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THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
71 
 
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 Cn Wea ie aie bie 4 pe 
 Yon) (inayat fi ace wet eS 
 
 i Dir 
 ‘ - oe a 
 
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THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 PRik i 
 Qnnt OF HOS re 
 » D 
 
 \V 
 DEO2. 1925 
 A \ 
 
 
 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN OXENHAM 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 
 55 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 TORONTO, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, MADRAS 
 
 1925 
 
CopyRIG8T, 1925, BY 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 
 
 Printed in the U. S. A. 
 1925 
 
IN 
 MEMORY 
 OF 
 
 HIM 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2022 with funding from 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
 https://archive.org/details/hiddenyearsO0oxen 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 I. TELLS OF My MEETING WITH THE Boy. 1 
 
 II. Or THE BEGINNINGS OF A GREAT FRIEND- 
 SHIPS ey ev ect a ehy ola evened rma e enon © 
 TPP ORPHERO=W ORSHIP Sw peritectic rand: 24. 
 TVs Orr tHE  COMINGOR) LOBIAS W/m a yen ats © 
 
 V. Or THE HILLS, THE POOLS, AND THE GREAT 
 ROAD ee Pen ee eA et ato ts 30) 
 VI. Or THE RicnHt MAKING OF YOKES. . . 44 
 VII. Or nis Ways with “THE FAMIty” . . 53 
 VIII. Or our MEETING wiTH CoUSIN JOHN. . 59 
 TX. Or uis HEIGHTS, AND DEPTHS, AND BREADTHS 69 
 X. Or My QUEST AFTER TWO FaIR MAIDS . 77 
 x AOR OURILREASURE-L BOVE Waimea oles ino 7 
 TOR NOBLE SLOVERS un iaiile Mieul mai enal tae sO 2 
 XII) OF HIS WAYS WITH MEN. 210. 02.) 2 Jor 
 XIV. OF His GRIEF AT THE LOSS OF HIS FRIEND . 108 
 XV. OF A FIGHT HE FouGHT AND WON. .. . III 
 XVI. OF THE MAKING OF THE SEAMLESS ROBE. 118 
 XVII. Of THE COMING OF THE COUSINS . . . 123 
 MOVIL OF THE MOVE, TOVTHE) LAKE 17. ai) sheet S31 
 XIX. Or THE CominG oF LITTLE JOHN... 138 
 
 XX 
 
 MOR THE VNEWSEROPHE Tie et tivcnt Wireman L43 
 
 Vil 
 
Vill CONTENTS 
 
 XXI. Or AN UNEXPECTED VISIT . 
 XXII. Or A GREATER PROPHET STILL 
 XXIII. Or nis CoMING TO HIS OWN . 
 XXIV. OF THE RETURN OF ARNI . 
 XXV. OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN . 
 XXXVI. OF OUR JOURNEY THROUGH THE VALLEY OF 
 SHADOWS ah ahs 
 XXVII. OF THE TumuLtTuous City : 
 XXVIII. OF A REST WITHOUT WHILE THE STORM 
 BREWED WITHIN Cunha Nelda Co 
 XXIX. Or Lire AND DEATH AT THE PRAETORIUM 
 XXX. OF THE WAY OF SORROWFUL TRIUMPH . 
 XXXII. Or THE BARING OF ZERAH’S HEART . 
 XXXII. OF THE WONDERFUL VISIT. 
 XXXII. Or THE Lone Days SINCE. 
 
THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 TELLS OF MY MEETING WITH THE Boy 
 
 My father was a boat-builder at Ptolemais, the 
 Galilean port on the western coast, through which 
 came most of the goods for and from Damascus 
 and the desert. 
 
 He was a skilled craftsman and there were no 
 better boats along all that shore than the ones he 
 built. But he was a man of advanced ideas and 
 was always trying new styles in boats, some of 
 which were improvements and some dangerous. 
 
 It was in testing one of these last that he lost 
 his life when I was about nine years old. And my 
 mother, hating the sea because it had bereaved 
 her, decided to return to her native village among 
 the hills of Galilee. 
 
 With all our belongings piled on an ox-cart the 
 journey took us the best part of two days. We 
 reached Nazaret just before sundown on the 
 second day and went to the house of my mother’s 
 brother till we should find one for ourselves. He 
 
 was Joda ben Ahaz, the village mason, and was 
 r 
 
2 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 in a good way of business, and he gave us warm 
 welcome. 
 
 He knew, of course, every house in the village, 
 and when my mother asked his advice as to one 
 for us to live in, he said at once, “There is a little 
 house up on the hill there, next door to Joseph 
 ben Heli’s, the carpenter. Old Eleazer, the 
 Teacher, lived there and it has been empty ever 
 since he died. It is small but you are only two. 
 And it is well built, for I built it myself, and I 
 dug right down to the rock to be sure of its 
 foundations. And you will have good neigh- 
 bours, not like some of the others. Joseph and 
 his wife, Mary, are held in great esteem. They 
 are of the line of David, you see, and they have 
 travelled and seen the world. He is a good 
 workman and learned all he could when he was in 
 Egypt and it has stood him in good stead. No 
 one hereabouts makes such chests and chairs as 
 he does.” 
 
 “We will look at the house to-morrow,” said 
 my mother. 
 
 And that was how we came to live next door to 
 Joseph the Carpenter and his wife Mary. 
 
 The little house needed some repairs and 
 alterations, and my mother went at once to 
 Joseph’s workshop to tell him what she wanted 
 done. : 
 
 I remember it so well. The workshop was at 
 the side of the house looking down over the rest 
 of the village, and one side of it was all open to 
 the air and sunshine. 
 
MY MEETING WITH THE BOY 3 
 
 Joseph was hard at work. We could hear his 
 plane going ‘seep-seep-seep’ as we drew near. 
 There was a boy with him. He was older than 
 myself and a good head taller. 
 
 Uncle Joda had not said anything about there 
 being a boy. But I was glad there was one, and 
 not too old for me to get to know. For at 
 Ptolemais my mother would not have me go 
 much with the boys of the port, they were so 
 rough and uncouth through mixing with the 
 sailors from all over the world. 
 
 So I looked at this boy eagerly and wondered 
 if we were likely to be friends. It would make 
 such a difference to me. 
 
 The boy was the first to see us coming. He 
 said a word to his father, and the seep-seep of the 
 plane stopped and Joseph came out to greet us, 
 the boy with him. | 
 
 Joseph seemed to me quite an old man. His 
 hair and beard were beginning to go gray. His 
 eyes were deep under bushy brows, but his face 
 was kindly. 
 
 He looked intently at my mother and then said, 
 “You must be Miriam, the daughter of Eliakim. 
 I remember being at your wedding. You 
 married Azor of Ptolemais, the boat-builder.” 
 
 “Yes,” she said quietly. ‘He was drowned 
 five weeks ago and I have come back home to 
 Nazaret to live—in that house that was 
 Eleazer’s.” 
 
 “Tt is better than Ptolemais for a lone woman. 
 They are rough folk there.” 
 
4 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ‘Yes. And since the sea took my man [ hate 
 the sight of it.’” 
 
 ‘‘And this is your son?” 
 
 ‘My son Azor. My only one. I did not 
 want him to grow up to the sea. . . . And this 
 is yours?” 
 
 “Our little Jesus,’ Joseph said quietly, and 
 put his brown hairy hand lovingly on the boy’s 
 shoulder. 
 
 My mother looked very intently at the boy, 
 and I liked him at once for the frank, happy way 
 in which he looked back at her and then at me as 
 if he wanted to be friends. 
 
 His hair was brown, but, where the sun caught 
 it, it looked almost like gold or bronze. And his 
 eyes were brown also, and there was something in 
 them that caused me joy though I could not tell 
 what. They were not deep under bushy brows 
 like his father’s, and yet, somehow, they seemed 
 to me deep eyes—very seeing eyes. For there are 
 deep eyes and shallow eyes, and experience has 
 taught me that deep eyes see most. This boy’s 
 eyes were deep ones and there was a little spark 
 in each, like a star. 
 
 ‘I hope they will be friends,” said my mother, 
 looking from him to me. 
 
 “They will be friends,” said Joseph quietly. 
 “Jesus is friends with them all. What is he 
 going to be—yours?” with a nod towards me. 
 
 ‘‘A carpenter,” I said boldly, before she could 
 answer. 
 
