and in a little while, thou wilt not be overseer but cast out from the counting house, and a wanderer once more."

Now Mary spoke wise and true words. But loving her deeply Jesus would not yet yield and said: "If I lose my hire in this counting house I can work as a labourer in the olive groves."

"But such hire will not suffice for a household, and the comforts needed by a sick man," cried Mary.

"Take no thought mother, for the morrow," was her son's answer. "Behold the flowers of the field. Our Heavenly Father careth for them. Neither do they toil nor spin. Wherefore then dost thou doubt me and my Father? Oh, woman, thou art indeed of little faith."

And Mary said she would seek the counsel of her sister-in-law, Mary Clopas. But she, too, was of the same mind.

Perceiving that naught would change his mother in her will to remain at Nazareth, Jesus told the merchant that he would not serve as his overseer. For a while he was cast down, hurt in his heart, because these two women were without faith.

Of all these things he spoke to John, his disciple at a later time. For John loved Mary, the mother of Jesus, and had asked him why he would not dwell, at her demand, in her house.

But from that hour he knew that he was not as other men. Not for him a life passed among his brethren.

For a time because of his love for his mother he had believed he might be a father to his sisters and to her a staff and support in old age.

In the days that followed the rejection of that belief he spoke little and was gathered into himself.

CHAPTER VII

JESUS would no longer remain as a bondman in the house of his younger brother, so he hired himself to Eldad, whose wife, Esther, had been one of the circle that had gathered about him in the evening on the slope of the hill. Eldad owned many fields, and the wheat was now ripe for the harvest.

Soon after sunrise on a day of heat Jesus told his mother of this thing. Almost she fainted away, and he could give her no comfort. For when she came to herself she held him to her crying with a hard grief that she could not let him go from her.

In the evening Thomas, who was at heart a good man, put jealousy from him and asked Jesus to remain a member of the household. He promised him the hours of freedom that he had been denied. But still Jesus would not yield. Later, when Mary had rested and might speak without tears, she prayed him to tell her his reasons for this third departure from his home.

"Mother, it is for the lengthening of thy tranquility I go hence. When I am not here ease will come to thee. I fear not those who hurt the body; I fear those who make an assault upon the soul. While I am in this house Sarah will torment thee and seek thy dishonour. And when thou art persecuted by this woman anger is mine, darkness gathereth about my understanding. We, two, may not dwell together. Verity thou hast chosen that this should be so."

Mary could not deny these words. Knowing in her heart that the light that Gabriel had once bestowed in an early time was going from her, leaving behind only the common day, she was resigned and rose up and blessed her son, praying that the King of Heaven should have him in His keeping.

Thus these two parted, and in the early morning of the next day Jesus cut blades of corn with a sickle on a hill that was one hour's journey from Nazareth. At night he slept in a barn in the company of other labourers. And though the toil was heavy, Jesus suffered no hardship, for in spirit he was glad.

At nightfall he found his freedom. He no longer heard Sarah's brawling voice or his sisters' plaints when she harried them. He might seek communion at moonrise and sunrise with the angels and his Father, no man or woman hindering him. Only at times he was lonely for his mother. He saw her once in two weeks on the Sabbath day when he went from the highlands to Nazareth. There they would meet and he would see his sisters or Seth, and they talked together, sitting beyond an ancient sycamore that stood in a field a little way from their home. He would not enter that home because of Sarah and what trouble his appearance in it might lay up for Mary and his sisters.

There is an evil which spreads like a plague, corrupting even the innocent. Thus it was that though Mary bore requests from Thomas that Jesus should come and sit at meat with the family, he did not eat of his bread or salt, and remained the stranger to his board, the wanderer from his tribe.

His sisters told him that Sarah now went softly in all that concerned his mother. Thus tranquility came to Mary. But she had lost that radiance and grace of living which only her first-born could bestow upon her and those about him.

CHAPTER VIII

A PHARISEE named Gershon had come to Nazareth from Capernaum. He was a man of learning who fasted in summer, winter, spring and autumn. He was much esteemed for his way of life, his long prayers and his power to cast out devils.

