The last of this chatter that came to Joseph's ears was that Jesus could do as much with sheep as any man since Abraham, and—satisfied with this knowledge—he took his leave of the shepherds, certain that Jesus must have been among the Essenes for many years before God called to him to leave his dogs and to follow John, whom he began to recognise as greater than himself, but whom he was destined to supersede, as John's own disciple, Banu, testified in the desert before Joseph's own eyes. He remembered how Banu saw John in a vision plunging Jesus into Jordan. Of trickery and cozenage there was none: for the men along these banks bore witness to the baptism that Joseph would have seen for himself if he had started a little earlier; nor could the Jesus who came to John for baptism be other than the young shepherd whom Joseph had seen, at the beginning of his novitiate, walking with the president in deep converse; the president apparently trying to dissuade him from some project. Joseph could not remember having heard anyone speak so familiarly or so authoritatively to the president, a man some twenty years older; and he wondered at the time how a mere shepherd from the hills could talk on an equality, as if they were friends, with the president. The shepherd, he now heard, was an Essene, but he lived among the hills, and Joseph remembered the striped shirt, the sheepskin and the long stride. His memory continued to unfold, and he recalled with singular distinctness and pleasure the fine broad brow curving upwards—a noble arch, he said to himself—the eyes distant as stars and the underlying sadness in his voice oftentimes soft and low, but with a cry in it; and he remembered how their eyes met, and it seemed to Joseph that he read in the shepherd's eyes a look of recognition and amity.

And now, as he walked from the Jordan to the cenoby, he remembered how, all one night after that meeting, dreams of a mutual destiny plagued him: how he slept and was awakened by visions that fled from his mind as he strove to recall them. But was this young shepherd the one that Banu saw John baptize in the Jordan? It cannot be else, he said to himself. But whither was Jesus gone? Did the brethren know, and if they did know would they tell him? It was against the rule to put questions: only the president could tell him, and he dared not go to the president. Yet consult somebody he must; and a few days afterwards he got leave again to visit Banu, whom he found lying in his cave, sick: not very sick; though having eaten nothing for nearly two days he begged Joseph to fetch him a little water from the rock; which Joseph did. After having drunk a little the hermit seemed to revive, and Joseph related how he missed Jesus on the bank and had no tidings of him except that he was gone into the desert to meditate. But the desert is large, and I know not which side of the lake he has chosen. To which Banu answered: John is baptizing in the Jordan; get thee baptized and repent! On which he reached out his hand to his store of locusts, and while munching a few he added: the Baptist is greater than Jesus, and he is still baptizing. Get thee to Jordan! At this Joseph took offence and returned to the cenoby with the intention of resuming his teaching. But he was again so possessed of Jesus that he could not keep his mind on the lesson before him: a pupil was often forced to put a question to him in a loud voice, and perhaps to repeat it, before Joseph's sick reverie was sufficiently broken for him to formulate an answer. The pain of the effort to return to them was so apparent in his face that the pupils began to be sorry for him and kept up a fire of questions, to save him from the melancholy abstractions to which he lately seemed to have become liable. The cause of his grief they could not guess, but he was not sure they did not suspect the cause; and so the classes in which he heretofore took so much pleasure came to be dreaded by him. Every moment except those in which he sat immersed in dreams was a penance and a pain; and at last he pleaded illness, and Mathias took his class, leaving Joseph to wander as far as he liked from the cenoby, which had become hateful to him.

He was often met in the public gardens in Jericho, watching the people going by, vaguely interested and vaguely wearied by the thoughts that their different shows called up in his mind; and he was always painfully conscious that nothing mattered: that the great void would never be filled up again: and that time would not restore to him a single desire or hope. Nothing matters, he often said to himself, as he sat drawing patterns in the gravel with his stick. Yet he had no will to die, only to believe he was the victim of some powerful malign influence.

One day as he sat watching the wind in the palm-trees, it seemed to him that this influence, this demon, was always moving behind his life, disturbing and setting himself to destroy any project that Joseph might form. Another day it seemed to Joseph that the demon cast a net over him, and that—entangled in the meshes—he was being drawn—Somebody spoke to him, and he awoke so affrighted that the gossip could hardly keep himself from laughing outright. If the end of the world were at hand, let the end come to pass! he said; but he did not go to John for baptism. He knew not why, only that he could not rouse himself! And it was not till it came to be rumoured in Jericho that a prophet was gone to Egypt to learn Greek that he awoke sufficiently to ask why a Jewish prophet needed Greek. The answer he got was that the new doctrine required a knowledge of Greek; Greek being a world-wide language, and the doctrine being also world-wide. As there was but one God for all the world, it was reasonable to suppose that every man might hope for salvation, be he Jew or Gentile. It seemed to Joseph that this doctrine could only emanate from the young shepherd he had met in the cenoby, and he joined a caravan, and for fifteen days dreamed of the meeting that awaited him at the end of the journey—and of the delightful instruction in Greek that he was going to impart to Jesus. The heights of Mount Sinai turned his thoughts backward only for a moment, and he continued his dream of Jesus, continuing without interruption along the shell-strewn shores of the Sea of Arabah, on and on into the peninsula, till he stepped from the lurching camel into the great caravanserai in Alexandria.

Without exactly expecting to find Jesus waiting for him in the street, he had dreamed of meeting him somewhere in the city. He was sure he would recognise that lean face, lit with brilliant eyes, in any crowd, and the thought of getting news of Jesus in the synagogues in some sort drowsed in his mind. As Jesus did not happen to be waiting outside the caravanserai, Joseph sought him from synagogue to synagogue, without getting tidings of him but of another, for the camel-drivers at Mount Sinai had not informed him wrongly: a young Jew had passed through the city on his way to Athens, but as he did not correspond to Joseph's remembrances of Jesus, Joseph did not deem it to be worth his while to follow this Jew to Athens. He remained in Alexandria without forming any resolutions, seeking Jesus occasionally in the Jewish quarters; and when they were all searched he returned to the synagogues once more and began a fresh inquisition, but very soon he began to see that the faces about him were overspread with incredulous looks and smiles, especially when he related that his friend was the young prophet discovered by John among the hills of Judea, tending sheep.

What tale is this that he tells us? the Jews asked apart; but finding Joseph well instructed and of agreeable presence and manner, they made much of him. If Galilee could produce such a man as Joseph, Galilee was going up in the world. We will receive thee and gladly, but speak no more to us of thy shepherd prophet, and betake thyself to our schools of philosophy, which thou'lt enjoy, for thy Greek is excellent. But who taught thee Greek? And while Joseph was telling of Azariah, little smiles played about his eyes and mouth, for the incredulity of the Alexandrian Jews had begotten incredulity in him, and he began to see how much absurdity his adventure made show for. The Alexandrian Jews liked him better for submitting himself so cheerfully to their learning and their ideas, and he became a conspicuous and interesting person, without knowledge that he was becoming one. Nor was it till having moulded himself, or been moulded, into a new shape that he began to think that he might have done better if he had left the moulding to God. His conscience told him this and reminded him how he vowed himself to Jesus, whom Banu saw in a vision. All the same he remained, not unnaturally, a young man enticed by the charm of the Greek language, and the science of the Alexandrian philosophers, who were every one possessed of Mathias's skill in dialectics. They all knew Mathias and were imbued with much respect for him as a teacher, and were willing to instruct Joseph in psychology, taking up the lesson where Mathias closed the book. So, putting his conscience behind him, Joseph listened, his ears wide open and his mind alert to understand that it was a child's story—the report in Jerusalem that the end of the world was approaching, and that God would remould it afresh—as if God were human like ourselves, animated with like business and desires! He heard for the first time that to arrive at any clear notion of divinity we must begin by stripping divinity of all human attributes, and when every one is sloughed, what remains? Divinity, Joseph answered; and his instructor bowed his head, saying: here is no matter for reflection.

The philosophers were surprised to learn that in Jerusalem many still retained the belief that God was no more than a man of colossal stature, angry, revengeful, and desirous of burnt offerings and of prayers which were little better; that the corruptible body could be raised from the dead and given back to the soul for a dwelling. That Jerusalem had fallen so low in intellect was not known to them; and Joseph, feeling he was making a noise in the world, admitted that despite the knowledge of the Greek language he accepted the theory that the soul was created before the body and waited in a sort of dim hall, hanging like a bat, for the creation of the body which it was predestined to descend into, till the death of the body released it. He was, however, now willing to believe that the souls of all the wise men mentioned in the books of Moses were sent down to earth as to a colony; great souls could not abide like bats in the darkness, but are ever desirous of contemplation and learning. And on pursuing this thought in the Greek language, which lends itself to subtle shades of thought, he discovered that there are three zones: the first zone is reason, the second passion and the third appetite. And this his first psychological discovery was approved by his teacher, and many months were passed over in agreeable exercises of the mind of like nature, interrupted only by letters from his father, asking him when he proposed to return home.

After reading one of these letters, his unhappiness lasted sometimes for a whole day, and it was revived many times during the week; but philosophy enabled him to resist the voice of conscience still a little while, and even a letter relating the death of his grandmother did not decide his departure. It seemed at first to have decided him, and he told all his friends that he was leaving with the next caravan. But of what use, he asked himself, for me to return to Galilee? Granny is in her grave: could I bring her back to life I would return! So he remained in Egypt for some time longer, and what enforced his return were the long plains, in which oxen drew the plough from morning till evening; and he had begun to long for clouds and for the hills, and the desire to escape from the plain grew stronger every day till at last he could not do else than yield to it. By the next caravan, he said to himself.