 ‘‘He was to have followed his father,” said my 
 
MYtMEE TING WAP DHE BOY) 5 
 
 mother. ‘He was always in the yard among the 
 boats. But now ‘| 
 
 ‘‘There’s plenty to do besides building boats. 
 ‘And if he loves wood ‘ 
 
 “Yes,” I said, “I love wood—all kinds of 
 wood—and tools.” 
 
 ‘He will be a carpenter,” said Joseph, with a 
 grave smile. ‘It won't make him rich but he 
 will find joy in good work. Come along in and 
 see Mary, and we will talk over what you want 
 done to the house,” and he led her in through 
 the workshop, leaving me and the boy together. 
 
 He came up to me and put his arm over my 
 shoulder saying, “You love wood and I love 
 wood—and the handling of it. But, do you know, 
 Little Azor ... I wonder sometimes if it does not 
 perhaps hurt it—the saw and the plane and the 
 chisel going into it.” 
 
 “Flurt it?”—I stopped in our course to the 
 workshop and stood and stared at him. “But 
 how can it hurt it? It’s only wood.” 
 
 “But it had life in it until it was cut down, 
 and anything that has life in it can feel.” 
 
 “But if trees were never cut down we would 
 have no wood for doors and boxes and things.” 
 
 ‘And no carpenters,” he smiled. “But if it 
 feels, maybe it is pleased to be put to better service 
 than just growing. We'll hope so... . What 
 tools do you know?” 
 
 “T know them all, but I can’t use them all 
 properly yet.” 
 
 “Can you dovetail?” 
 
 
 
 
 
6 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “No, I never learnt that. We didn’t do it in 
 our boats, or very little. Can you?” 
 
 ‘‘See!—my father taught me. It’s fine. But 
 it’s not easy. You've got to get it so exact. 
 But when you''do ‘getvit tight. 1s.) Andsnhe 
 drew out from under a bundle of shavings below 
 the bench a wooden box—cedar and very sweet- 
 smelling—and held it towards me. 
 
 7 Didiyou dontras -s.all’yourseltins 
 
 “Every little bit of it. It took a long time 
 but it’s about done now,” and he ran his slim 
 brown fingers along its sides; and in a whisper, 
 with a finger on his lip, he said, “It’s for my 
 mother on her birthday, and that’s two days from 
 to-day.” 
 
 His questing fingers thought they detected a 
 slight unevenness in one of its sides, and he picked 
 up a chisel and ran it gently along to smooth it out. 
 
 ‘You see, it’s got to be perfect because it’s for 
 her,” he said, with a gleaming glance at me. 
 ‘And, because of that, the chisel ran into his 
 finger.and set it bleeding. 
 
 The bright red blood dripped down on to the 
 shavings. He looked at it for a moment and then 
 put it into his mouth and sucked it. 
 
 “That comes of not looking what I was doing,” 
 he laughed. “But in this hot weather it will do 
 no harm to lose a little blood. Old Eleazer used 
 to tell us that in the Law all things are made 
 holier by the letting of blood.” 
 
 He went thoughtful for a moment and then 
 
 nodded his head and said, “Yes, I’m glad I cut 
 
VGN OVEE ERIN GoiALER ER Ee BOY). 47 
 
 my finger, little Azor. It’s as though I had shed 
 some blood for my mother . . . though truly’— 
 with a merry laugh—‘it was my own carelessness 
 that did it.” 
 
 Then, from a little cupboard on a shelf, he got 
 out a bit of linen rag and twisted it round and 
 round and made me tie it tight, saying: 
 
 “Tt will be all right in a day or two. I always 
 heal up quickly. And it won't stop me helping 
 with your house either. I’m glad you are coming 
 next door. We shall be good friends.”’ 
 
 I remember every word he said, that first day 
 I met him, as indeed I have remembered almost 
 all that I ever heard him say. For he captured 
 my heart. 
 
 He seemed to me the very splendidest boy I 
 had ever met. But I had not met many, and not 
 one I had ever felt I could be such friends with as 
 I could with this boy. And I was glad. 
 
 When Joseph came out with our two mothers 
 we all went along to our house to point out what 
 needed to be done to it. 
 
 And the boy’s mother put her two hands on my 
 shoulders and looked down at me and said, “And 
 this is your son, Miriam!—he’s a bright-looking 
 little fellow. They will make good friends, these 
 two. You will be glad to have him away from 
 Ptolemais.”’ 
 
 “Yes, truly,” said my mother. “It’s no place 
 for boys.” 
 
 “How old is he?” 
 
 “Well, he’s just on nine—though he doesn’t 
 
8 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 look it, I know. Perhaps he’ll begin to grow on 
 the hills here.” 
 
 The boy’s mother was younger, I thought, than . 
 mine, and almost as beautiful—very sweet of face 
 and very gentle in her manner; and her eyes, 
 like the boy’s, had strange deeps in them. They 
 drew you. And now—thinking back on it all— 
 I know that there was in them a constant look of 
 wonder, and perhaps somewhat of apprehension. 
 
CHAR EER Rat 
 OF THE BEGINNINGS OF A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 
 
 JosEPH and the boy worked at our house for three 
 days, putting up shelves and cupboards and 
 arranging our things, and on the third day we 
 went into it. 
 
 It was very much smaller than our house at 
 Ptolemais, but it was big enough for the two of 
 us and my mother was well pleased with it. For 
 me, the joy of having that boy as neighbour 
 would have more than made up for even a smaller 
 house still. 
 
 I had worked with him and his father these 
 three days, handing them tools and fetching and 
 carrying, and the more I saw of him the more I 
 liked him. 
 
 He was a clever little workman and so even- 
 tempered that nothing ever put him out, not 
 even when he once hit his thumb with a hammer 
 a blow that made his eyes water. It was really 
 my fault again; for I had asked him something 
 and he had looked over his shoulder to answer 
 me. 
 He made a little face at me for a moment, then 
 rubbed the thumb violently and sucked it for a 
 
 9 
 
IO THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 time, and then went on with his work as gaily as 
 even: 
 
 That first night I went up on to the roof with 
 my mother to watch the sun set between the hills 
 along the valley. ‘There were hills all round, 
 but they fell back towards the east and west and 
 our house stood so high that we could see well 
 both ways and over the white houses of the 
 village. 
 
 Behind the house was our plot of land enclosed 
 by a rough stone wall. There were some vines 
 in it and two tall cypress trees, and a wide- 
 spreading fig-tree full of big leaves and the little 
 knobs of coming figs. 
 
 ‘We can grow all we need,” said my mother. 
 “But we shall have to work, little son. We are 
 but poor folk now.” 
 
 “IT will work hard, mother ” And then 
 we heard a joyous shout below, and saw Joseph’s 
 boy pounding along the stony track that led past 
 his house and ours along the hillside. 
 
 ‘He is a beautiful boy,” said my mother, as we 
 stood watching. 
 
 And beautiful he was, with the sunset gold 
 in his hair and his face all alight and his eyes 
 shining. 
 
 “Azor! Little Azor!” he cried, with a wave 
 of the arm. ‘‘Will you come with me to the 
 hill-top to-morrow to see the sun rise? It is 
 wonderful ”” He stood panting below us— 
 “We will take food and spend the day up there. 
 
 I am to have holiday because I’ve been working 
 
 
 
 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP II 
 
 so hard these three days. You will let him, 
 mother?” And it was not in my mother to 
 say him nay. 
 
 “You will look after him, Jesus, and not let 
 him get into any mischief ?”’ 
 
 “T never get anyone into any mischief, mother 
 —never!”? he panted earnestly. “You will let 
 him come?” 
 
 “Yes, he shall come. I can trust him with 
 you,” and I danced on the roof with delight. 
 “T will bake him some cakes to-night.” 
 
 “An hour before the dawn then,” and with a 
 whoop and a wave he was off again. 
 
 “A beautiful boy!’ said my mother again, as 
 we stood looking after him. ‘I hope you will 
 grow up like him, my little Azor.” And even 
 that did not in the least lessen my liking for him. 
 
 I was up and waiting long before the time, with 
 four cakes and some figs and some dates in a little 
 linen bag over my shoulder, and anticipation in 
 my heart which all the linen bags in the world 
 could not have contained. 
 
 The moment I heard his footstep on the path I 
 shot out to meet him. He flung his arm over my 
 shoulder for a moment and we went on along the 
 hill-track. 
 
 It was still dark, and the air was crisp and cool 
 and full of the clean sweet smell of the earth and 
 growing things. 
 
 “We will keep our breath for the hill,” said 
 the boy. “It’s steep up there,” and we went in 
 silence along the shadowy path. 
 