Certain Pharisees declare that there is laughter in Paradise. But Gershon was not one of these. Always he went about making dark faces, frowning and uttering prophecies of evil that was shortly coming to the people. Only when he cast out devils did his countenance change. Then he was with power.

Eldad had a son named Medad who was possessed by a stubborn devil which would not go hence even when, before all the people, Gershon wrestled with it. And Eldad was very sorrowful because his first-born had not the heart of a man but was given the heart of a beast.

He spoke to Jesus of his grief, saying: "I had two sons. One was lovely as Jonathan, but he was smitten by a sore fever and taken from us. O cruel death that plucks the flower and leaves behind the thistle, which is a cause only for pain and bitterness. The Pharisee who abides in the house of the Scribe of Nazareth in these past weeks, has failed to cast out this devil who has for five years possessed my son. Wherefore there is no cure for him in this life, and my wife has passed the age when she may bear children. So I shall go down into the darkness of death leaving behind no heir, no child who will be a good testimony to me in future generations."

To a Jew this indeed was the last bitterness. And moved with compassion Jesus said: "Let me speak with thy son, and peradventure, I may in time compel this demon to come out of him."

Now the young man was not suffered to go among his father's labourers because of the shame that arose through others perceiving his wantonness. So Eldad would not grant the demand made by Jesus, saying:

"There is only one man in Galilee, who through his holiness, has power to heal my son. That man is Gershon, the Pharisee. Wherefore, I shall take Medad with me to Nazareth on this very evening and once more pray the holy man to smite this devil. But come with me so that I may have one I can trust to aid me if Medad foams and raves or makes an assault upon those he may encounter."

By the light of a great moon Jesus went with the father and the possessed son down the hill to Nazareth. This time the Pharisee boasted that he would assuredly triumph over the evil and bring Medad back into his own body.

Certain of the people of the village gathered about them waiting and watching for the miracle. The Pharisee made a fire in that field and cast quicklime about it so that the devil might be driven into the flames and not enter into another, being swiftly consumed. "On the coasts of the Sea of Galilee the devil might be driven into the water where he would drown," said the old Scribe. "But if there be no water at hand fire is the other element that assuredly destroys such beastliness."

Medad made no sound when his father led him before Gershon. He was quiet and like any other man in his demeanour until the Pharisee had uttered a prayer and conjured the devil to come out of him. Then, suddenly, he foamed at the mouth, cursing the holy man, and he snatched a brand from the fire and shouting and laughing thrust it into his face. So wild and menacing was he that three men seized him and flung him to the earth, holding him there.

The Pharisee uttered long prayers over the felled youth. But these, too, were of no avail, the devil still held fast to Medad. And at last the Gershon said to his father: "There is no Pharisee, no man living who can cure thy son."

Then the people groaned, awed by the monster of iniquity that dwelt within the son of this now stricken father who bewailed his destiny and rent his robe.

In a little while when he was calm again, the Pharisee commanded certain strong youths to bind Medad with cords, for this holy man suffered from the burn of the brand thrust in his face and feared lest another assault be made upon him by this devil.

But Jesus came between the youths and Medad and bade them remain where they stood. Then softly he spoke to him saying:

"Arise, brother. The Father is with me, and through His Authority I command the unclean spirit to set free this prisoner and go hence into darkness."

A hush fell upon the little gathering of people. In that silence Medad rose up, and he was as a giant who towered aboved Jesus. But his body trembled like a reed in the wind and tears coursed down his cheeks. With a great sigh be cast himself on the earth at the feet of the Master.

"My deliverer," was his cry, and it smote strangely on the hearing of those who stood by.

It seemed that the cry came out of another life, out of a tomb. It seemed indeed as if one came back from the dead to live in that quivering, tormented flesh. Soon the great body tossed about no more. It stayed quiet as the man raised his eyes to the healer and said: "Who art thou&emdash;a prophet? Is it Elijah who calls me back from the night in which I have been caged these many years?"