In Egypt he had met no prophet, only philosophers, and becoming once more obsessed by miracles, he hastened to Banu, but of Jesus Banu could only tell him that he was doing the work that our Father had given him to do. Which is more than thou art doing. Go and get baptism from John! Go back to Jericho and wait for a sign, leaving me in peace, for I need it, having been troubled by many, eager and anxious about things that do not matter. I will indeed, Joseph replied, for nothing matters to me since I cannot find him. And he returned to Jericho, saying to himself that Jesus must be known to every shepherd; perhaps to that one, he said, running to head back his flock, which has been tempted by a patch of young corn; Joseph stood at gaze, for the shepherd wore the same garb as Jesus had done: a turban fixed on the head with two tiring-rings of camel's hair, with veils floating from the shoulders to save the neck from the sun. Jesus, too, wore a striped shirt, and over it was buckled a dressed sheepskin; and Joseph pondered on the shepherd's shoon, on his leathern water-bottle, on his long slender fingers twitching the thongs of the sling. He had been told that no better slinger had been known in these hills than Jesus. But he had left the hills and had gone, whither none could tell! He was gone, whither no man knew, not even Banu. He is about his Father's work, was all Banu could say; and Joseph wandered on from shepherd to shepherd, questioning them all, and when none was in sight he cried again Jesus's name to the winds, and never passed a cave without looking into it, though he had lost hope of finding him. But he continued his search, for it whiled the time away, though it did nothing else, and one day as he lay under a rock, watching a shepherd passing across the opposite hillside, he tried to summon courage to call him; but judging him to be one of those whom he had already asked for tidings of Jesus, he let him go, and fell to thinking of the look that would come into the shepherd's face on hearing the same question put to him again. A poor demented man! he would mutter to himself as he went away. Nor was Joseph sure that his mind was not estranged from him. He could no longer fix it upon anything: it wandered as incontinently as the wind among the hills, and very often he seemed to have come back to himself after a long absence, but without any memory. Yet he must have been thinking of something; and he was trying to recall his thoughts, when the shepherd came back into view again and Joseph remarked to himself that he was without a flock. He seemed to be seeking something, for from a sheer edge he peered down into the valley. A ewe that has fallen over, no doubt, Joseph thought; but what concern of mine is that shepherd who has lost a ewe, and whether he will find his ewe or will fail to find it? Of no concern whatever, he said to himself, and—forgetful of the shepherd—he began to watch the evening gathering in the sky. Very soon, he said, the hills will be folded in a dim blue veil, and sleep will perchance blot out the misery that has brooded in me all this livelong day, he muttered. May I never see another, but close my eyes for ever on the broad ruthless light. Of what avail to witness another day? All days are alike to me.

It seemed to Joseph that he was of a sort dead already, for he could detach himself from himself, and consider himself as indifferently as he might a blade of grass. My life, he said, is like these bare hills, and the one thing left for me to desire is death.

A footstep aroused him from his dream. The man whom he had seen on the hillside yonder had crossed the valley, and he began to describe the animals he had lost, before Joseph recovered from his reverie. No, he said, I have seen no camels. Camels might have passed him by without his seeing them, but there was no obligation on him to confide his misery to the shepherd, a rough, bearded man in a sheepskin, who thanked him and was about to go, when Joseph called after him: if you want help to seek your camels, I'll come with you. Even the company of this man were better than his loneliness; and together they crossed some hills. Why, there be my camels, as I'm alive! the camel-driver cried. Joseph had brought him luck, for in a valley close at hand the camels were found, staring into emptiness. Strange abstractions! Joseph said to himself, and then to the camel-driver: since I have found your camels, who knows but that you may tell me of one Jesus, an Essene from the cenoby on the eastern bank of the Jordan? A shepherd of these hills? the man asked, and Joseph replied: yes, indeed. To which the camel-driver answered: if I hear of him, I'll send him a message that you are looking for him, and I'll send you word that he has been found. But you'll never find him, Joseph answered. You didn't think you would find my camels, the driver replied; but so it fell out, and if I could only find a few more camels, or the money to buy them, I could lay down a great trade in figs between Jericho and Jerusalem; he related simply, not knowing that the man he was talking to could give him all the money he required; telling that figs ripen earlier in Jericho, especially if the trees have the advantage of high rocks behind them.

It pleased Joseph to listen to his patter: it seemed to him that his father was talking to him, and he was plunged in such misery that he had to extricate himself somehow. So he signed the deed that evening, and within a month a caravan laden with figs went forth and wended its way safely to Jerusalem. Another caravan followed a few weeks after, and still larger profits were made, and these becoming known to certain thieves, the next caravan was waylaid and driven away to the coast, and the figs shipped to some foreign part or sold to unscrupulous dealers, who knew them to be stolen. The loss was so great that Gaddi said to Joseph: if we lose a second caravan we shall be worse off than we were when we began, and we shall lose a third and a fourth, unless the robbers be driven out of their caves. Let us then go to the Roman governor, Pilate, and lay our case before him. Joseph had no fault to find with Gaddi's words, and he said: it may be that I shall go to Pilate myself, for I am known to him through my father, who trades largely between Tiberias and Antioch with salt fish.

It so happened that Pilate had received instructions from Rome to give every protection to trade, it being hoped thereby to win the Jews from religious disputations, which always ended in riots. Pilate therefore now found the occasion he needed. Joseph had brought it to him, for the ridding of the road between Jerusalem and Jericho would evince his ability as administrator; and with his hand in his beard, his fine eyes bent favourably upon Joseph, he promised that all the forces of the Roman Empire would be employed to smoke out these nests of robbers. From the account given by Joseph of the caves, he did not deem it worth while to send soldiers groping through the darkness of rocks; he was of opinion that bundles of damp straw would serve the purpose admirably; and turning to the captain of the guard he appealed to him, and got for answer that a few trusses of damp straw would send forth such a reek that all within the cave would be choked, or reel out half blinded.

Joseph reminded Pilate and the captain of the guard that the openings of the caves were not always accessible, but abutted over a ledge away down a precipitous cliff. It might be necessary to lower soldiers down in baskets, or the caves might be closed with mortised stones. Joseph's counsel was wise; the closing of the caves proved very efficacious in ridding the hills of robbers, though in some cases the robbers managed to pick a way out, and then sought other caves, which were not difficult to find, the hills abounding in such places of hiding. A cave would sometimes have two outlets, and it was hard to get the shepherds to betray the robbers, their fear of them was so great. But within six months the larger dens were betrayed, and while the robbers writhed the last hours of their lives away on crosses, long trains of camels and asses pursued their way from Jericho to Jerusalem and back again, without fear of molestation, the remnant of robbers never daring to do more than draw away a single camel or ass found astray from the encampment.

The result of all this labour was that figs were no longer scarce in Jerusalem; and when a delay in bringing wheat from Moab was announced to Pilate, he sent a messenger to Joseph, it having struck him that the transport service so admirably organised by them both was capable of development. A hundred camels, Joseph answered, needs a great sum, but perhaps Gaddi, my partner, may have some savings or my father may give me the money.

And with Pilate's eyes full upon him, Joseph sat thinking of the lake, recalling every bight and promontory, and asking himself how it was that he had not thought of Galilee for so long a time. He longed to set eyes on Magdala, and he would have ridden away at once, but an escort would have to be ordered, for a single horseman could not ride through Samaria without a certainty of being robbed before he got to the end of his journey. Pilate's voice roused Joseph from his reverie, and after apologising to the Roman magistrate for his absentmindedness, he went away to consult hurriedly with Gaddi, and then to make preparations for the journey. It was a journey of three days on horseback, he was told, but of two days only on camel-back, for a camel can walk three miles an hour for eighteen hours. But what should I be doing on a camel's back for eighteen hours? Joseph cried, and the driver showed Joseph how with his legs strapped on either side of the beast he could lie back in the pack and sleep away many hours. Your head, sir, would soon get accustomed to the rocking. But I should have to leave my horse behind, Joseph said. He was fain to see his father and the lake; he was already there in spirit, and would like to transport his cumbersome body there in the least possible time; but he could not separate himself from Xerxes, a beautiful horse that he had brought with him from Egypt—a dark grey—a sagacious animal that would neigh at the sound of his voice and follow him like a dog, and when they encamped for the night, wander in search of herbage and come back when he was called, or wait for him like a wooden horse at an inn door.