12 . THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 I could not see it, but I followed close on his 
 heels. He went lightly and with a joyous spring 
 and I did my best to do the same. 
 
 As we passed through an olive grove the 
 birds began to twitter in the trees, with tiny 
 rustlings. 
 
 “They are saying their morning prayers,” said 
 the boy softly. ‘Then they will fall asleep 
 again. It is not time for them to get up 
 yet. 
 
 I was panting heavily when at last we came out 
 on the crest of the hill, but the boy, though he 
 breathed deeply and quietly, showed no other sign 
 of unusual exertion. 
 
 “You are not used to the hills, Little Azor,” 
 he said. “At Ptolemais you had none like 
 ours.” 
 
 “Carmel!” I panted. “But too far away 
 
 . across the sea.” 
 
 “Lie you flat on your back there. You'll be 
 all right before the sun comes. You must learn 
 to climb with your mouth shut tight. See those 
 little pink clouds up there. They can see him 
 though we cannot. They are saying their prayers 
 too.” 
 
 He moved off towards the eastern side of the 
 crest, and I lay flat and panted-in such great gulps 
 of the sweet strong air that I felt as if I would 
 burst or fly. 
 
 Then the little purple and pink clouds at which 
 I was staring turned white, with crimson edges. 
 They looked like myriads of little white angels 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 13 
 
 with glowing wings. And the ground all about 
 me was thick with flowers. Right above me a 
 hawk hung motionless as though watching us. 
 
 I heard the boy singing. I sat up and saw 
 him standing at the edge of the hill-top, with 
 his face to the sun and his arms stretched high 
 above his head—such a beautiful slim young 
 thing! I can see him yet—lithe and brown, and 
 graceful as an antelope. He had slipped his arms 
 out of his meil, so that it had fallen and hung 
 now like a kirtle round his waist, leaving all the 
 top part of him bare and of a much lighter 
 colour than the rest, for his face and neck and 
 arms and legs were burned brown with the sun. 
 
 His hands seemed as though reaching up to 
 heaven for a blessing—as though it were there 
 waiting for him and he would drag it down. 
 
 And as I got up and went to him, this was what 
 he was singing: 
 
 “Eloi! Eloi! Eloi! 
 Praise! Praise! Praise! 
 Praise to God for His fair morning light! 
 Praise for the Love that kept us through the night! 
 Praise for the Power that guides the world aright! 
 And Praise, Praise, Praise, for His good gift of sight!” 
 
 As I came alongside he threw an arm round my 
 neck without turning or stopping his singing. 
 And, I know not why, unless it was that in all 
 things I wanted to be like him, I, too, loosed my 
 arms and with a shake my tunic fell down, and I 
 stood beside him bare like himself. A tightening 
 
14 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 of his arm round my neck showed me that he 
 was glad. 
 
 The sun had stolen silently above the eastern 
 hills as I came to him. I caught the first glimmer 
 of the great round golden eye above a far-away 
 rocky crest, and as we stood there he rose, swiftly 
 and silently, and so full of majesty and beauty that 
 I was stricken with awe. I had never watched a 
 sunrise like that before, for our house at 
 Ptolemais was on the shore and the hills and the 
 town rose up behind it. 
 
 “Tt is wonderful,” I jerked, when the boy had 
 fallen silent, watching eagerly, his face all golden 
 in the sunlight. 
 
 “Yes—it is wonderful—always wonderful. . . . 
 ‘As a bridegroom coming out of his chamber 
 
 . rejoicing as a strong man to run a race!’” 
 
 “That’s King David in the Book of Praise,” I 
 said, proud of my knowledge. 
 
 “Do you ever thank God for your eyes, Little 
 Azor ?” he asked suddenly. 
 
 “T’m glad of them.” 
 
 “Well, if you think of Him when you're glad 
 of them then you’re thanking Him. I thank 
 Him always for all that He has given me—the 
 big things and the little things. And I thank 
 Him for myself and for all who may perhaps 
 sometimes forget to thank Him.” 
 
 I had never seen any sight so wonderful as 
 the one from that hill-top, and presently the boy 
 told me the names of the places, and that made it 
 more wonderful still. For the very names made 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP TAS 
 
 one’s heart beat quicker, even though the tale of 
 its beating ran to no more than nine short years. 
 
 muboschareaticenilissotlchbanon..ancsthat 
 white peak is Hermon—old Father Hermon... . 
 The gleam over there is our great lake. You can 
 just get a peep of it between the hills... . And 
 Tiercemiom labor aeerancurGilboasue.. and) the 
 Valley of Jezreel—Gideon and Saul and Jonathan, 
 you know—and the hills of Samaria. And over 
 there “t 
 
 > Carmel,” I cried. “Our own Carmel — and 
 iiemseaye and) btolemais. ony. ithouch »youcan ¢ 
 
 
 
 "Oh, it is..a beautiful land . .. a beautiful, 
 beautiful land,” he cried rapturously. ‘See all 
 the villages below us .. . all full of people. ... 
 All—full—of—people’’—he said it slowly and 
 thoughtfully. And again—‘Full—of—people! 
 rich people and poor people; good people and— 
 not so good people; happy people and sad 
 people. ...’’ And he stood gazing out over the 
 world with wondering eyes. 
 
 Then, still full of thought, he pulled up his 
 tunic and slipped it on, for the sun was getting 
 hot; and he sat down and said, ‘‘Let us eat. You 
 are hungry, Little Azor.” 
 
 “Yes, I am hungry,” and as we sat eating our 
 cakes, when we had exchanged one each, and our 
 dates and figs, I asked him, 
 
 “Why do you stand like that when you sing your 
 prayers, Jesus?” 
 
 And he thought for a moment and then said, 
 
16 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ‘Face to face like that with Him I feel closer 
 to Him... nothing between us.... Just me 
 and Him.” 
 
 And then he put his finger to his lip, for a 
 number of little birds had alighted in the grass 
 and flowers beside us and were hopping nearer 
 and nearer. 
 
 They came right up to him and showed no fear. 
 They hopped on to his legs, and cheeped happily 
 and hungrily, and looked confidently up at him 
 with their bright little beads of eyes. 
 
 He crumbled some bits of cake and fed them 
 out of his hand. Their quick little eyes were like 
 jewels, and they hopped and fluttered their 
 wings as though they were thanking him. I 
 would have liked them to come to me too, but 
 they would not. 
 
 Then there was a sudden rush of wings above 
 us, and the hawk I had seen watching us swooped 
 down after a bird in the grass close by. The boy 
 sprang up with a shout which made it swerve, and 
 the bird escaped. And then he felt something 
 fluttering in his breast, and he put in his hand and 
 found two of the small birds fled in there for 
 safety. He stroked them gently and soothed 
 their fears. 
 
 “I love them,” he said softly —“‘all little 
 fearful things. And they all know it and have no 
 fear of me., But the hawks —no, I do not like 
 them. ... And I cannot understand ... for 
 the hawks must live, you see.... God made 
 them too... . They are all of the family... . 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 17 
 
 No, I do not understand, Little Azor . . . some- 
 time, maybe...’ and he fell thoughtful over it. 
 
 The birds lay quietly in the fold of his tunic 
 above the girdle, as though they would like to 
 nest there. 
 
 “We will loose them in the grove down yonder, 
 and then they will feel safe,” he said.... And 
 presently, ‘“And one day we will go along to the 
 Great Road and watch the world pass by. You 
 have seen it all at Ptolemais, Little Azor, but to 
 me it is always a marvel, and I love to lie and watch 
 it. But to-day I would stop on the heights.” 
 
 So we went down into the grove, but the birds 
 were very loth to leave him, and in the end he had 
 to make a little nest among the flowers. And 
 putting them into it he patted their heads gently 
 and bade them stay there, and we went on our 
 way. 
 
 “Don’t you love all the little things, Little 
 ‘Azor 2” he said, as we went on, with his arm warm 
 -round my neck, down into the dip and up another 
 hill. ‘They are all little brothers and sisters to 
 me and I love to talk to them.” 
 
 “T don’t know them as you do, Jesus,” I said 
 excusingly. ‘‘And they wouldn’t come to me as 
 they do to you.” 
 
 “Tt is just because I love them so much and I 
 think they know it. They are very clever little 
 people and perhaps they know more than we 
 suppose. If you truly love them they will soon 
 find it out.... Dogs now! Most people 
 despise them, but to me they are dearer even than 
 
18 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 the birds-or the coneys or the baby foxes. Some- 
 thing in their eyes, I think it is. They under- 
 stand. Sometimes I think they are really trying 
 to speak tome. Souls of some kind I am sure they 
 have or they could not look at one like that.” 
 