"Nay, nay," said Jesus hastily. "Arise, follow me, come home."

Whereupon the young master turned upon his heel, walked swiftly through the circle of murmuring people and turned his face to the hills. And the giant went after that slender shape, his head bent, going like a dog in the track of his owner.

Then the people began to praise God, for they were greatly moved because a Nazarite had healed where a proud Pharisee from Jerusalem had failed to heal.

Now, while in this village Gershon lived with the old Scribe who had been the enemy of Jesus and had persecuted him in the days of his childhood. This same man went on sticks and his soul was as hooped as was his twisted body; and he went to and fro among the simple folk whispering malice, saying: "I remember this Jesus in past years. He broke the Sabbath, ten times, twenty times, he blasphemed wickedly, speaking aloud the Great Name. Many are his offences. Even in these past weeks this Jesus consorted with the robbers who live in the caves of the mountains above the Way of the Sea. It is through his friend and companion Beelzebub he has driven out this demon. 'Ware then of this carpenter's son; 'Ware then of the cloud of evil that enshrouds him. Verily, like a plague, he will invest ye all with his sins."

These and other sayings the old man scattered among the crowd, and he was like a sower who casts thistle-seed and no good grain over the earth. Some of it took root, and in time thrust forth thorns.

All men knew the Pharisee to be devout; and they talked with one another saying: "Gershon fasts in summer, winter, spring and autumn. Jesus does not fast. Gershon's discourses in the synagogue are longer than any that have been spoken within the memory of man."

"And he is," said other simple folk, "therefore, an example of holiness more notable than any heretofore known in Galilee. Only what is good cometh from him."

"So," said the Scribe, "Gershon did not heal, because, where there is an obstinate devil, only another superior devil can be master and drive the beastliness forth."

Scandal travels with sureness from one to another in a little place. In other times the people of Nazareth had lived somewhat gaily and wantonly. They were despised because of their past reputation by the devout Jews of the city. So they had greatly esteemed the honour paid to them by a Pharisee coming from Jerusalem and dwelling in their midst.

According to the belief of the elder folk, it seemed that his very presence there would find them favour with the God of Israel. So, in spite of their wonder at the miracle wrought by Jesus, they hardened their hearts and came to see evil where, in the hour of the healing, they had only seen good.

With the passing of two or three days the mischief increased, and so set did the people become against Jesus, they asked the Pharisee to visit Thomas's household. And while he was in his workshop this man came into the living-room to peep and pry. He would see whether the plates and cups were clean, whether all was kept in a seemly way according to the Law of Moses. Filled with self-righteousness he sought to find cause for offence even among the kin of Jesus. Thus would he be justified before all the people.

During that time the offender cut the wheat and helped to gather it into the barns, his soul serene, his demeanour gay because now he lived in full freedom in a family that esteemed him and loved him for the healing he had wrought, for the grace of his speech, the laughter in his voice, his jests, his songs.

Wherever he went Medad followed him; and soon the stricken first-born who had never worked, laboured side by side with his healer. Soon he cut more blades of corn than any other man in the same day. Soon he talked freely, and at the bidding of Jesus, served his mother, carrying her pitcher, going here and there for her. And he who had answered all with curses now spoke only kindly words. He was like the grain of mustard seed&emdash;in a short while his mind and spirit growing to a good height, giving comfort to his family and to those about him.

CHAPTER IX

THEY beat the grain with flails. The sun laughed down at them; they laughed up at it. They toiled and they sang.

But Eldad came from his house. He bade Jesus lay down his flail, rest and wipe the sweat from his brow. The young man did not question this strange command given in the noon of the day, he obeyed, and for a little while stretched himself out in the cool shadow of the barn.

There were little drops of water on his master's, cheeks. They were not tears of sweat, they were tears of sorrow. Still Jesus did not question, but followed him when again there came the word of command.

Thomas stood in the best room of the house. He wore the good raiment of the prosperous trader while his brother's garments were poor and torn by the thorns of the fields.