Horse and horseman seemed a match the morning they went away to Galilee together, Xerxes all bits and bridles, stirrups and trappings, and Joseph equipped for the journey not less elaborately than his horse. He wore a striped shirt and an embroidered vest with two veils falling from his turban over his shoulders, and as he was not going to visit the Essenes, he did not forget to provide himself with weapons: a curved scimitar hung by his side and the jewelled hilt of a dagger showed above his girdle. His escort not having arrived yet, he waited; taking pleasure in the arch of Xerxes' neck when the horse turned his head towards him, and in the dark courageous eyes and the beautifully turned hoof that pawed the earth so prettily. At last the five spearmen and their captain appeared, and Xerxes, who seemed to recognise the escort as a sign for departure, presented his left side for Joseph to mount him. As soon as his master was in the saddle, he shook his accoutrements and sprang forward at the head of the cavalcade, Joseph crying back: he must have the sound of hoofs behind him. He could refuse his horse nothing, and suffered him to canter some few hundred yards up the road, though it was not customary to leave the escort behind, and when Joseph returned, the foreman told him, as he expected he would, that it would be well not to tire his horse by galloping him at the beginning of the journey, for a matter of thirty miles lay in front of them. Thirty miles the first day, he said, and fifty the second day; for by this division he would leave twenty-five miles for the third day; and Joseph learnt that the captain had arranged the journey in this wise for the sake of the inns, for though they would meet an inn every twenty miles, there were but three good inns between Jerusalem and Tiberias. He had arranged too with a view to the rest at midday. Our way lies, he said, through the large shallow valley, and that is why I started at six. It is about four hours hence, so we shall be through it well before noon. But why must we pass through it before noon? Joseph asked. Because, the captain answered, the rocks on either side are heated after noon like the walls of an oven, and man and beast choke in it. But once we get out of the valley, we shall have pleasant country. You know the hills, Sir; and Joseph remembered the rounded hills and Azariah's condemnation of the felling of the forests, a condemnation that the captain agreed with; for though it was true that the woods afforded cover for wolves, still it was not wise to fell the trees; for when the woods go, the captain said, the country will lose its fertility. He was a loquacious fellow, knowing the country well, wherefore pleasant to ride alongside of, and the hours passed quickly, hearing him relate his life. And when after two days' riding Joseph wearied of his foreman's many various relations, his eyes admired the slopes, now greener than they would be again till another year passed. The fig-trees were sending out shoots, the vines were in little leaf, and the fragrance of the vineyards and fig gardens was sweet in the cool morning when the dusk melted away and rose-coloured clouds appeared above the hills; and as Joseph rode he liked to think that the spectacle of the cavalcade faring through the vine-clad hills would abide in his memory, and that in years to come he would be able to recall it exactly as he now saw it—all the faces of the spearmen and their odd horses; even his foreman's discourses would become a pleasure to remember when time would redeem them of triteness and commonplace; the very weariness he now experienced in listening to them would, too, become a perennial source of secret amusement to him later on. But for the moment he could not withstand his foreman a moment longer, and made no answer when he came interrupting his meditations with tiresome learning regarding the great acacia-tree into whose shade Joseph had withdrawn himself. He was content to enjoy the shade and the beauty of the kindly tree that flourished among rocks where no one would expect a tree to flourish, and did not need to be told that the roots of a tree seek water instinctively, and that the roots of the acacia seek water and find it, about three feet down. The acacia gave the captain an opportunity to testify of his knowledge, and Joseph remembered suddenly that he would be returning to Jerusalem with him in three days, for not more than three days would his escort remain in Galilee, resting their horses, unless they were paid a large sum of money; and with that escort idle in the village the thought would never be out of his mind that in a few days he would be listening to his foreman all the way back to Jerusalem.

Impossible! He couldn't go back to Jerusalem in three days, nor in three weeks. His father would be mortally grieved if he did; and Pilate himself would be surprised to see him back so soon and think him lacking altogether in filial affection if, after an absence of more than two years, he could stay only three days with his father. He must, however, send a letter to Pilate and one that consisted with all the circumstances. The barely stirring foliage of the acacia inspired a desire of composition: a more favourable moment than the present, or a more inspiring spot, he did not think he would be likely to find. He called for his tablets and fell to thinking, but hardly filled in the first dozen lines when his foreman—this time apologising for the intrusion—came to tell him that if he wished to reach Magdala that evening they must start at once. He could not but acquiesce, and—as if contemptuous of the protection of his escort—he rode on in front, wishing to be left alone so that he might seek out the terms of his letter, and his mood of irritated perplexity did not pass away till he came within sight of the great upland, rising, however, so gently that he did not think Xerxes would mind ascending it at a gallop. As soon as he reached the last crest, he would see the lake alone, having—thanks to the speed of Xerxes—escaped from his companions for at least five minutes. He looked forward to these moments eagerly yet not altogether absolved from apprehension of a spiritual kind, for the lake always seemed to him a sort of sign, symbol or hieroglyphic, in which he read a warning addressed specially, if not wholly, to himself. The meaning that the lake held out to him always eluded him, and never more completely than now, at the end of an almost windless spring evening.

It came into view a moment sooner than he thought for, and in an altogether different aspect—bluer than ever seen by him in memory or reality—and, he confessed to himself, more beautiful. Like a great harp it lay below him, and his eyes followed the coast-lines widening out in an indenture of the hills: on one side desert, on the other richly cultivated ascents, with villages and one great city, Tiberias—its domes, cupolas, towers and the high cliffs abutting the lake between Tiberias and Magdala bathed in a purple glow as the sun went down. My own village! he said, and it was a pleasure to him to imagine his father sipping sherbet on his balcony, in good humour, no doubt, the weather being so favourable to fish-taking. Now which are Peter's boats among these? he asked himself, his eyes returning to the fishing fleet. And which are John's and James's boats? He could tell that all the nets were down by the reefed sails crossed over, for the boats were before the wind. A long pull back it will be to Capernaum, he was thinking, a matter of thirteen or fourteen miles, for the leading boat is not more than a mile from the mouth of the Jordan. Then, raising his eyes from the fishing-boats, he followed the coast-lines again, seeking the shapes of the wooded hills, rising in gently cadenced ascents.

A more limpid evening never breathed upon a lake! he said; and when he raised his eyes a second time they rested on the ravines of Hermon far away in the north, still full of the winter's snow; and—being a Galilean—he knew they would keep their snow for another month at least. The eagerness of the spring would then be well out of the air; and I shall be thinking, he continued, of returning to Jerusalem and concerning myself once more with Pilate's business. But what a beautiful evening! still and pure as a crystal.

A bird floated past, his black eyes always watchful. The bird turned away to join his mates, and Joseph bade his escort watch the flock: a bird here and a bird there swooping and missing and getting no doubt sometimes a fish that had ventured too near the surface—that one leaving his mates, flying high towards Magdala, to be there, he said, in a few minutes, by my father's house; and in another hour thou shalt be in thy stable, thy muzzle in the corn, he whispered into his horse's ear; and calling upon his comrades to put their heels into their tired steeds, he turned Xerxes into the great road leading to Tiberias.

But there were some Jews among the escort who shrank from entering a pagan city. Their prejudices might be overcome with argument, but it were simpler to turn their horses' heads to the west and then to the north as soon as the city was passed. The detour would be a long one, but it were shorter than argument: yet argument he did not escape from, for as they rode through the open country behind Tiberias, some declared that Herod was not a pure Jew; and to make their points clearer they often reined up their horses, to the annoyance of Joseph, who could not bring the discussion to an end without seeming indifferent to the law and the traditions. But, happily, it had to end before long, for within three miles of Magdala they were riding in single file down deep lanes along whose low dykes the cactus crawled, hooking itself along. One lane led into another. A network of deep lanes wound round Magdala, which, judging by the number of new dwellings, seemed to have prospered since Joseph had last seen it. Humble dwellings no doubt, Joseph said to himself, but bread is not lacking, nor fish. Then he thought of the wharves his father had built for the boats, and the workshops for the making of the barrels into which the fish was packed. Magdala owed its existence to Dan's forethought, and he had earned his right, Joseph thought, to live in the tall house which he had built for his pleasure in a garden amid tall acacia-trees that every breeze that blew up from the lake set in motion.

If ever a man, Joseph thought, earned his right to a peaceable old age amid pleasant surroundings, that man was his father; and he thought of him returning from his counting-house to his spacious verandah, thinking of the barrels of salt fish that he would send away the following week, if the fishers were letting down their nets with fortunate enterprise.



CHAP. X.

A very good guessing of his father's wonts and thoughts was that of Joseph while riding from Tiberias, for as the horsemen came up the lane at a canter the old man was wending homeward from his counting-house, wishing Peter and Andrew, James and John and the rest good fortune with their nets, or else, he had begun to think, the order from Damascus cannot——- The completed sentence would probably have run: cannot be executed, but the sound of the hooves of Joseph's horse checked the words on his lips and he had to squeeze himself against the ditch, to escape being trodden upon. Joseph sprang from the saddle. Father, I haven't hurt you, I hope? I was dreaming. Why, Joseph, it is you! You haven't hurt me, and I was dreaming too. But what a beautiful horse you are riding! Aren't you afraid he will run away? Up and down these lanes he would give us a fine chase. No, Joseph replied, he'll follow me. And the horse followed them, pushing his head against Joseph's shoulder from time to time; but Joseph was too much engaged with his father to do more than whistle to Xerxes when he lingered to browse.

As we rode past Tiberias, I had imagined you, Father, sitting in the verandah drinking sherbet. We will have some presently, Dan answered. I was detained at my business. Tell me, Father, how are the monkeys and the parrots? Much the same as you left them, Dan answered, as he laid his hand on the latch of the large wooden gate. A servant came forward to conduct them, and Joseph threw his reins to him.