 That whole long first day I spent with the boy 
 among the hills is stamped upon my memory. 
 
 I was just at the age that craved a hero to 
 worship, and this boy filled my need to the brim. 
 Everything he did and everything he said was 
 wonderful to me, and my whole small heart went 
 out to him. For, you see, as I have said, the boys 
 of Ptolemais were coarse and rude through 
 mixing with men of all the nations of the earth, 
 and I had never known anyone towards whom I 
 felt as I did towards this boy. 
 
 And he was so good to look at—so strong and 
 healthy and clean and wholesome—though that 
 last word I would not have understood the 
 meaning of at that time. But I have come to 
 know since that it was just that wholeness and 
 wholesomeness that drew me so to him. 
 
 When he ran down one hill and up the next he 
 went like a mountain deer, so fleet and light and 
 springy. And then when he sat on a rock up 
 above and waved and hallooed to me, panting 
 along down below, he was so good to look at, with 
 his golden-brown hair blowing in the wind, and 
 the bright little stars shining in his big brown 
 eyes. And his voice when he called to me, ‘‘Well 
 done, Little Azor, well done! Keep it up! 
 You’re nearly there’’—his voice was like the 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 19 
 
 trumpets of the Roman soldiers at Ptolemais, only 
 very much sweeter. 
 
 Then I would struggle up to him — sitting 
 there with his tunic flung over his shoulders— 
 and fall flat by his side, and he would laugh and 
 look down at me, and would say, “‘You’ll soon get 
 your wind all right and do it without panting 
 like that. You're not in good condition yet, with 
 living down there in Ptolemais. But our hills 
 will soon cure that.” 
 
 Rambling at large among the hills that day we 
 came at last on the big pond in the hollow into 
 which all the streams and springs up there drained. 
 And at sight of it we broke into a run, for the sun 
 was hot and the air in the basin was heavy. 
 
 We pulled off our tunics as we ran, and dashed 
 into the water with a shout, and I flung myself 
 forward on my face and struck straight out, for I 
 could swim like a fish, thanks to my father’s 
 insistence. For he would not let me go out in a 
 boat till I was sure of myself in the water. 
 
 And then, to my great surprise, for I had not 
 supposed there was anything the boy could not 
 do, and to my joy also at finding I could do some- 
 thing that he could not, I heard a shout behind 
 me, and looking back, saw him standing there up 
 to his chin, but venturing no further. 
 
 “Ho, Little Fish! Come back and show me 
 this! Ptolemais taught you one good thing.” 
 
 As I swam back he watched keenly every move- 
 ment of my arms and legs. Then he settled 
 himself in the water and struck out without any 
 
20 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 doubt or fear, and we swam side by side far out 
 into the pond. 
 
 “Oh, but this is good ... good . . . good!” 
 he cried, when I showed him how to turn on his 
 back and float. ‘You see, we don’t often come 
 so far as this, and none of us could swim. We'll 
 teach the others. They'll love it.” 
 
 “They'll have to learn or they may get 
 drowned.” 
 
 “But it’s as easy as running,” he said. “Why 
 should they get drowned?” 
 
 But, young as I was, I knew that his easy mas- 
 tery of it came from his absolute lack of fear. It 
 had taken me many days, and after that, many 
 weeks, and I had had fears enough before I 
 became at home in the water, but he, through 
 knowing no fear, was a swimmer already. 
 
 We played about there for hours — running 
 races round the pool and up and down the neigh- 
 bouring slopes, and in those I had no chance 
 against him. 
 
 But at the far side of the pool there stood a 
 great willow-tree, with its feet in the water and 
 some of its branches overhanging. And I got 
 level with the boy by climbing out along one of 
 these and diving down into the depths. That 
 too he had to learn, and he was in and out and 
 along the branch a dozen times before he was 
 satisfied. 
 
 As he shook the water out of his eyes, the last 
 time he came up—‘‘Look there, Little Fish,” he 
 cried. “We are in for a wetting’? — at which I 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 21 
 
 laughed, for we had been as wet as we could be 
 for hours, 
 
 But looking, I saw a great black cloud sweeping 
 in from the West and darkening all the sky. 
 
 “Will it thunder?’ I asked anxiously, for I 
 was still child enough to feel discomfort, if not 
 actual fear, when the heavens roared and rattled, 
 as I had heard them do round Carmel, when they 
 seemed to be trying their best to shatter it to 
 pieces. 
 
 “Yes, it will thunder and it will lighten, and 
 we are a long way from home, Little Azor. But 
 you are not afraid of the thunder ?” 
 
 “T d-don’t like it,” I chittered, as I got hastily 
 into my tunic, for the air seemed to have grown 
 colder and I felt suddenly naked and defenceless 
 against the weather. 
 
 So we set off home at a run, he holding me by 
 the hand and assuring me again and again that 
 there was nothing to be afraid of. 
 
 But I remembered the Roman galley that was 
 struck by lightning in Akka bay and sunk with all 
 its rowers chained to their benches. So I was not 
 much reassured, but his strong, warm hand was 
 comforting and I did my best to make myself 
 believe that I was not really afraid. 
 
 We kept along the valley till we had to strike up 
 to get across to Nazaret. And the thunder was 
 clapping all about us and rattling among the hills, 
 and rolling along the black sky towards the lake, 
 long before we began to climb the hill. 
 
 But the boy seemed actually to like it, for he 
 
p20) THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 began singing at the top of his voice, though at 
 times I could hardly hear him for the thunder and 
 the rain.— 
 
 “Tt is the Glory of God that thundereth. . . 
 
 Eloi! Eloi! Eloi! 
 
 The Voice of the Lord is powerful .. . 
 
 ww Lhe Voice of the Lord is full of Majesty... 
 
 The Voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness . . . 
 The Lord sitteth upon the flood... 
 
 Yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever. . 
 
 Eloi! Eloi! Eloi.” 
 
 And whenever the lightning flamed out and 
 tore a jagged rent in the black sky, and my sodden 
 little hand would give a quiver in his, his warm 
 hand would grip it still more tightly, and he would 
 look down at me and smile. And that comforted 
 me much. 
 
 If I had been caught like that alone I should 
 just have lain down flat on the earth, and covered 
 my head with my tunic, and waited till it passed. 
 But the boy went steadily on, up and up the hill 
 till we got to the top. And there I was panting 
 so that we had to stop and I sank down into the 
 wet grass. 
 
 I shall never forget that first day out with the 
 boy in that great thunderstorm. After all these 
 years I can close my eyes and see him standing 
 there just as he had stood in the sunrise. 
 
 He had gone back a few paces to the edge of 
 the hill, and he stood there as he had done then, 
 with his arms thrown up towards the terrible black 
 
A GREAT FRIENDSHIP 23 
 
 sky. He had slipped his tunic again,—it was, 
 indeed, no more than a wet rag now,—and he 
 stood there just as he had stood to welcome the 
 sun. But now the rain thrashed over him, and 
 when the lightning blazed in front he looked like 
 a figure carved in shining black marble. 
 
 “The Voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness. . . 
 ‘The Lord sitteth upon the flood... 
 Yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever... 
 The Lord will give strength unto His people... . 
 The Lord will bless His people with peace. . . .” 
 
 So he sang amid the thunder-claps, and _ his 
 voice was as steady as a trumpet, and he knew no 
 fear. | 
 
 But for me, I lay small in the grass, and clasped 
 my sodden tunic tight about me as protection 
 against the thunder and the lightning. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 Or HERO-WORSHIP 
 
 THE boys and girls of our village were very 
 different from those of Ptolemais. 
 
 Jesus had left school before we came to live 
 there, and the others said he knew as much of the 
 Law and the Prophets and the Book of Praise as 
 the Teacher did himself. For he was very quick 
 at learning anything. He set his whole mind to 
 what he was at and he seemed to forget nothing 
 he had learned. Once he had mastered it, it 
 was his. 
 
 Still, though I was at school and he busy help- 
 ing his father, I managed to see a good deal of 
 him. You see, I had to pass his house on my 
 way up and down, and on the way home I used 
 often — almost always, indeed — to call in at the 
 workshop and sit in a corner on a heap of shavings 
 while he worked, and we talked of the school and 
 the other fellows and what I was learning. 
 
 And then there were many feast-days and 
 holidays, and when he could he came down to 
 join in our games; or, what he liked better still, 
 led us all up into the hills for a whole day’s 
 rambling. 
 