The face of the carpenter was angry and he spoke swiftly, "Because of thee, Jesus, the people of Nazareth are turned against me and my household. They say that thou art the servant of the Prince of Darkness."

"Then the children of light have become the children of this world, seeing only evil in a good deed."

"Who art thou to set thyself up against the authority of the Pharisee and the Scribe?" cried Thomas.

And Jesus answered in heat: "Beware of the Scribe and the Pharisee who believe that by long prayers they find favour with God, who in good see only evil. Master," he continued, speaking to Eldad, "is not thy first-born whole? Have I not rendered unto thee the son that was lost?"

"Yea, yea," returned Eldad, "and I know that the demons are as strange to thee as the night is to the day."

Here Thomas took up the word, not suffering the goodman to continue in his speech.

"Brother, I spoke in wrath because I am afraid. Work that should have been given to me has gone to another by reason of thy healing of Medad. The Scribe travels from house to house speaking against the Devil through whom, he says, thou hast cast out a devil. Wherefore, unless thou dost depart from the neighborhood of Nazareth, we are in danger of losing our livelihood. Verily, I am sorrowful because I come to entreat thee to be once more a wanderer. We are in an evil case, so also is Eldad. Young men in Nazareth declare that they will come and bum this house if thou dost not go hence from it. It is not meet that thou shouldst be a cause for destruction and break up this good man's peace."

"And my mother?" asked Jesus.

"She is silent, for she would not bid thee go."

Then Eldad spoke, saying: "I would send a messenger to my brother, the merchant, who lives in Caesarea Philippi. I would have one who is trusty for this purpose inasmuch as he is to be the bearer of a purse of money&emdash;my brother's inheritance. Jesus, wilt thou be my messenger?"

"And abide there?"

"Yea, for a season. He will employ thee in his commerce if thou dost bear word from me."

Jesus bowed his head in assent; he was indeed too stricken for further speech.

And Eldad strove to utter comforting words, saying:

"The Scribe is old and has but a little time before him in which to exercise the malice of his tongue. Soon he will be gathered to his fathers. With his passing remembrance of the scandal will pass as swiftly as a mountain tempest from the face of the sea of Galilee."

"I shall go at sunrise," said Jesus, and then fell into a silence from which Thomas could not rouse him. So, shamed and troubled, the young carpenter took his leave of him and of Eldad, hastening down the hill, looking neither to the right nor to the left in his going.

For great spirits the years of early manhood are often the years of loneliness. Jesus had given of the treasures of his heart to his own people and they had rejected him. So he told Eldad that, in the coming days, he would keep his own counsel, he would not speak to strangers of Nazareth or of his own kin.

"Be not cast down," said this goodman. "All things pass. Evil flourishes only for a season. Thou wilt return in triumph to Nazareth. For thy mother has told me of the Messengers of God who came to her. They declare that thou art set apart for a high purpose."

"That may or may not be," answered Jesus, "but until my Heavenly Father reveals his purpose, I shall not reveal myself to others."

Eldad perceived that Jesus suffered. Deep was the hurt dealt him by the people of Nazareth. The gay singer was gone as the early dew from the flower when the heat of the day is come. And the elder sighed, troubled by the cruelty of time.

CHAPTER X

WHEN morning came and the people of the house had gone into the fields, Eldad gave Jesus a seamless coat which was of such thickness it would withstand the cold of the mountains about Caesarea Philippi. He let Jesus go secretly, for Medad loved him and would assuredly accompany him on his journey if he had knowledge of it.

But before the last words of farewell were spoken, this prosperous husbandman bowed himself down before his servant and entreated him saying:

"Verily, thou art Lord and I am servant."

This was the first time that any elder had asked for the blessing of Jesus, hailing him as master and seer. For a little while the young man remained silent and troubled; then he lifted up his hand and gave the blessing.

It was a day of cloud filled with the menace of rain, and all the people were abroad in the fields or in the barns either gathering the corn or storing up the grain for the winter-time. The road was solitary for a part of the way and Jesus and a young man of the household of Eldad made good speed. They conversed together as they walked, and the youth, who carried in a wallet food for the journey, told his secrets to Jesus, who hearkened and gave counsel. So the day slipped by.