A monkey came hopping across the sward and jumped on to Joseph's shoulder. Another came, and then a third. Dan would have been annoyed if the monkeys had not recognised Joseph, for it seemed to him quite natural that all things should love Joseph. You see, he continued, the parrots are screaming and dancing on their perches, waiting for you to scratch their polls. Joseph complied, and then Dan wearied of the monkeys, which were absorbing Joseph's attention, and drove them away. You haven't told me that you're glad to be back in Galilee in front of that beautiful lake. Jerusalem has its temple but God made the lake himself. But you don't seem as pleased to be back as I'd like. Father, it is of thee I'm thinking and not of temples or lakes, Joseph answered, and for a moment Dan could not speak, so deep was his happiness, and so intense. Overcome by it, they walked a little way and Joseph followed his father up the tall stairs on to the verandahed balcony, and when they had drunk some sherbet and Joseph had vowed he had not tasted any like it, Dan interposed suddenly: but thou hast not told me, Joseph, how thou camest by thy beautiful horse. He came from Egypt, Joseph answered casually, and was about to add that he was an Egyptian horse, but on second thoughts it seemed to him that it would be well not to speak the word "Egypt" again: to do so might put another question into his father's mouth; he would not commit himself to a rank lie, and to tell that he had gone to Egypt could not do else than lead him into an intricate story which would indispose his father to listen to Pilate's projects, or at least estrange Dan's mind from a calm judgment of them; so he resolved to omit all mention of Banu, Jesus and Egypt and to begin his narrative with an account of his meeting with the camel-driver Gaddi. But the camel-driver seemed to be the last person that Dan was interested in. But he's my partner! Joseph exclaimed, and it was he who sent me to Pilate. I'll tell thee about the Essenes afterwards. And feeling that he had at last succeeded in fixing his father's attention on that part of the story which he wished to tell him, Joseph said: an excellent governor, one who is ready to listen to all schemes for the furtherance of commercial enterprise in Judea: he has ridded the hills of the robbers; and his account of the summer in the desert with the Roman soldiers, smoking out nest after nest and putting on crosses those that were taken alive interested the old man. I wish he would start on Samaria, Dan mentioned casually; and Joseph replied, and he will as soon as he is certain that he can rely on the help of men like thee. Pilate's favour is worth winning, Father, and it can be won. I doubt thee not, but wilt tell how it may be won, my boy? By falling in with his projects, Joseph answered, and began his relation. And when he had finished, Dan sat meditating, casting up the account: Pilate's good will is desirable, he said, but a large sum of money will have to be advanced. But, Father, the carrying trade has been a great success. Well, let us go into figures, Joseph. And they balanced the profits against the losses. Without doubt thou hast done well this last half year, Dan said, and if business don't fall away—— But, Father, Joseph interrupted, think of the profit my account would have shown if we had not lost two convoys. The loss has already been very nearly paid off. There are no more robbers and the demand for figs is steady in Jerusalem. Figs ripen much earlier—— Say no more, Joseph. My money is thy money, and if fifty camels be wanted, thou shalt have them. 'Tis the least I can do for thee, for thou hast ever been a frugal son, Joseph, and art deserving of all I have. So Pilate has heard of my fish-salting and maybe that was why he met thee on such fair terms. That has much to do with it, Joseph replied, and he watched the look of satisfaction that came into his father's face. But tell me, Joseph, has all this long time been spent smoking out robbers? Tell me again of their caves. Well, Father, the caves often opened on to ledges, and we had to lower the soldiers in baskets.

And the tale how one great cavern was besieged amused the old man till he was nigh to clapping his hands with delight and to reminding Joseph of the time when he used to ask his grandmother to tell him stories. Were she here she'd like to hear thee telling thy stories. Thou wast in her thoughts to the last and now we shall never see her any more, however great our trouble may be; and in the midst of a great silence they fell to thinking how the same black curtain would drop between them and the world. She has gone away to Arimathea, Joseph, whence we came and whither I shall follow her. We go forward a little way but to go back again. But I can't talk of deaths and graves. Go on telling me about Pilate and the robbers, for I've been busy all day in the counting-house adding up figures, and to listen to a good tale is a rare distraction. Yet I wouldn't talk of them either, Joseph, but of thyself and thy horse that all the country will be talking about the day after to-morrow, when thou'lt ride him into the town. And now say it, Joseph: ye are a wee bit tired, isn't that so? Nay, Father, not a bit. We have come but twenty miles from the last halt, and as for the telling of my story, maybe the loose ends which I've forgotten for the moment will unravel themselves while we're talking of fish-salting—of the many extra barrels you've sent out. Now, Father, say how many? At it, Joseph, as beforetimes, rallying thy old father! Well, I've not done so badly, but a drop in the year's trading is never a pleasant thought, though it be but a barrel. And he began again his complaint against the government of Antipas, who had never encouraged trade as he should have done. Now, if we had a man here such as thy friend Pilate, I'd not be saying too much were I to say that my trade could be doubled. But Pilate has no authority in Galilee. Joseph thought that Pilate's authority should be extended. But how can that be done? Dan inquired, and being embarrassed for an answer, Joseph pressed Dan to confide in him, a thing which Dan showed no wish to do; but at last his reluctance was overcome, and shyly he admitted that his despondency had nothing to do with Antipas nor with a casual drop in the order from Damascus, but with a prophet that was troubling the neighbourhood. A very dangerous prophet, too, is this one; but I am afraid, Joseph, we don't view prophets in exactly the same light. Joseph was about to laugh, but seeing the smile coming into his eyes, his father begged him to wait till he heard the whole story.

He called up all his attention into his face, and the story he heard was that the new prophet, who came up from Jordan about a year ago, was preaching that the Lord was so outraged at the conduct of his chosen people that he had determined to destroy the world, and might begin the wrecking of it any day of the week. But before the world ends there'll be wars. Joseph said: but there has been none, nor have I heard rumours of any. We don't hear much what's going on up here in Galilee, Dan answered, and he continued his story: the new prophet had persuaded many of the fishers to lay down their nets. Simon Peter, thou rememberest him? Well, he's the prophet's right-hand man, and now casts a net but seldom. And thou hast not forgotten James and John, sons of Zebedee? They come next in the prophet's favour, and there are plenty of others walking about the village, neglecting their work and telling of the judgment and the great share of the world that'll come to them when the prophet returns from heaven in a chariot. Among them is Matthew, a publican, the only one that can read or write. You don't remember him? Now I come to think on it, he was appointed soon after thou wentest to Jerusalem. Soon after I went to Jerusalem? Joseph asked; was the prophet preaching then? No. It all began soon after thy departure for Jerusalem about a year ago; a more ignorant lot of fellows thou'st be puzzled to find, if thou wert to travel the world over in search of them. The prophet himself comes from the most ignorant village in Galilee—Nazareth. But why look like that, Joseph? What ails thee? Go on, Father, with thy telling of the prophet from Nazareth. He started in Nazareth, Dan answered, but none paid any heed to him but made a mock of him, for he'd have us believe that he is the Messiah that the Jews have been expecting for many a year. But it was predicted that the Messiah will be born in Bethlehem; and everybody knows that Jesus was born in Nazareth. There's some talk, too, that he comes from the line of David, but everybody knows that Jesus is the son of Joseph the Carpenter. His mother and his brothers tried all they could do to dissuade him from preaching about the judgment, which he knows no more about than the next one, but he wouldn't listen to them. A good quiet woman, his mother; I know her well and am sorry for her; but she has better sons in James and Jude. Joseph her husband, I knew him in days gone by—a God-fearing honest man, whom one could always entrust with a day's work. He doted on his eldest son, though he never could teach him to handle a saw with any skill, for his thoughts were always wandering, and when an Essene came up to Galilee in search of neophytes, Jesus took his fancy and they went away together. But what ails thee? As soon as Joseph could get control of his voice, he asked his father if the twain were gone away together to the cenoby on the eastern bank of Jordan, and Dan answered that he thought he had heard of the great Essenes' encampment by the Dead Sea. A fellow fair-spoken enough, Dan continued, that has bewitched the poor folk about the lakeside. But, Joseph, thy cheek is like ashes, and thou'rt all of a tremble: drink a little sherbet, my boy. No, Father, no. Tell me, is the Galilean as tall or as heavy as I am, or of slight build, with a forehead broad and high? And does he walk as if he were away and in communion with his Father in heaven? But what ails thee, my son? What ails thee? He came from the cenoby on the eastern shores of the Jordan? Joseph continued; and has been here nearly two years? He received baptism from John in the Jordan? Isn't that so, Father? I know naught of his baptism, Dan answered, but he'll fall into trouble. I was with Banu, Joseph said, when the hermit saw him in a vision receiving baptism from John; but though I ran, I was too late, and ever since have sought Jesus, in Egypt and afterwards among the hills of Judea. I can't tell thee more at present, but would go out into the garden or perhaps wander by myself for a little while under the cliffs by the lake. Thou'lt forgive me this sudden absence, Father?

Dan put down his glass of sherbet and looked after his son. He had been so happy for a little while, and now unhappiness was by again.



CHAP. XI.