 He was the leader of us all, and when he was 
 
 24 
 
OF HERO-WORSHIP 25 
 
 there everyone gave him that place without 
 question. 
 
 Not that he claimed it. It was just that we 
 all felt, as the others had felt before I came, that 
 he was the leader because he was the strongest 
 and deftest and cleverest of us all. He could 
 throw and catch a ball better than anyone I ever 
 saw. His hands were wonderful, his long slim 
 fingers were alive to their tips and very strong. 
 ‘And as for running, no one could come near him. 
 
 And then he was so altogether fair and right- 
 minded. I have often seen the others come up 
 to the workshop about something that was in 
 dispute among them. ‘And he would listen 
 quietly to all they had to say, going on with his 
 work all the time. Then he would perhaps put 
 a question or two and look them through and 
 through with those great clear eyes of his, and 
 then he would say at once what he thought was 
 right, and would go over the matter again with 
 them and show them why it was right. And we 
 none of us ever disputed his decisions. 
 
 When he was in our games, too, there was never 
 any quarrelling, as there nearly always was when 
 he was not there. For he saw to it that we 
 played straight and would stand no nonsense about 
 it. So that the games we had when he was there 
 were the best we ever had. 
 
 With the very little ones, too, those who were 
 not big enough to join in our rough sports, he 
 was kindness itself. 
 
 Often, after getting us properly started, he 
 
26 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 would go off to the youngsters and set them 
 playing their own favorite games — marriages 
 and funerals, caravans and robbers, sheep and 
 wolves—and if they wanted to dance he could 
 get more tunes, and livelier ones, out of the reed- 
 pipe than anyone else in the village. 
 
 And then, to give them a rest, he would tell 
 them a story, and in the pauses of our own games 
 we would see them all clustered round him like 
 bees on the comb, with eager faces and dancing 
 eyes, or maybe rolling with laughter. For he 
 looked at things in new ways and had very 
 humorous ways of putting them, and it was that 
 that made his stories so unforgettable. Often 
 and often I wished myself sitting there among 
 them, listening to him instead of being bumped 
 about and worried by Nachor and the other big 
 fellows, for, you see, I had not had much chance 
 of playing games at Ptolemais and they were all 
 new to me. 
 
 I remember coming up one day with a big 
 bruise on my forehead. He was busy finishing off 
 a yoke with a little two-handed plane, and he kept 
 going over and over it, though it seemed to me 
 polished as smooth as a piece of ivory, and I said 
 as much. 
 
 ‘‘Ah—don’t I wish I could make all my yokes 
 of ivory, LittleAzor! They would be so smooth 
 and cool to the neck. But they might be heavy, 
 and as I can’t make them of ivory I must get this 
 oak as like it as Ican. You see, I always think of 
 the patient beast that will wear it, and I want him 
 
OF HERO-WORSHIP DF 
 
 to say, ‘Thank you, brother, for making my yoke 
 so easy. ... A happy yoke makes the burden 
 light. You can’t possibly be too careful over 
 your yokes. And it’s the same with plow- 
 handles. They ought to be as smooth as ivory or 
 they gall the hand.... What have you done 
 to your forehead now?” 
 
 bere tells 
 
 »Yes?,... You are generally steady on your 
 feet, Little Azor. What was it made you fall? 
 706 who tf” 
 
 “Tt is nothing, Jesus,” said I, in some confusion, 
 for I saw he suspected what had happened. “It 
 will soon be all right again.” 
 
 “Was it Nachor again?” he asked, with his 
 eyes on my face, and seeing, I knew, right 
 into me. 
 
 But I would not tell him, and he smiled and 
 said, ‘‘Nachor is needing another thrashing, I 
 think, for the good of his soul. He is a wild bull 
 of Bashan and puts his strength to ill-use at times. 
 He needs reminding.” 
 
 But all this was the boyish side of him, which, 
 of course, appealed to me most at that time. 
 There was another side which I recall now with 
 feelings deeper than I can put into words. 
 
 Often I have sat in my corner of the workshop 
 of an evening, when some of the neighbours 
 would gather there to discuss things with Joseph, 
 while he and Jesus were busy finishing some work 
 that was urgently needed. For Joseph was 
 among them what Jesus was among us boys and 
 
28 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 girls, a clear-headed thinker and an absolutely 
 just and fair-minded man. So most of their 
 disputes—and they were many—came up to the 
 workshop for settlement, and few ever dreamt of 
 going against his judgment. 
 
 And all the news brought into the village by 
 travellers or traders came up there for dis- 
 cussion also, and at times the discussion waxed 
 hot. For the hand of Rome was heavy on us, and 
 the taxes were unbearable, and the tax-gatherers 
 unscrupulous and hated by all. 
 
 How we all—down to the very smallest— 
 longed for the deliverance that had been so long 
 promised and so much longer delayed! 
 
 They were doubtless very narrow and very 
 ignorant, those old villagers. And when they 
 would grow hot and excited over their hopes of 
 another rising of the people that should drive the 
 Romans into the sea, even I, small as I was, knew 
 how foolish all such talk was. For I had lived at 
 Ptolemais, and had seen the Roman legionaries 
 and the wonder of their organisation and dis- 
 cipline, and I knew that if it came to fighting it 
 would be our people who would be driven into 
 the sea, not the Romans. 
 
 And the land was still full of the crosses off 
 which hung all that was left of the rising under 
 Judas of Gamala, though they were mostly in 
 Judea, and I only saw them later when we used 
 to go up to the Passover. But our people were 
 slow to learn. 
 
 As they talked and wrangled and cursed and 
 
OF HERO-WORSHIP 29 
 
 boasted, the boy would go quietly on with his 
 work, listening to it all, and now and again 
 looking at this one and that with those wonder- 
 ful seeing eyes of his, which seemed to pierce 
 right through the fog of their talk to the minds 
 and hearts that lay behind it. But he never said 
 anything—until they had gone, and then he and 
 his father would quietly discuss them, and their 
 concerns, and their ideas—kindly, but, as I now 
 recognise, very shrewdly and wisely. And that 
 side of the boy impressed me deeply. 
 
 At times he seemed to me many, very many, 
 years older than he actually was—so full of 
 thought, so absorbed in things that were beyond 
 me, and at such times his eyes would look larger 
 and deeper than ever. 
 
 Often, at dusk, if they were not over-pressed 
 with work, he would go off up the hill, and the 
 first time I saw him going so, alone, I ran out 
 after him to join him in his walk. 
 
 But he put his two hands gently on my shoul- 
 ders and said very quietly, ‘‘Not to-night, Little 
 Azor,—to-night I must go alone. I want to 
 think,” and he bent and kissed me and went on up 
 the darkening hillside. 
 
 And as I went slowly back into the house the 
 deep tender look in his eyes was with me, but it 
 was the deepness of them that struck me most. 
 When that look was in his eyes he seemed to me 
 a man and very far above me, and I was afraid 
 he would never be a boy again. 
 
 But the next time I saw him he would be just 
 
30 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 as I liked him best, like an elder brother to me, 
 but a very kind and clever one. 
 
 Always on the Sabbath, when we went down to 
 the synagogue, he let me sit beside him among 
 the other men, and very often I would push my 
 hand into his as we sat, for the joyful feeling of 
 brotherliness and comfort it gave me. For there 
 was very much more in the feel of his hand 
 than in any other person’s I ever met. And I 
 could always tell by the movement in his hand if 
 he liked what was said or not. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 OF THE COMING OF TOBIAS 
 
 I was loitering about in the village on my way 
 home from school one day when the boy hailed 
 me and we went on together. He had been 
 delivering some work at one of the far houses. 
 
 As we passed the little oak-grove where Naggai, 
 the shepherd, lived when he was at home—he was 
 the father of Nachor, the bull of Bashan, who had 
 bruised my forehead that other day—we heard a 
 strange little short-cut cry of something in pain. 
 
 Jesus leaped over the stone wall and I scrambled 
 after him. And there we found Naggai and 
 Nachor, and they were busy hanging a little dog 
 from the branch of a tree. Nachor was laughing 
 and pulling down its legs to end it. 
 
 Jesus sprang at him and hurled him on to his 
 back. Then he lifted the wriggling little thing 
 in his arms to ease its choking, and began loosen- 
 ing the cord round its throat. 
 
 ‘“Why—Naggai? Why do you hang him?” he 
 cried hotly. 
 