Towards evening the travellers entered the Way of the Sea which is also known as the "Valley of Doves". A mighty mountain rose before them, and within this mountain there were as many caves as cells in a honeycomb. And Amon told Jesus that, at one time, rebels had taken shelter in these caves and had held the valley against an army. But the Romans overcame their defenses, and going up to the mountain's summit, they had loosed down cages filled with soldiers. These men had thrust iron hooks into the caves which dragged forth the rebels. Then they were cast over the edge of the cliff and, falling a thousand cubits, perished miserably in the valley below.

"And now it is a valley of peace," said Jesus, gazing at the doves which circled to and fro round and about them. Their gentle calling in the red light of the dying day, spoke of rest and peaceful sleep for the weary traveller.

A little way beyond the wayfarers where the valley sank below them, they perceived caravans and camels. These carried merchandise and travelled slowly along the road. But suddenly, violently, the peace of that valley was broken by shouts and menaces, by wild men leaping among the rocks who hurled stones and rolled boulders down upon the camels and caravans.

A loud clamour arose, and some of the camels and their riders fled up the road towards Jesus and Amon, while others who drove the caravans flung themselves down before these wild men and were instantly slaughtered.

Amon compelled Jesus to come with him and hide among rocks some distance from the high road. There they remained watching and listening until the clamour and the groans died away into silence. Then in the dark before moonrise, Jesus and Amon whispered together and determined to lie in this place for the night. They opened their wallet, and after partaking of food Jesus said a prayer that calmed his companion's fears, and they laid themselves down to rest. But hour after hour Amon stayed awake, then, falling asleep, he awoke crying and trembling.

Jesus asked what troubled his spirit. And between his times of shuddering the young man said:

"I dreamed the dream of foreknowledge. The robbers who dwell in the mountain caves, came upon me and hung me up above a fire, where I was being slowly roasted and choked to death by the smoke; and the agony of the flame was with me even as I woke in this cold dawn."

Jesus strove to comfort this distraught youth. But he cried: "What I have known in pain and terror in this past night has been the portion of others who were taken by robbers to their dens in the hills. Wherefore my dream is a warning, and if I would escape the torment of the slow fire I must fly before sunrise from this accursed valley."

Snatching up the wallet, Amon went stumbling down between the rocks with Jesus following and calling softly to him. But he would not be stayed by any kindly voice or brave words. The last his companion saw of him was a flitting shadow in the light of the waning moon hastening up the road to the west and towards home.

It was not far from day, and Jesus waited patiently for the change and brightness of the dawn. When at last it came he found a little pool made by the rains in a cup of rock, and he drank from it. Then, fastening his sandals, he rose up and continued his journey along the valley. It was quiet now and seemingly deserted of all save those messengers of peace&emdash;the white doves.

These again flew to and fro and were indeed like a token of the Holy Spirit's presence in the stillness of that early day when all men rest in the blindness of steep.

But the robbers had left behind a watcher who stood at the neck or narrow part of the defile. And of a sudden he came upon Jesus with menaces crying:

Who art thou, dog, and where goest thou?"

Jesus halted, and neither trembling nor flinching, said

"I am a landless and a homeless man."

"Nay, that is a lie. Thy fine coat betrays thee. Thou art one of the rich men who despoil and oppress the poor." Whereupon he drew his dagger from its sheath.

Jesus laughed at his words. Thrusting back the coat he bared his breast and advanced it towards the blade of the upraised knife saying: "Brother, I have nothing to offer thee of mine own but this fine coat and my life. Verily, thou art welcome to my life if it will ease thy wrath against man and God."

Then the robber peered and gaped at him, for he was astonished at his courage.

But he made answer: "These are a braggart's words. Kneel while I slit thy throat to the ears."

The young Galilean smiled easily and held his ground saying: "My life is of little account when eternal life stretches before me. Truly a man's life may be likened to a dream dreamt at the opening day. For some it is an ill dream, for others pleasing. But to all it is only of value in what they take from it of wisdom and of purity of heart. I am prepared, brother, slay me, and thus, maybe, thou wilt find ease from bitterness."