The dogs barked as he unlocked the gate, but a few words quieted them (they still remembered his voice) and he crept upstairs to his room, weary in body and sore of foot, for he had come a long way, having accompanied Jesus, whom he had met under the cliffs abutting the lake, to the little pathway cut in the shoulder of the hill that leads to Capernaum. He had not recognised him as he passed, which was not strange, so unseemly were the ragged shirt and the cloak of camel's or goat's hair he wore over it, patched along and across, one long tatter hanging on a loose thread. It caught in his feet, and perforce he hitched it up as he walked, and Joseph remembered that he looked upon the passenger as a mendicant wonder-worker on his round from village to village. But Jesus had not gone very far when Joseph was stopped by a memory of a face seen long ago: a pale bony olive face, lit with brilliant eyes. It is he! he cried; and starting in pursuit and quickly overtaking Jesus, he called his name. Jesus turned, and there was no doubt when the men stood face to face that the shepherd Joseph had seen in the cenoby in converse with the president, and the wandering beggar by the lake shore, were one and the same person. Jesus asked him which way he was walking, and he answered that all directions were the same to him, for he was only come out for a breath of fresh air before bed-time. But thinking he had expressed himself vulgarly, he added other words and waited for Jesus to speak of the beauty of God's handiwork. Jesus merely mentioned in answer that he was going to Capernaum, where he lodged with Simon Peter. But he had not forgotten the brotherhood by the Dead Sea, and invited Joseph to accompany him and tell him of those whom he had left behind. We are of the same brotherhood, he said; and then, as if noticing Joseph's embarrassment, or you are a proselyte, maybe, who at the end of the first year retired from the order? Many do so. Joseph did not know how to answer this question, for he had not obtained permission from the president to seek Jesus in Egypt, and it seemed to him that the most truthful account he could give of himself at the cenoby was to say that he was not there long enough to consider himself even a proselyte. He lived in the cenoby as a visitor, rather than as one attached to the order; but how far he might consider himself an Essene did not matter to anybody. Besides he wished to hear Jesus talk rather than to talk about himself, so he compared his residence with the Essenes to a clue out of which a long thread had unravelled: a thread, he said, that led me into the desert in search of thee.

Jesus had known Banu, in the desert, and listened attentively while Joseph told him how Banu was interrupted while speaking of the resurrection by a vision of John baptizing Jesus, and had bidden him go to Jordan and get baptism from John. But it was not John's baptism I sought, but thee, and I arrived breathless, to hear that thou hadst gone away with him, John not being able to bear the cold of the water any longer. Afterwards I sought thee hither and thither, till hearing of thee in Egypt I went there and sought thee from synagogue to synagogue.

A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it, Jesus answered gently, and in a tenderer voice than his scrannel peacock throat would have led one to expect. And as if foreseeing an ardent disciple he began to speak to Joseph of God, his speech moving on with a gentle motion like that of clouds wreathing and unwreathing, finding new shapes for every period, and always beautiful shapes. He often stopped speaking and his eyes became fixed, as if he saw beyond the things we all see; and after an interval he would begin to speak again; and Joseph heard that he had met John among the hills and listened to him, and that if he accepted baptism from him it was because he wished to follow John: but John sought to establish the kingdom of God within the law, and so a dancing-girl asked for his head. It seemed as if Jesus were on the point of some tremendous avowal, but if so it passed away like a cloud, and he put his hand on Joseph's shoulder affectionately and asked him to tell him about Egypt, a country which he said he had never heard of before. Whereupon Joseph raised his eyes and saw in Jesus a travelling wonder-worker come down from a northern village—a peasant, without knowledge of the world and of the great Roman Empire. At every step Jesus' ignorance of the world surprised Joseph more and more. He seemed to believe that all the nations were at war, and from further discourse Joseph learnt that Jesus could not speak Greek, and he marvelled at his ignorance, for Jesus only knew such Hebrew as is picked up in the synagogues. He did not seek to conceal his ignorance of this world from Joseph, and almost made parade of it, as if he was aware that one must discard a great deal to gain a little, as if he would impress this truth upon Joseph, almost as if he would reprove him for having spent so much time on learning Greek, for instance, and Greek philosophy. He treated these things as negligible when Joseph spoke of them, and evinced more interest in Joseph himself, who admitted he had returned from philosophy to the love of God.

Now sitting on his bed, kept awake by his memories, Joseph relived in thought the hours he had spent with Jesus. He seemed to comprehend the significance of every word much better now than when he was with Jesus, and he deplored his obtuseness and revised all the answers given to Jesus. He remembered with sorrow how he tried to explain to Jesus the teaching of the Alexandrian philosophers regarding the Scriptures, paining Jesus very much by his recital but he had continued to explain for the sake of the answer that he knew would come at last. It did come. He remembered Jesus saying that philosophies change in different men, but the love of God is the same in all men. A great truth, Joseph said to himself, for every school is in opposition to another school. But how did Jesus come to know this being without philosophy? He had been tempted to ask how he was able to get at the truth of things without the Greek language and without education, but refrained lest a question should break the harmony of the evening. The past was not yet past and sitting on his bed in the moonlight Joseph could re-see the plain covered with beautiful grasses and flowers, with low flowering bushes waving over dusky headlands, for it was dark as they crossed the plain; and they had heard rather than seen the rushing stream, bubbling out of the earth, making music in the still night. He knew the stream from early childhood, but he had never really known it until he stood with Jesus under the stars by the narrow pathway cut in the shoulder of the hill, whither the way leads to Capernaum, for it was there that Jesus took his hands and said the words: "Our Father which is in Heaven." At these words their eyes were raised to the skies, and Jesus said: whoever admires the stars and the flowers finds God in his heart and sees him in his neighbour's face. And as Joseph sat, his hands on his knees, he recalled the moment that Jesus turned from him abruptly and passed into the shadow of the hillside that fell across the flowering mead. He heard his footsteps and had listened, repressing the passionate desire to follow him and to say: having found thee, I can leave thee never again. It was fear of Jesus that prevented him from following Jesus, and he returned slowly the way he came, his eyes fixed on the stars, for the day was now well behind the hills and the night all over the valley, calm and still. The stars in their allotted places, he said: as they have always been and always will be. He stood watching them. Behind the stars that twinkled were stars that blazed; behind the stars that blazed were smaller stars, and behind them a sort of luminous dust. And all this immensity is God's dwelling-place, he said. The stars are God's eyes; we live under his eyes and he has given us a beautiful garden to live in. Are we worthy of it? he asked; and Jew though he was he forgot God for a moment in the sweetness of the breathing of earth, for there is no more lovely plain in the spring of the year than the Plain of Gennesaret.

Every breath of air brought a new and exquisite scent to him, and through the myrtle bushes he could hear the streams singing their way down to the lake; and when he came to the lake's edge he heard the warble that came into his ear when he was a little child, which it retained always. He heard it in Egypt, under the Pyramids, and the cataracts of the Nile were not able to silence it in his ears. But suddenly from among the myrtle bushes a song arose. It began with a little phrase of three notes, which the bird repeated, as if to impress the listener and prepare him for the runs and trills and joyous little cadenzas that were to follow. A sudden shower of jewels it seemed like, and when the last drops had fallen the bird began another song, a continuation of the first, but more voluptuous and intense; and then, as if he felt that he had set the theme sufficiently, he started away into new trills and shakes and runs, piling cadenza upon cadenza till the theme seemed lost, but the bird held it in memory while all his musical extravagances were flowing, and when the inevitable moment came he repeated the first three notes. Again Joseph heard the warbling water, and it seemed to him that he could hear the stars throbbing. It was one of those moments when the soul of man seems to break, to yearn for that original unity out of which some sad fate has cast it—a moment when the world seems to be one thing and not several things: the stars and the stream, the odours afloat upon the stream, the bird's song and the words of Jesus: whosoever admires the stars and flowers finds God in his heart, seemed to become all blended into one extraordinary harmony; and unable to resist the emotion of the moment any longer, Joseph threw himself upon the ground and prayed that the moment he was living in might not be taken from him, but that it might endure for ever. But while he prayed, the moment was passing, and becoming suddenly aware that it had gone, he rose from his knees and returned home mentally weary and sad at heart; but sitting on his bedside the remembrance that he was to meet Jesus in the morning at Capernaum called up the ghost of a departed ecstasy, and his head drowsing upon his pillow he fell asleep, hushed by remembrances.



CHAP. XII.

A few hours later he was speeding along the lake's edge in the bright morning, happy as the bird singing in the skies, when the thought like a dagger-thrust crossed his mind that being the son of a rich man Jesus could not receive him as a disciple, only the poor were welcome into the brotherhood of the poor. His father had told him as much, and the beggar whom he had met under the cliffs, smelling of rags and raw garlic, expressed the riches of simplicity. Happy, happy evening, for ever gone by! Happy ignorance already turned into knowledge! For in Peter's house Jesus would hear that the man whom he had met under the cliffs was the son of the fish-salter of Magdala, and perhaps they knew enough of his story to add, who has been making money in Jerusalem himself and has no doubt come to Galilee to engage his father in some new trade that will extort more money from the poor. He is not for thy company. A great aversion seized him for Capernaum, and he walked, overcome with grief, to the lake's edge and stooped to pick up a smooth stone, thinking to send it skimming over the water, as he used to when a boy; but there was neither the will nor the strength in him for the innocent sport, and he lay down, exhausted in mind and body, to lament this new triumph of the demon that from the beginning of his life thwarted him and interrupted all his designs—this time intervening at the last moment as if with a purpose of great cruelty. This demon seemed to him to descend out of the blue air and sometimes to step out of the blue water, and Joseph was betimes moved to rush into the lake, for there seemed to him no other way of escaping from him. Then he would turn back from the foam and the reeds, and pray to the demon to leave him for some little while in peace: let me be with Jesus for a little while, and then I'll do thy bidding. Tie the tongues of those that would tell him I'm the son of a rich man—Simon Peter, James and John, sons of Zebedee. James would say a word in his favour, but Jesus would answer: why did he not tell these things to me overnight? And if he loves me, why does he not rid himself of the wealth that separates him from me?