 “Well—it’s like this,” said Naggai, scratching 
 his head, and looking at us very much as one of 
 his own sheep would have done. ‘He wakes the 
 baby with his barking, and the wife said we must 
 
 3r 
 
B2 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 be rid of him. And yesterday he killed one of 
 the neighbour’s hens. And he looks at the sheep 
 at times as if he’d like to chase them, and once a 
 dog begins chasing the sheep, you know.... 
 And so I thought I’d best make an end of 
 him.” 
 
 “Will you give him to me?” 
 
 “You can have him and welcome, if you'll be 
 answerable for him.” , 
 
 ‘““What’s his name?” 
 
 “Well... we call him Sheitan, for he’s always 
 in mischief.” 
 
 ‘That is no name for a dog. I will give him a 
 new and better name.” 
 
 ‘And welcome. He’s yours, but you'll have to 
 be answerable for him.” 
 
 “TIL answer for him,” said Jesus, and we 
 climbed back over the wall, he carrying the little 
 dog in his arms. 
 
 He was a rather ugly little dog, with wiry dark- 
 brown hair and quick brown eyes and a bushy 
 tail; but now his eyes were dazed and unhappy, 
 and he lay quietly in the boy’s arms, looking 
 sleepily up into his face and seeing nothing else, 
 and now and again trying feebly to wag his tail. 
 
 ‘What will you call it?” I asked, as we climbed 
 the hill. 
 
 “T shall call him Tobias,” he said, smiling, 
 “after the dog in the old story. They don’t tell 
 us the dog’s name in the story. But he belonged 
 to Tobias and followed him everywhere and was 
 his friend, as my little Tobias will be to me.”” And 
 
OF THE COMING OF TOBIAS — 33 
 
 as we went he told me the story of Tobit and 
 Tobias and Sara and Edna. 
 
 “T have always loved that little dog,” he said. 
 “T have always thought of him as a very plain 
 little brown dog, but he was very faithful, and I 
 shall love to have one of my own.” 
 
 When we reached the workshop Joseph was 
 hard at work there, and Mary was on her knees 
 among the shavings searching for something she 
 had lost. 
 
 “What have you got there, little son?” she 
 asked, sitting up on her feet and gazing at him. 
 
 “A little dog, Mother,” and he put the ugly 
 little dog down among the shavings, where it 
 stood shakily and looked up at him. 
 
 “A little... dog!’? said Mary, staring at it 
 in surprise, and Joseph stopped for a moment to 
 look on. 
 
 “Tt is very ugly,” said Mary. ‘Whose is it ?”’ 
 
 ‘He is mine,” said Jesus. ‘You see, Mother, 
 Naggai was hanging him, and we came along just 
 in time to save him, and so he gave him to me.” 
 
 “But... said his mother. ‘We don’t need a 
 dog. What do you want with it?” 
 
 “T saved his life and he loves me. I want him 
 fora friend.” At which lis father laughed rather 
 discouragingly. 
 
 “You have such strange ideas at times, my 
 son,” said his mother, looking at him with that 
 wonder in her eyes which I had often seen there 
 but did not understand. 
 
 And as to the ugly little brown dog, I was not 
 
34 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 surprised. For, you see, dogs were not held in 
 any esteem among us. Indeed, the very word 
 was used as a term of scorn and reproach, and 
 the idea of having a dog for a friend was very 
 surprising. 
 
 Mary said again, “It is a very ugly little dog.” 
 
 And Jesus answered her softly. ‘He has 
 beautiful eyes and beautiful little white teeth. 
 And he loves me because I saved his life. And I 
 love him because I saved his life. When you save 
 anyone’s life you can’t help loving him. But 
 what are you searching for, Mother?” 
 
 “T have dropped a farthing somewhere here 
 and I cannot find it. See now, little son, find me 
 my farthing and you shall keep your ugly little 
 dog.” 
 
 ‘We will find it,” and we set to work, he sweep- 
 ing up all the shavings with the little broom of 
 twigs with which he always swept the floor, and I 
 groping round after him. And at last we found 
 the farthing hiding under the box of nails. 
 
 He carried it in triumph to his mother and then 
 knocked together a little box and half-filled it with 
 ‘sweet-smelling cedar shavings, and put it in a 
 corner and Tobias inside it. 
 
 “That is where you will live, little Tobias,” 
 he said, and Tobias licked his hand and turned 
 himself round three times in the box and settled 
 himself happily to sleep. 
 
 And after that, wherever Jesus went little 
 Tobias was at his heels and they were very great 
 friends. 
 
OF THE COMING OF TOBIAS 35 
 
 When he was working, Tobias would sit on the 
 bench watching his every movement. If a little 
 dog could have done carpentering I am sure 
 Tobias might have become a first-rate carpenter. 
 And he looked so wise and understanding that 
 Jesus talked much with him. 
 
 If only Tobias had been able to tell us what 
 they talked about when they two were alone 
 together he would have had many interesting 
 things to tell. For when Jesus went up the hill 
 by himself, and would not let even me go with 
 him, little Tobias went always at his heels. 
 
CEUAB DER; 
 
 OF THE HILLs, THE PooL AND THE GREAT Roap 
 
 I REMEMBER the whole holiday when the boy took 
 a company of us up into the hills as he had 
 promised. 
 
 The others had heard of our swimming in the 
 pond and were all eager to do the same. But as 
 it was a long tramp, and none of them had ever 
 swum in their lives, their parents had forbidden 
 them to go near the place unless Jesus was with 
 them. Him they could trust to look after them. 
 
 There were about a dozen of us, besides Jesus 
 and Tobias. Nachor, the son of Naggai, was 
 there, and little Tobias looked at him askance and 
 kept out of his way, as though he remembered that 
 Nachor had tried to hang him. And there were 
 Neri, the son of Jotham, the smith, but he was a 
 very small boy, not big and burly like his father— 
 and Arni, whose mother was a widow, and Jessai 
 and Eber, the sons of Mattathias, the corn- 
 merchant. These I remember specially because 
 they came near to being drowned. 
 
 We all took our food with us in linen bags over 
 our shoulders, and we felt like an army as we 
 travelled up the hills and into the valleys until we 
 
 came in sight of the pond. 
 36 
 
OF HILLS, POOL AND ROAD 37 
 
 It was a good year and the vines and figs and 
 olives were laden with young fruit, and the 
 ground was thick with flowers of every colour 
 you could think of, except black. And the sky 
 was blue without a cloud, and the hills were 
 beautiful right up to their tops where the rocks 
 showed through. 
 
 At sight of the pond we all started running, 
 though we had. some of us, felt tired a moment 
 before. 
 
 Jesus and Tobias got there far ahead of the 
 rest. He pulled off his tunic as he ran, and 
 jumped into the water and was swimming about, 
 with Tobias trying his best to keep up with him, 
 by the time we got there. 
 
 The others were all for rushing in to do the 
 same, and I cried to Jesus to stop them, for I 
 remembered how long it took me to learn and I 
 was not sure that it would come as natural to 
 them as it had done to him. 
 
 I had never told him about my own experience, 
 for in the light of his it would have made me look 
 awanting, and I desired to stand well with him. 
 
 He probably thought they could all do just as 
 he had done, and did not understand my fears. 
 Anyway, nothing would stop them, my small 
 voice least of all, and they all rushed in laughing 
 and shouting. 
 
 Nachor, in his ususal headlong way, plunged 
 towards the middle where Jesus and Tobias were, 
 and Neri and Arni and Jessai and Eber all went 
 after him. But as soon as they no longer felt the 
 
38 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ground under their feet they lost their heads and 
 thrashed wildly with their arms, and floundered 
 about and began to sink. And then they screamed 
 and it was all we could do to get them out again. 
 
 Jesus got hold of Nachor by the hair after he 
 had gone down bellowing like one of Bashan’s 
 bulls, and dragged him along till his feet touched 
 ground again. And I remembered afterwards 
 how little Tobias barked and barked all the time 
 as though exulting over Nachor and wishing he 
 had been left to drown. 
 
 Then Jesus went back for ‘Arni, who was 
 screaming loudly but keeping his head above 
 water somehow, though his eyes were starting out 
 of his head with fear. 
 
 I managed to haul in little Neri, who was not 
 far out, and then Jesus and I pushed out together 
 for Jessai and Eber, who had been the last to go 
 in and had both sunk once and come up gasping 
 and choking. However, we got them in safely; 
 and we two, and the five who had thought swim- 
 ming such an easy matter but had found that it 
 was not, lay in the sun on the bank till we felt 
 all right again. 
 
 And presently Jesus said to me, ‘‘Why could 
 they not swim when I could?” 
 