The robber believed that Jesus made mock of him. Wherefore, liking both the mockery and this dignity in the face of death, he sheathed his dagger and said: "Thou art after mine own heart, fearless as we are fearless, a true comrade. So come with me and break thy fast in the company of my band who dwell in the caves of the crags above, and we will make merry together, drinking the wine from the caravans taken yester-eve on this very road." Jesus must perforce go with him. He had no other choice. They passed by a dead camel, all that remained of yesterday's battle, for the robbers had taken away the slain.

"This part of the valley hath the narrowness of a needle's eye," said the thief. "Wherefore few men escape from us here." And he continued his talk, telling of his wild life and violent deeds.

Remembering his determination to keep his own counsel Jesus remained silent. They went up and around the cliff along a twisting path between scarred boulders that stood like sentinels guarding the caves and the mountain's secrets.

Then, when at last they came into the heart of the hill, it seemed as if the traveller were trapped in a prison he might never leave&emdash;so crooked and so many were the paths that led to it.

They entered a round chamber lit by torches. At first some twenty men gathered like wolves about Jesus giving him fierce glances. But the robber told them that Jesus was of their kind.

"He is an outcast, and such is his courage he is fitted to lead us in our forays, inasmuch as he is not afraid to die."

Jesus remained silent. He was placed beside the chief, a man as great in stature as Goliath. Then all sat down and drank wine and partook of goat's flesh while requiring further tidings of the stranger.

His captor told of his encounter with him and of his strange speech concerning the world beyond the grave. These men who lived dangerously, hearkened eagerly, for they knew not the hour when they might be taken by the soldiers and put to a sorry and tormented death.

"And what will be our portion of eternal life?" they enquired.

"The goodman," answered Jesus, "will dwell with the angels before the throne of God and will walk in His gardens."

"And have plenty and riches beyond measure?" asked a lean sharp-faced man.

"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God."

Silence followed these words. The thieves gazed at the speaker in astonishment.

Then the first robber cried: "The dead camel… the needle's eye of the valley! Again, friend, thou makest merry," and he broke into loud laughter.

"Nay, thou hast well said," came the chief's words, and thereupon he turned and rebuked the noisy fellow. "Only fools bray at wisdom. Cease thy laughter and be silent if thou hast no understanding of great sayings."

Then he turned to Jesus and questioned him.

"Sir, what will be thy work in the coming days? I would have thee as a comrade sharing our danger and our plunder. Wilt thou be one of us?"

Jesus answered boldly: "I am a healer and not a destroyer."

"Nay, nay," said the chief, "we destroy only to build. We gather treasure so that we may scatter it in the service of the oppressed people of our race. Lo, we of the robber-band were all children of the young men who went into battle against the Romans following the banner of Juda, the Gaulonite. We saw our fathers perishing in torment on crosses. We hearkened in terror to their groans of agony, and afterwards we were outcasts and knew the pains of hunger, cold and nakedness. So those of us who were strong enough to live through such hardships, came together and vowed that we would avenge our fathers, and when the time was ripe, rise in insurrection and deliver Jerusalem of the prophets, out of the hands of the accursed heathen. For this purpose we plunder rich men. And when we have gathered enough treasure we go into the cities in beggars' garments and lay some of it in store in a sure Place against the time of the insurrection. With the rest we buy arms, for we would be better provided than our fathers who had but clubs, sickles and the weapons of the husbandman. Now I would have thee join our band because I perceive thou art a wise man and fearless."

"Wherefore I come to heal and not to destroy," repeated Jesus.

"Then thou wilt not be one of us?"

"I have said."

At these words of Jesus the robbers made an outcry, and it was some little while before the chief could gain a hearing.

"Stranger, thou art a prisoner," he said, "and must remain one of our band else we may be betrayed by thee."

"Of what service is the healer to the destroyer?" Jesus asked.