Well, young Master, cried somebody behind him, now what be ye thinking over this fine morning? Of the fish the nets will bring to be safely packed away in your father's barrels? My father's barrels be accursed! Joseph exclaimed, springing to his feet. And why dost thou call me master? I'm not master, nor art thou servant. And then, his eyes opening fully to the external world, he recognised the nearly hunchback Philip of Capernaum—a high-necked, thick-set fellow, in whom a hooked nose and prominent eyes were the distinguishing features. A sail-maker, that spoke with a sharp voice, and Joseph remembered him as combining the oddest innocence of mind regarding spiritual things with a certain shrewdness in the conduct of his business. Thy voice startled me out of a dream, Joseph said, and I knew not what I said. Beg pardon, Master—but the word "Sir" you like no better, and it would sound unseemly to call you "Joseph" and no more. As we are not born the same height nor strength nor wits, such little differences as "Sir" and "Master" get into our speech. All those that love God are the same, and there is neither class nor wealth, only love, Joseph answered passionately. That is the teaching of the new prophet Jesus, Philip replied, his yapping voice assuming an inveigling tone or something like one. I was in Magdala yester evening, and spent the night in my debtor's house, and as we were figuring out the principal and interest a neighbour came in, and among his several news was that you were seen walking with Jesus by the lake in the direction of Capernaum. We were glad to hear that, for having only returned to us last night you did not know that Jesus has become a great man in these parts, especially since he has come to lodge in Simon Peter's house. That was a great step for him. But I must be hastening away, for a meeting is at Simon Peter's house. And I have promised Jesus to be there too, Joseph answered. Then we may step the way out together, Philip answered, looking up into Joseph's face, and—as if he read there encouragement to speak out the whole of his mind—he continued:

I was saying that it was a great step up for him when Simon Peter took him to lodge in his house, for beforetimes he had, as the saying is, no place to lay his head: an outcast from Cana, whither he went first to his mother's house, and it is said he turned water into wine on one occasion at a marriage feast; but that cannot be true, for if it were, there is no reason that I can see why he should stay his hand and not turn all water into wine. To which Joseph replied that it would be a great misfortune, for the greater part of men would be as drunk as Noah was when he planted a vineyard, and we know how Lot's daughters turned their father's drunkenness to account. Moreover, Philip, if Jesus had turned all the water into wine there would be no miracle, for a miracle is a special act performed by someone whom God has chosen as an instrument. It is as likely as not, Master, that you be right in what you say, for there's no saying what is true and what is false in this world, for what one man says another man denies, and it is not even certain that all men see and hear alike. But, Philip, thou must remember that though men neither hear nor see alike, yet the love of God is the same in every man. But is it? Philip asked. For can it be denied that some men love God in the hope that God may do something for them, while others love God lest he may punish them. But methinks that such love as that is more fear than love; and then there are others that can love God—well, just because it seems to them that God is by them, just as I'm by you at the present moment. Jesus is such an one. But there be not many like him, and that was why his teaching found no favour either in Cana or in Nazareth. In them parts they knew that he was the carpenter's son, and his mother and his brothers and sisters were a hindrance to him, for thinking him a bit queer, they came ofttimes to the synagogues to ask him to come home with them, for they are shrewd enough to see that such talk as his will bring him no good in the end, for priests are strong everywhere and have the law of the land on their side, for governors would make but poor shift to govern without them. But why then, Philip, shouldst thou who art a cautious man, be going to Peter's house to meet him? Well, that's the question I've been asking myself all the morning till I came upon you. Master, sitting by the lake, and not unlikely you were asking yourself the same question, sitting over yonder by the lake all by yourself. He casts a spell upon me, I'm thinking, and has, it would seem to me, cast one upon you, for you went a long way with him last night, by all accounts. I'd have it from thee, Philip, how long he has been in these parts? Well, I should say it must be two years or thereabouts that he came up from Jericho, staying but a little while in Jerusalem and going on to his mother at Cana, and afterwards trying his luck, as I have said, in Nazareth. But his mother hasn't seen him for many a year? He has been away since childhood, living with a certain sect of Jews called the Essenes, and it was John—— Yes, I know John was baptizing in Jordan, Joseph interrupted, and he baptized Jesus. And after that he went into the desert, said Philip hurriedly, for he did not like being interrupted in his story. He came up to Nazareth, I was saying, about two years ago, but was thrown out of that city and came here; he was more fortunate here, picking up bits of food from the people now and then, who, thinking him harmless, let him sleep in an odd hole or corner; but he must have often been like dying of hunger by the wayside, for he was always travelling, going his rounds from village to village. But luck was on his side, and when he was near dying a traveller would come by and raise him and give him a little wine. He is one of those that can do with little, and after the first few months he had the luck to cast out one or two devils, and finding he could cast out devils, he turned to the healing of the sick; and many is the withered limb that he put right, and many a lame man he has set walking with as good a stride as we are taking now, and many a blind man's eyes he has opened, and the scrofulous he cured by looking at them—so it is said. And so his fame grew from day to day; the people love him, for he asks no money from them, which is a sure way into men's affections; but those whose children he has cured cannot see him go away hungry, and they put a loaf into his shirt, for he takes anything that he can get except money, which he will not look upon. There has been no holier man in these parts, Sir, these many years. The oldest in the country cannot remember one like him—my father is nearer ninety than eighty, and he says that Jesus is a greater man than he ever heard his father tell of, and he was well into the eighties before he died. Now, Sir, as we are near to Peter's house, you'll not mind my telling you that there is no "Sir" or "Master" at Peter's house. But, Philip, has it not already been said that thou mayst drop such titles as "Sir" and "Master" in addressing me? And wert thou not at one with me that we should be more courteous and friendly one between the other without them? Well, yes, Master, I do recollect some such talk between us, but now that we be coming into Capernaum it would be well that I should call you "Joseph," but "Joseph" would be difficult to me at first, and we are all brothers amongst us, only Jesus is Master over all of us, and God over him. But it now strikes my mind that I have not told you how Jesus and Peter became acquainted.

One day as Jesus was passing on his rounds a man ran out of his house and besought him to help him to stop some boys who were playing drums and fifes and psalteries, saying to him: I know not who thou art, but my wife's mother is dying of fever, and the boys jeer at me and show no mercy. Let us take stones and cast them at them. But Jesus answered: no stone is required; and turning to the boys he said: boys, all this woman asks of you is to be allowed to die in quiet, and you may ask the same thing some day, and that day may not be long delayed. Whereupon the boys were ashamed, and Jesus followed Peter into his house and took his wife's mother's hand and lifted her up a little and placed her head upon the pillow and bade her sleep, which she did, and seeing that he had such power Peter asked him to remain in the house till his mother-in-law opened her eyes, which he did, and he has been there ever since. Now here we are at the pathway through which Jesus comes and goes every day on his mission of healing and preaching the love of God. Your father, Sir, is much opposed to Jesus, who he says has persuaded Peter away from his fishing and James and John and many others, but no doubt your father told you these things last night.



CHAP. XIII.

Yonder is Capernaum—or it would have been more in our speech had I said, why, brother, yonder is Capernaum. But habit's like a fly, brother, it won't leave us alone, it comes back however often and angrily we may drive it away.

Joseph made no reply, hoping by silence to quiet Philip's tongue which returned to the attack, he was fain to admit, not altogether unlike a fly. He tried not to hear him, for the sight of the town at the head of the lake awakened recollections of himself and his nurse walking valiantly, their strength holding out till they reached Capernaum, but after eating at the inn they were too weary to return to Magdala on foot and Peter had had to take them back in his boat. Peter's boat was his adventure in those days, and strangely distinct the day rose up in his mind that he and Peter had gone forth firm in the resolution that they would ascend the Jordan as far as the waters of Merom. They succeeded in dragging the boat over the shallows, but there was much wind on the distant lake. Peter thought it would not be well to venture out upon it, and Andrew thought so too. He was now going to see those two brothers again after a long absence and was not certain whether he was glad or sorry. It seemed to him that the lake, its towns and villages, were too inseparably part of himself for him to wish to see them with the physical eyes, and that it would be wiser to keep this part of Galilee, the upper reaches of the lake at least, for his meditations; yet he did not think he would like to return to Magdala without seeing Capernaum. Perhaps because Jesus was there. That Jesus should have pitched upon Capernaum as a centre revived his interest in it, and there was a certain pathetic interest attached to the memory of a question he once put to his father. He asked him if Capernaum was the greatest city in the world, and for years after he was teased till Capernaum became hateful to him; but Capernaum within the last few minutes regained its place in his affections. And as the town became hallowed in recollection he cried out to Philip that he could not go farther with him. Not go any farther with me, Philip answered: now why is that, brother, for Peter is waiting to see you and will take on mightily when I tell him that you came to the head of the lake with me and turned back. But it is Peter whom I fear to meet, Joseph muttered, and then at the sight of the long lean street slanting down the hillside towards the lake, breaking up into irregular hamlets, some situated at the water's edge close to the wharf where Peter's boats lay gently rocking, he repeated: it is Peter that I fear. But unwilling to take Philip into his confidence he turned as if to go back to Magdala without further words, but Philip restrained him, and at last Joseph confessed his grief—that being the son of a rich man he was not eligible to the society of the poor. You will ask me, he said, to give up my money to the poor, a thing I would willingly do for the sake of Jesus, whom I believe to be God's prophet; but how can I give that which does not belong to me—my father's money? That was my grief when you found me sitting on the stone by the lake's edge.