 “T think it was because they grew frightened 
 when they could not feel the ground.” 
 
 He nodded—“I never thought about it. It 
 seemed to me as easy as running. And I supposed 
 it would be the same with them.” 
 
 ‘You do not know fear,” I said. 
 
OF HILLS, POOL AND ROAD 39 
 
 And after thinking that over he said, “I do not 
 think I do. ... Though I was afraid when I 
 saw Nachor go under.” 
 
 “That was different. You were afraid for him, 
 not for yourself.” 
 
 “I am going in off the tree,” he said, jumping 
 up and running round the pond, and I followed 
 him. 
 
 There was no need to tell the others not to go 
 in again. They had had a fright and were content 
 to sit and watch us. But presently we swam in to 
 the wide-staring eyes on the bank and offered to 
 show them in the shallow water how one had 
 to learn to swim. | 
 
 But none of those who had ventured before 
 would try again, and the others were very timid, 
 and I was sure none of them would ever become 
 swimmers. 
 
 So we ate a meal there, and then went on over 
 the hills to the Great Road that runs from the 
 sea to Damascus and the Desert. And we lay 
 there all afternoon among the rocks of the hillside, 
 watching all that passed. 
 
 That was a thing we always enjoyed. For the 
 trafic of that road, as on the other road, south 
 of our village, was unceasing, and full of excite- 
 ments. 
 
 There were endless lines of camels swaying 
 slowly along, and as the wind blew towards us we 
 could smell the odours of the rich spices they 
 carried. 
 
 And we guessed as to what was in some of their 
 
40 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 great top-heavy packs which always looked as if 
 they might topple over and carry the camel with 
 them. 
 
 And there were herds of oxen, lowing pitifully, 
 and flocks of bleating sheep; and the wild-look- 
 ing men in charge of them were savage and cruel 
 and beat them unmercifully. For they were all 
 frightened and upset at being so far from the 
 places they knew, and at the strange things they 
 encountered on the road. 
 
 Once we saw a herd of cattle break away and 
 try to get off the road. And it was because some 
 carts passed them carrying great heavy cases— 
 things you did not see very often, and never I 
 suppose on the South Road. 
 
 But I had seen such at Ptolemais and knew what 
 they were. 
 
 At sight and smell of the cattle in the road a 
 dreadful roaring came from the big cases, and 
 Jesus said in surprise, “There are wild beasts in 
 them.” 
 
 And I said, “Yes, they are going to Rome for 
 the games— lions and tigers and other things, 
 and they are always hungry.” 
 
 “It is hard for them,” he said gently, and 
 stroked little Tobias who was whimpering by 
 his side. 3 
 
 Then in clouds of dust, there came troops 
 and troops of Roman soldiers, very hot and 
 tired, but still marching with steady, heavy tread, 
 with the sunshine flashing on their breastplates 
 and the short swords at their sides, and twinkling 
 
OF HILLS, POOL AND ROAD AI 
 
 on the long spears they carried over their 
 shoulders. | 
 
 And at sight of them some of the boys mur- 
 mured curses, and said under their breath the 
 things they would like to do to them. 
 
 But Jesus said nothing — only watched them 
 gravely and his face was very sad. 
 
 And that day, as it happened, there passed by 
 some very great man with chariots and horses 
 and a mighty company — soldiers and _ slaves, 
 white men and black men and yellow men, and 
 banners and trumpets and two great gray beasts 
 which lumbered along uncouthly, the like of 
 which some of the others had never seen before 
 in their lives. 
 
 But I knew them for elephants, for I had seen 
 such stacking logs at Ptolemais. 
 
 “Tt will be King Herod himself,” said Nachor, 
 and it may have been, for no king could have made 
 a greater show, unless it was Caesar himself from 
 Rome. 
 
 And the others talked and talked, and there was 
 no end to their chatter, for some of them had never 
 seen the like and they talked much foolishness. 
 
 But Jesus was quite silent, only he lay watching 
 it all with his chin in his hands and his eyes 
 missing nothing. And only when the soldiers 
 who marched in front scattered the wayfarers, 
 and drove them headlong off the road to make 
 way for the chariots, did his lips pinch tightly 
 and there was a frown on his face, and I heard his 
 feet behind kicking the ground. 
 
42 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “Tt’s time the Deliverer came to rid us of all 
 that,’ said Nachor gloomily. 
 
 “The ‘Teacher says he is coming,” squeaked 
 little Arni. 
 
 ‘Ay ?—and when?” asked Nachor, with scorn 
 in his voice. 
 
 ‘Very soon now, he says.” 
 
 “The sooner the better. We've waited long 
 enough,’ growled Nachor. ‘‘When he comes 
 we ll fling all those Romans into the sea and make 
 an end of them, and then we shall rule all the 
 world instead of them. I hate all Romans, with 
 their taxes and their laws.” 
 
 “The sun is setting,” said Jesus, jumping up, 
 “and we’ve a long way to go. Give me your 
 hand, little Arni,”’ and we all trailed after him. 
 
 The moon was like a silver shield hung on the 
 dark sky before we reached our own hills, and the 
 night was very beautiful. The plain as we 
 crossed it looked very wide and lonely, and the 
 white cap of Hermon peeped at us over the lower 
 heights of Lebanon. We seemed to be the only 
 living things abroad that night in all that land, 
 and the smaller boys were timid at the largeness 
 and emptiness of it. 
 
 So Jesus, as he often did, told us stories as we 
 went. And that night, perhaps because of what 
 we had been seeing, they were all about the great 
 deeds that had taken place round about us. He 
 told us of Deborah and Barak, and King Josiah, 
 and Gideon, and Saul and Jonathan and David. 
 ‘And the little ones had no time to be afraid of 
 
OF HILLS, POOL AND ROAD 43 
 
 the shadows and the things that might be roaming 
 about the great plain. 
 
 For when Jesus took to telling stories you forgot 
 everything else and did not want to lose one word. 
 For he told things as though he had really seen 
 them himself, and he made you see them too. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 OF THE RIGHT MAKING OF -YOKES 
 
 TIME runs quickly when one is young. But the 
 passing months and years only brought Jesus ben 
 Joseph and myself into closer friendship. 
 
 As next-door neighbours, and somewhat apart 
 from the other houses of the village, it was natural 
 that most of our spare time should be spent 
 together. 
 
 He was, as a rule, kept very busy in the work- 
 shop, for his liking for making yokes, and the care 
 he put into the perfect finish of them, was 
 beginning to make them much sought after. 
 People came from very long distances to get them, 
 and would wait till his were ready sooner than 
 take anyone else’s. 
 
 “You see,” I heard a man say to him, one day 
 when I was sitting in a corner of the workshop 
 trying to draw Tobias into a game, “‘the beasts 
 never complain when they’re wearing one of your 
 yokes. They’re so well-shaped, and so smooth 
 and easy to the neck, that they never get irked, and 
 they do twice as much work.” 
 
 “I am glad,” said Jesus, and I can see again the 
 quick, bright look on his face as he looked up at 
 him from his work for a moment. 
 
 44 
 
THE RIGHT MAKING OF YOKES 45 
 
 “And I'll tell you another thing, too,” said the 
 man. “It's my belief they tell one another 
 about them. Yes, I know it sounds queer’— 
 and he gave a little laugh as though in excuse of 
 his foolishness—‘‘but after I’d got that first yoke 
 the other beasts wouldn’t be easy with their old 
 one, and I could hardly get them to pull, no matter 
 what I did. So I had to fit them all out with 
 them and this one will make the last pair happy.” 
 
 “[’m glad they like them,” said Jesus, running 
 his hands questioningly along the yoke to make 
 sure it was quite all right, ‘‘and that they tell one 
 another. It would be hard to think they couldn't 
 speak to one another. They are not deaf and they 
 are not dumb.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘That’s so, but it’s queer to think of beasts talk- 
 ing to one another.” 
 
 “‘Balaam’s ass talked even to his master!’’ 
 
 eA lei) Ele wasiacquecer one, he was: .ys - 
 I met another the other day, and he was asking 
 after you i 
 
 ‘‘An ass ?—asking after me?”’ 
 
 “Tt wasn’t an ass. It was a boy. But he was 
 a queer one. It was down Sharon way. I’d been 
 with a load to Joppa, and it was among the hills 
 as | was coming back. I was giving the beasts a 
 rest and he came striding along and he sat down 
 beside me and we talked.... My! but he was 
 a queer one!” 
 
 ‘“Why was he a queer one? And who was he? 
 Did you get his name?” 
 