"How do I know that in speaking of healing thou art but seeking to escape from our service?" said the chief. "But I can measure thee in this matter."

Then he led Jesus into a smaller cave wherein lay a wounded man who had the look of one like to die.

"Behold my brother and my beloved, the one who alone of all my kin has not so far perished in wars and tumults. Now he is in an evil case. "And the man wept; only after a while could he command his voice and speak again.

"Stranger," he said, "I know the signs of death, for I have seen many men die. I know that there is little chance that even a skilled physician can save my brother. If thou, who art a healer, can stay his course into the shadows, then for the priceless boon of his life, I will render to thee thy freedom from my service."

The sick man, who was named Judas, stirred, gazing up at the chief, and there was the terror of death in his eyes. Now Jesus had determined that he would hold himself apart from men and work no more miracles. But he was moved to compassion for one who was afraid to face the last freedom, which is release from the body of dust. So he called for spring water. Then he removed the rags from the wound, washed it and bound it up in a clean linen cloth.

Judas cried and wept and it seemed as if he would pass hence in his agony. Jesus laid hands upon his brow, speaking words of courage. In a little while Judas was comforted, and, sighing, fell asleep.

"In sleep there is resurrection," whispered Jesus.

"Yea, if the deliverer is with the sleeper," murmured the chief, awed by the light that came from the stranger's hands.

They watched all through the night, and towards morning the elder brother believed that the spirit of the younger had fled, so quiet he was, so deep his slumber.

It was the hour of weariness and despair. Courage failed. The chief rose and paced to and fro, muttering and murmuring like a man in a fever. When he would not heed the signs that commanded silence, Jesus went to him and was as a small, slim boy standing beside this giant. He took hold of his arm and with violence thrust him out of the cave, then returned to Judas who had been roused by his brother's speech. The healer's hands passed to and fro above his brow and rested on it once more while he spoke words that called back sleep to the sufferer.

The proud chief, who no man dared constrain in any manner, stretched himself out at the mouth of that cave and lay there like a dog waiting for his master.

It was not until evening that Jesus stumbled over the body that lay across the threshold, rousing up its owner who, in spite of desolate sorrow, had fallen asleep.

Jesus was swooning from weariness and from the loss of that light that had gone out of him into the sick man. Wherefore the chief lifted him up as if he were a child and laid him to rest in his own place. Then he went to his brother, and perceiving the colors of health upon his cheeks, knew that the grave was defeated. Death had passed him by.

A feast was given and the robbers sat again at meat with Jesus. They made merry, glad because of the miracle that had given back life to Judas and a brave spirit to their chief. Then, after they had eaten and were filled, they gathered around the healer and asked him many questions.

He spoke of simple life, telling stories of the husbandmen who gather in the grain, of the mother and wife who cared for the household and of all that round of toil and peaceful living which these men had forsaken or had never known.

Some wept for what they had lost, others boasted of their deeds of blood and spoke of the time when they would gather the people of Galilee together in an army and, marching against the Romans, drive them from the land and thus free the chosen people.

"Then we shall overthrow the rich who oppress the poor," they cried. "We shall cast down the betrayers of our country from their high places and, seizing their possessions, rule in their stead."

"And ye will be rich as they are?" asked Jesus.

"Yea, yea," cried the robbers, "and we shall live gloriously."

"Until the Romans return with another army?" enquired Jesus.

"Yea, and if they do we shall offer battle and once more drive them out of the land of our fathers."

Jesus sighed and made as if he would speak, but he held his peace. Then after much boasting, shouting and singing, some of the robbers went on guard and others slept.

Jesus remained alone with the chief, and after a silence this robber said: "Stranger, thou hast not even told me thy name. Very lovely art thou in my sight, and so I would not let thee depart, I would keep thee to aid us in our work for the delivery of Israel."

And suddenly Jesus answered: "Is it better for me to heal than to destroy?"

Looking at his sleeping brother, the chief said:

Verily, it is better that thou shouldst heal."

"But if I remain with thee I must take up arms. So I shall become a destroyer."