Whereupon Philip stood looking at Joseph as one suspended, for the first time understanding rightly that the rich have their troubles as well as the poor. At last words coming to him he said: money has been our trouble since Jesus drew us together, for we would do without money and yet we know not how this is to be done. Like you, Sir, I'm asking if I'm to sell my sails, those already out and those in the unrolled material, and if I do sell and give the money to the poor how am I to live but by begging of those that have not given their all? But why should I worry you with our troubles? But your troubles are mine, Joseph answered; and Philip went away to fetch Peter, who, he said, would be able to tell him if Jesus could accept a rich man as a disciple. If a man that has a little be permitted to remain, who is to say how much means interdiction? Joseph asked himself as he kept watch for Peter to appear at the corner of the street. And does he know the Master's mind enough to answer the question of my admission or—— The sentence did not finish in his mind, for Peter was coming up the street at that moment, a great broad face coming into its features and expression. The same high-shouldered fisher as of yore, Joseph said to himself, and he sought to read in Peter's face the story of Peter's transference from one master to another. It wasn't the approach of the Great Day, he said, for Peter never could see beyond his sails and the fins of a fish; and if Jesus were able to lift his thoughts beyond them he had accomplished a no less miracle than turning water into wine.

Well, young Master, he said, we're glad to have you back among us again. There be no place like home for us Galileans. Isn't that so? And no fishing like that on these coasts? But, Peter, Joseph interrupted, my father tells me that thou hast laid aside thy nets—but that isn't what I'm here to talk to thee about, he interjected suddenly, but about Jesus himself, whom I've been seeking for nearly two years, very nearly since I parted from you all, well nigh two years ago, isn't it? I've sought him in the hills of Judea, in Moab, in the Arabian desert and all the way to Egypt and back again. It's about two years since you went away on your travels, Master Joseph, and a great fine story there'll be for us to listen to when our nets are down, Peter said. I'd ask you to begin it now, Master Joseph, weren't it that the Master is waiting for us over yonder in my house. And from what Philip tells me you would have my advice about joining our community, Master Joseph. You've seen no doubt a good deal of the Temple at Jerusalem and know everything about the goings on there, and are with us in this—that the Lord don't want no more fat rams and goats and bullocks, and incense is hateful in his nostrils. So I've heard. They be Isaiah's words, aren't they, young Master? But there's no master here, only Jesus: he is Master, and if I call you "Master" it is from habit of beforetimes. But no offence intended. You always will be master for me, and I'll be servant always in a sense, which won't prevent us from being brothers. The Master yonder will understand and will explain it all to you better than I.... And Peter nodded his great head covered with frizzly hair. But, Peter, I am a rich man, and my father is too, and none but the poor is admitted into the Community of Jesus. That's what affrights him, Peter—his money, Philip interjected, and I have been trying to make him understand that Jesus won't ask him for his father's money, he not having it to give away. I'm not so sure of that, Peter said. The Master told us a story yesterday of a steward who took his master's money and gave it to the poor, he being frightened lest the poor, whom he hadn't been over-good to in his lifetime, might not let him into heaven when he died. And the Master seemed to think that he did well, for he said: it is well to bank with the poor. Them were his very words. So it seems to thee, Peter, that I should take my father's money? Joseph asked. Take your father's money! Peter answered. We wouldn't wrong your father out of the price of two perch, and never have done, neither myself nor John and James. Now I won't say as much for—— We love your father, and never do we forget that when our nets were washed away it was he that gave us new ones. I am sure thou wouldst not wrong my father, Joseph answered, and he refrained from asking Peter to explain the relevancy of the story he had just told lest he should entangle him. It is better, he said to himself, to keep to facts, and he told Peter that even his own money was not altogether his own money, for he had a partner in Jericho and it would be hard to take his money out of the business and give it all to the poor. Giving it to the poor in Galilee, he said, would deprive my camel-drivers of their living. Which, Peter observed, would be a cruel thing to do, for a man must be allowed to get his living, whether he be from Jericho or Galilee, fisher or camel-driver or sail-maker. Which reminds me, Philip, that thou be'st a long time over the sail I was to have had at the end of last month. And the twain began to wrangle so that Joseph thought they would never end, so prolix was Philip in his explanations. He had had to leave the sail unsewn, was all he had to say, but he embroidered on this simple fact so largely that Joseph lost patience and began to tell them he had come to Galilee, Pilate wishing him to add the portage of wheat from Moab to the trade already started in figs and dates. So Pilate is in the business, Peter ejaculated, for Peter did not think that a Jew should have any dealings with Gentiles, and this opinion, abruptly expressed, threw the discourse again into disarray. But Pilate is in Jerusalem, Joseph began. And has he brought the Roman eagles with him? Peter interrupted. And seeing that these eagles would lead them far from the point which he was anxious to have settled—whether the trade he was doing between Jerusalem and Jericho prevented him from being a disciple—Joseph began by assuring Peter that the eagles had been sent back to Caesarea. Caesarea, Peter muttered, our Master has been there, and says it is as full as it can hold of graven images. Well, Peter, what I have come to say is, that were I to disappoint Pilate he might allow the robbers to infest the hills again, and all my money would be lost, and my partner's money, and the camel-drivers would be killed; and if my convoys did not arrive in Jerusalem there might be bread riots. How would you like that, Peter?

Now what do ye say to that, Peter? and Philip looked up into Peter's great broad face. Only this, Peter answered, that money will shipwreck our Community sooner or later—we're never free from it. Like a fly, Philip suggested, the more we chase it away the more it returns. The fly cannot resist a sweating forehead, Philip, Peter said. Thine own is more sweaty than mine, Philip retorted, and a big blue fly is drinking his belly full though thou feelest him not, being as callous as a camel. The Master's teaching is, Peter continued, having driven off the fly, that no man should own anything, that everyone should have the same rights, which seems true enough till we begin to put it into practice, for if I were to let whosoever wished take my boats and nets to go out fishing, my boats and nets would be all at the bottom of the lake before the sun went down as like as not, for all men don't understand fishing. As we must have fish to live I haven't parted with my boats; but every time we take that turning down yonder to the lake's edge and I see my boats rocking I offer up a little prayer that the Master may be looking the other way or thinking of something else. James and John, sons of Zebedee, are of the same mind as myself—that we shouldn't trouble the Master too closely with the working out of his teaching. The teaching is the thing. Why, they be coming towards us, as sure as my name's Simon Peter, sent perhaps by the Master to fetch us, so long have we been away talking.

Joseph turned to greet the two young men, whom he had known always; as far back as he could remember he had talked to them over the oars, and seen them let down the nets and draw up the nets, and they had hoisted the sail for his pleasure, abandoning the fishing for the day, knowing well that Joseph's father would pay them for the time they lost in pleasing his son. And now they were young men like himself, only they knew no Greek; rough young men, of simple minds and simple life, who were drawn to Jesus—James a lean man, whose small sullen eyes, dilatory speech and vacant little laugh used to annoy Joseph. James always asked him to repeat the words though he had heard perfectly. Joseph liked John better, for his mind was sturdy and his voice grew sullen at any word of reproof and his eyes flamed, and Joseph wondered what might be the authority that Jesus held over him, a rough turbulent fellow, whom Joseph had always feared a little; even now in their greeting there was a certain dread in Joseph, which soon vanished, for John's words were outspoken and hearty. We're glad to have you back again amongst us, Master, I've been saying since I left Capernaum this morning. But "Master" is a word, John, that I've heard isn't used among you. Truly it is not used among the brotherhood, John answered. And I came to ask admission, Joseph said. Well, that be good news, Master—brother I should say, for our Master will be glad to meet thee. But that, Philip began, is just the matter we were speaking of among ourselves before we saw thee coming towards us. For there be a difficulty. He be as earnest as any of us, but our rule is what thou knowest it to be. Despite John's knowledge of the rule Philip began the story, and again he was so prolix in it that Joseph, wishing John to decide on the strict matter of it, and not to be lost in details, some of which were true and some of which were false and all confused in Philip's telling, interrupted the narrator, saying that he would give all the money that was strictly his, but his father's he couldn't give nor his partner's. We've many camels, he said, in common, and how are these to be divided? Nor is it right, it seems to me, that my partner should be left with the burden of all the trade we have created together; yet it is hard that I who have sought Jesus in the deserts of Judea as far as Egypt, and found him in Galilee, at home, should be forced to range myself apart from him, with whom my heart is. Would that the Master were here to hear him speak, Philip interjected. He was with the Master last night, and the Master was well pleased with him. It all depends on what mood the Master be in, John answered, and they all fell to asking each other what the Master's mood was that morning. But it would seem that all read him differently, and it was with joy at the prospect of a new opinion that they viewed Judas coming towards them.

And taking Judas into the discussion Peter said: now I've two boats, and John and James have four, so we aren't without money though our riches are small compared with the young Master's. Are we to sell our boats and give the money to the poor, and if we do who then will look after the Master's wants? They are small it is true, a bit of fish and bread every day, and a roof over his head; but who will give him a roof if mine be taken from me? Is not this so? All seemed in agreement, and Peter continued: I am thinking, John, that our new brother might help us to buy the Master a new cloak, for his is falling to pieces and my wife's mother is weary with patching it. He cured her of the fever, but she thinks that a great cost is put upon me and would ask the Master something for his keep. Whereupon John spoke out that the story of his mother-in-law was for ever the same; and seeing that he was offending Peter with the words he addressed against his wife's mother, though indeed Peter liked her not too much himself, Joseph put his hand in his pocket and said: here are some shekels, go and buy Jesus a cloak, but say not to him whence the money came.

Say not to him! Judas interjected. No need to tell him that can read the thoughts in the mind. It would be better for the young Master to give him one of his old cloaks. Jesus would question the new cloak and say it savours of money. He sees into the heart. We have tried to keep things from him before, Judas continued turning to Joseph.... It is our duty to save him as much as we can. Peter has done much and I've shared the expense with Peter, though I am a poor man; we pick the stones from his path, for he walks with his eyes fixed upon the Kingdom of God always. Yes, he sees into our hearts, Philip interrupted, and reads through all we are thinking even before the thoughts come into our minds. It is as Philip says, Judas muttered: our hearts are open to him always. But James, who had not spoken till now, put forward the opinion, and no one seemed inclined to gainsay it, that if Jesus knew men's thoughts before they came into men's minds he must be warned of them by the angels. He goes into the solitude of the mountains to converse with the angels, James said—for what else? Moses went into the clefts of Mount Sinai, Joseph added, and he asked Peter to tell him if Jesus believed that the soul existed apart from the body, at which question Peter was fairly embarrassed, for the soul must be somewhere, he said, and if there be no body to contain it—— You must ask the Master about these things, we have not considered them. All the same we are glad that you are with us and ready to follow him into danger, for if the Sadducees and Pharisees are against him we are with him. Is that not so, sons of Zebedee?

At the challenge the two lads came forward again and all began to talk of the Kingdom of Heaven, and the enthusiasm of the disciples catching upon Joseph he, too, was soon talking of the Kingdom that was to come, and whether they should all go down to Jerusalem together to meet the Kingdom and share it, or wait for it to appear in Galilee. Share and share alike, Joseph said. Ay, ay, sure we shall, and enjoy it, Peter rolled out at his elbow. But we must set our hearts in patience, for there be a rare lot to be converted yet. Every man must have his chance, and seeing Jesus coming towards him Peter waited till Jesus was by him. Haven't I thy promise, Master, he asked, laying his hand on Jesus' shoulder, that my chair in Kingdom Come will be next to thine? Before Jesus could answer John and James asked him if their chairs would not be on his left and right. But not next to the Master's, Peter answered. I'm on the right hand of the Master, and my brother Andrew on the left. Look into his face and read in it that I have said well. But the disciples were not minded to read the Master's face as Peter instructed them to read it, and might have come to gripping each other's throats if Jesus had not asked them if they would have the fat in the narrow chairs and the thin in the wide, as often happens in this world. The spectacle of Peter trying to sit on James' chair set them laughing, and as if to make an end of an unseemly disputation John asked the Master whither they were going to cure the sick that day? To which question Jesus made no answer, for he felt no power on him that day to cure the sick or to cast out demons. You'll see him do these things on another occasion, Peter whispered in Joseph's ear; to-day he's deep in one of his meditations, and we dare not ask him whither he be going, but must just follow him. As likely as not he'll lead us up into the hills for—— But I see Salome coming this way. You know her sons, John and James. The woman bears me an ill will and would have my chair set far down, belike as not between Nathaniel and Philip, who as you have noticed do not hold their heads very high in our company. But let us hasten a little to hear what she has to say. Listen, 'tis as I said, Master, Peter continued; you heard her ask him that her sons should sit on either side of him. Now mark his answer, if he answers her; I doubt if he will, so dark is his mood.

But dark though it was he answered her with a seeming cheerfulness that in the coming world there is neither weariness of spirit nor of body, and therefore chairs are not set in heaven. A fine answer that, and Peter chuckled; too wise for thee. Go home and ponder on it. We shall lie on couches when we are not flying, he added, and being in doubt he asked Joseph if the heavenly host was always on the wing. A question that seemed somewhat silly to Joseph, though he could not have given his reason for thinking it silly. Peter called on Jesus to hasten for the disciples were half way up the principal street at a turning whither their way led through the town by olive garths and orchards, and finding a path through these they came upon green corn sown in patches just beginning to show above ground, and the fringe of the wood higher up the hillside—some grey bushes with young oaks starting through them, still bare of leaves, ferns beginning to mark green lanes into the heart of the woods, and certain dark wet places where the insects had already begun to hum. But when the wood opened out the birds were talking to one another, blackbird to blackbird, thrush to thrush, robin to robin, kin understanding kin, and every bird uttering vain jargon to them that did not wear the same beak and feathers, just like ourselves, Joseph said to himself and he stood stark before a hollow into which he remembered having once been forbidden to stray lest a wolf should pounce upon him suddenly. Now he was a man, he was among men, and all had staves in their hands, and the thoughts of wolves departed at the sight of a wild fruit tree before which Jesus stopped, and calling John and James to him, as if he had forgotten Peter, he said: you see that tree covered with beautiful blossoms, but the harsh wind which is now blowing along the hillside will bear many of the blossoms away before the fruit begins to gather. And the birds will come and destroy many a berry before the plucker comes to pick the few that remain for the table. How many of you that are gathered about me now—— He stopped suddenly, and his eyes falling on John he addressed his question directly to him as if he doubted that Peter would apprehend the significance of the parable. But Joseph, whom it touched to the quick, was moved to cry out, Master, I understand; restraining himself, however, or his natural diffidence restraining him, he could only ask Peter to ask Jesus for another parable. Peter reproved Joseph, saying that it were not well to ask anything from the Master at present, but that his mood might improve during the course of the afternoon. Thomas, who did not know the Master as well as Peter, could not keep back the question that rose to his lips. Our trade, he said, is in apricots, but is it the same with men as with the apricots, or shall we live to see the fruit that thou hast promised us come to table? Whereupon James and John began to ask which were the blossoms among them that would be eaten by the birds and insects and which would wither in the branches. Shall I feed the insects, Master? Matthew asked, or shall I be eaten by the birds? A question that seemed to everyone so stupid that none was surprised that Jesus did not answer it, but turning to Philip he asked him: canst thou not, Philip, divine my meaning? But Philip, though pleased to come under the Master's notice, was frightened, and could think of no better answer than that the apricots they would eat in Paradise would be better. For there are no harsh winds in Paradise, isn't that so, Master? Thy question is no better than Salome's, Jesus answered, who sees Paradise ranged with chairs. Then everyone wondered if there were no chairs nor apricots in Paradise of what good would Paradise be to them; and were dissatisfied with the answer that Jesus gave to them, that the soul is satisfied in the love of God as the flower in the sun. But with this answer they had to content themselves, for so dark was his face that none dared to ask another question till Matthew said: Master, we would understand thee fairly. If there be no chairs nor apricots in Paradise there cannot be a temple wherein to worship God. To which Jesus answered: God hath no need of temples in Paradise, nor has he need of any temple except the human heart wherein he dwells. It is not with incense nor the blood of sheep and rams that God is worshipped, but in the heart and with silent prayers unknown to all but God himself, who knows all things. And the day is coming, I say unto you, when the Son of Man shall return with his Father to remake this world afresh, but before that time comes you would do well to learn to love God in your hearts, else all my teaching is vainer than any of the things in this world that ye are accustomed to look upon as vain. Upon this he took them to a mountain-side where the rock was crumbling, and he said: you see this crumbling rock? Once it held together, now it is falling into sand, but it shall be built up into rock again, and again it shall crumble into sand. At which they drew together silent with wonder, each fearing to ask the other if the Master were mad, for though they could see that the rock might drift into sand, they could not see how sand might be built up again into rock.

Master, how shall we know thee when thou returnest to us? Wilt thou be changed as the rock changes? Wilt thou be sand or rock? It was Andrew that had spoken; and Philip answered him that the Master will return in a chariot of fire, for he was angry that a fellow of Andrew's stupidity should put questions to Jesus whether they were wise or foolish; but could they be aught else than foolish coming from him? Andrew, persisting, replied: but we may not be within sight of the Master when he steps out of his chariot of fire, and we are only asking for a token whereby we may know him from his Father. My Father and thy Father, Andrew, Jesus answered, the Father of all that has lived, that lives, and that shall live in the world; and the law over the rock that crumbles into sand and the sand that is built up into rock again, was in that rock before Abraham was, and will abide in it and in the flower that grows under the rock till time everlasting. But, Master, wilt thou tell us if the rock we are looking upon was sand or rock in the time of Abraham? Philip asked, and Jesus answered him: my words are not then plain, that before that rock was and before the sand out of which the rock was built, was God's love—that which binds and unbinds enduring always though the rock pass into sand and the sand into rock a thousand times.