"Yea, all we who are outcasts, are compelled at some time to defend ourselves with arms," said the chief sadly. "For we always live in peril and know not the hour when the enemy will discover us. I cannot offer thee safety, but I can offer thee service for our country and my love."

"I am a man of peace and may best serve my people as the healer and the comforter when my call comes… so let me go."

"Nay, I cannot let thee go."

Then Jesus reminded him of his oath&emdash;that he had sworn to give him freedom from service if he healed his brother. And the chief could not deny the pledge. So, sorrowfully, after much wrestling of spirit, he consented to let the stranger go.

"Promise me one thing," he said, "return again within two years. For if I have not perished I would listen to thy wise sayings and gain comfort from thy counsel."

Jesus promised that some day he would journey back to the Valley of Doves, and if he did not find him there would seek tidings of him elsewhere. They parted good friends. When the chief returned alone to the caves he said to Judas, "I have known many men in my time, but not one of them was like unto this man. Assuredly he is one of the prophets come again."

He is, peradventure, the deliverer named in the Holy Book who will free our people," said Judas.

"Nay, he is a man of peace," answered his brother.

"The deliverer must take up a sword and even as the kings of Israel lead his men into battle."

Afterwards the chief considered these words of Judas and at times pondered over them, then laid them up in store among those memories that, when nourished, bear fruit in due season.

CHAPTER XI

A COUSIN of Eldad lived near the Valley of Doves. Having discovered his hut Jesus presented the old man with a gift from his kinsman, but rejecting his hospitality, set out on the road once more. It was his desire not to converse with others, to hold himself apart, and in the quiet win back communion with his Father. The full freedom of such communion had been lost to him since that ill day when Thomas had pronounced the sentence of banishment.

A youth who sang the song of the fisherman came by. He ceased from singing and gave the greeting of the road to Jesus. No answer was made to this greeting. But the wayfarer was not troubled by what seemed churlishness, and for a while these two walked side by side in silence.

The singer spoke suddenly: "What is thy name and tribe? My name is John." His voice was deep and strong, his body lean and shapely. For an instant Jesus gazed up at him, then he lowered his head and bent his brows upon the road once more.

As if he had answered him John continued: "My father is named Zebedee, and I have also a brother called James. Until yesterday he has been with me every day of my life since I was born. He is dear to me beyond all others of my kin. Some call us 'the two eagles', others 'the sons of thunder'. For we are not easily silenced; and our song, which is loud like thunder and deep as the sea in its sound, is famed among all the fishermen who sail their boats upon the lake of Galilee."

Jesus smiled at this talk, but held his peace.

My father sends me to his kinsfolk with greetings so that he might sever us twain," said John. "He declares that we will never make friends and comrades of men if we, who find all happiness in each other's company, are not thus separated for a time."

Jesus did not lift his head when John halted in his speech; he gave no sign that he had heard his story.

The young man was not daunted. He spoke of his tribe and his home, of his mother who believed that some great destiny lay before her two sons. At this saying he tossed back his head and laughed, and the rocks echoed back that laughter which continued until it seemed as if the very stones shared and returned the joy of this youth, who might have been born at sunrise, so eager was he for life and for the days that lay before him and his brother.

But his companion remained gathered into himself.

Then John told of days passed upon the lake, of the silver and brown fish he caught, of his skill in mending nets, of the storms that sweep down from the mountains and entrap the fishermen. He spoke of shipwrecks on the waters and of the danger of the deep from which God and not his own swimming had delivered him. Many a tale he told of good hours of toil upon that sea, of days when the sun shone and the face of the lake was smooth as glass and labour was sweet in that time when the hours fled away while they watched by the nets or dragged them in and made them yield up their treasure, which was despatched to the towns and sold in their markets. But he declared that his mother erred in her belief of a great destiny for her sons, "Inasmuch as my desire is only to live thus, sailing upon the lake, fishing, toiling at the nets, and in the evening, resting in the company of my brother, holding conversation with him beneath the stars. We are truly content with each other and have no desire or need of any other love or life."

To all these things Jesus made no answer. So