 “Of course, and gave him mine. He said he 
 
 
 
46 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 was John ben Zechariah, and his home was at 
 Hebron.” 
 
 “He’s my cousin,” said Jesus eagerly, stopping 
 his work to follow this up. “Tell me about 
 him. It’s years since I’ve seen him. What’s he 
 like?” 
 
 “Well, he’s a well-grown lad, taller than you 
 and maybe stronger, though you look fairly fit 
 yourself. But you’re better to look at than him. 
 His hair’s like a horse’s mane, all down his back— 
 never been cut since he was born, I should say.” 
 
 “Of course. He’s a Nazarite.”’ 
 
 ‘He’s a wild one to look at anyway——all hair— 
 coat and all, and a big leather strap round him to 
 keep him all together. And he told me he sleeps 
 out all weathers and roves all over the country. 
 I expect he'll be coming up here to see you one 
 Gavin 
 
 “T wish he would. I’d love to see him again. 
 I have searched for him at each Passover but 
 never found him. If you meet him again will you 
 tell him how glad we’d be to see him?” 
 
 “Tl tell him, but I’m not very like to meet 
 him. He roams the hills and goes where he will. 
 I have my work to do and my beasts to see to.” 
 
 “How came he to ask after me?” 
 
 “It was this way—I’d eased off the yoke of my 
 two beasts that had the bad one, because they 
 were fretting at it, and we got talking of yokes, 
 and I showed him yours and told him how the 
 beasts liked them, and he asked where they were 
 to be had so that he might tell others about 
 
THE RIGHT MAKING OF YOKES 47 
 
 them. And when I told him it was Jesus ben 
 Joseph up at Nazaret that I got them from, he 
 said, like you did—‘Why, he’s my cousin. Some 
 day maybe I’ll go up there and see him.’ That’s 
 how it was. And now I must get along. I[’m 
 right glad all my beasts will be happy now.” 
 And he paid for the yoke and was going, when he 
 turned and said, “I was forgetting, I want a 
 goad too.” 
 
 “T don’t make goads and never will,” said 
 Jesus. And the man stared at him. 
 
 “Why then? You can’t drive oxen without the 
 goad.” 
 
 “Treat them properly and they'll need no 
 goads.”’ 
 
 The man looked at him, and then wagged his 
 head and said, “Your life hasn’t lain among beasts, 
 my lad—mine has,” and he went on his way. 
 
 I got on well at school and was good friends 
 with most of the others—— except Nachor ben 
 Naggai, whom I never liked. He was rough and 
 irksome to us smaller ones, and whenever I looked 
 at him I always saw him and his father hanging 
 little Tobias. 
 
 But at lessons I got on well because I had a 
 good memory, and my mother had taught me 
 much of the Book of Praise of which she was very 
 fond. Of the Law and the other teachings I 
 learned a good deal and could repeat long pas- 
 sages without a mistake. But it was all just 
 memory and there was much that I did not under- 
 stand the meaning of. 
 
48 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 And often, when Jesus and Tobias were going 
 up the hill of an evening, if he wanted me with 
 him he would give a shout outside, and I would 
 run out and join him with another shout that 
 told him how glad I was, and we would all go on 
 together. 
 
 And then he would ask me what I had learned 
 at school that day, and would explain it all to me 
 and make it all clear in a most wonderful way. 
 
 For he thought long and deeply over things 
 while he was working, and he asked his father and 
 discussed them with him, and he was never 
 satisfied until he understood a thing properly. 
 And he listened to and pondered over all that the 
 neighbours talked about when they came and sat 
 in the workshop of an evening. And so he knew 
 pretty nearly all that went on in the village, and 
 indeed, outside it too. 
 
 On one such walk I remember him telling me 
 of a great piece of luck a man in the village had 
 just had. ; 
 
 It was Amos ben Rhesa, who had a piece of 
 ground just outside and made a scanty living by 
 tilling it. 
 
 He had taken a sudden fancy to a neighbour’s 
 plot and nothing would satisfy him till he got it, 
 though it was no better ground than his own. 
 
 However, he had a fancy for it, and to buy it 
 he had to sell his own piece and pretty nearly 
 everything he had —his wife’s little ornaments 
 and even some of her clothes. And the neigh- 
 bours said he was mad. 
 
THE RIGHT MAKING OF YOKES 49 
 
 But a month after he had bought the ground 
 and was hard at work tilling it, he came on a box 
 buried in the earth and it was full of treasure— 
 gold and some jewels, and now he was a rich man 
 and talked boastfully of going away with his wife 
 and two sons to live in Kaphar-Nahum. “And 
 the neighbours are saying now,’’ said Jesus, 
 “that he must have lighted on it one day when he 
 was rambling about there and knew all about it 
 when he bought the land, and so he ought rightly 
 to give a part of it to old Matthat ben Reu, from 
 whom he bought it. But Amos won’t have it so, 
 and of course the land was his when he paid for it. 
 Some men will do anything for money. I hope 
 you'll never be like that, Little Azor.” 
 
 ieiwon't,. Li said stoutly,/ Ll doniti care! for 
 money.” And I had conscientiously to add, “but 
 then I’ve never had any of my own.” 
 
 At which Jesus laughed and said: 
 
 “You've never been tempted so you can be 
 warned,” and then, more gravely, ‘“The hunger 
 for it is an evil thing, and most men seem to have 
 that hunger. We are all poor, and every poor 
 man wants to become rich—well, nearly every one. 
 There are some who are satisfied if they can pay 
 their way without running into debt, as my 
 father is. And truly, from all one sees and hears, 
 I believe they are happier than the others... . 
 What is going on down there?” 
 
 We were up on one of the heights, and down 
 below on the plain was Naggai’s flock of sheep, 
 the mothers loosely bunched together, the lambs 
 
50 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 straggling about, and all bleating and baaing dis- 
 consolately. But there was no sign of Naggai, 
 and they were some distance from their fold, 
 which lay near the village, round the other side of 
 the hill. 
 
 ‘Where can he be?” said Jesus. ‘‘He shouldn’t 
 leave them like that. They'll scatter.” 
 
 And then his keen eyes detected a small dark 
 figure at the foot of the hills on the far side of the 
 plain. 
 
 ‘“He’s lost some of them. Let’s go down and 
 help with these,”’ and we raced down the hillside. 
 
 “We'll fold them for him.” 
 
 But that was easier said than done. The sheep 
 did not know us or our voices, and refused either 
 to be led or driven. In fact, the more we tried 
 the more unhappy they became, and we were like 
 to do more harm than good, though Tobias kept 
 well at our heels as if to make sure that none of 
 the blame should rest on him. So, as Naggai was 
 still searching along the hillside, we set off to see 
 if we could help him. 
 
 As we drew near we saw that he had with him 
 one old ewe in great distress of mind, running 
 aimlessly to and fro and calling incessantly in a 
 pitiful voice, and one small lamb trailing wearilv 
 after her wherever she went. 
 
 “Hello, Naggai! What’s wrong?” asked 
 Jesus. And Tobias kept well away behind him 
 and peered suspiciously at Naggai between his 
 legs. | 
 
 ‘This one should have two and she’s only got 
 
THE RIGHT MAKING OF YOKES 51 
 
 one. I don’t know where the little devil’s got to. 
 And why couldn’t she speak before we'd got 
 nearly home. Silliest beasts Jah ever made, are 
 sheep,” growled Naggai. 
 
 “We'll help you find it. Where have you been 
 all day?” 
 
 “All along the hill here, both ways.” 
 
 So we spread out and searched all along the 
 base of the hills, Naggai and the mother-sheep 
 and lamb going one way, and Jesus and I and 
 Tobias the other. 
 
 It was growing dark and we could not see far 
 and could only poke about among the bushes and 
 in the holes in the mounds. 
 
 “Tt’s gone,’ I said, unhopefully, at last, as E 
 erew weary of the search. “Perhaps some beast 
 has:had it.” 
 
 “We must find it,” said Jesus. ‘‘You’d not be 
 able to sleep a wink, Little Azor, for thinking of 
 it out here all alone in the cold and dark.” 
 
 And at last we heard Tobias yelping excitedly 
 some distance away, and running to him we found 
 him dancing about in front of a deep hole, and in 
 the hole was a very frightened little lamb just 
 wakened up from his sleep. 
 
 So Jesus picked it up and put it over his neck, 
 holding its front and hind feet in his hands. 
 We shouted to Naggai and he came running up, 
 with the other lamb round his neck, and the 
 mother trotting beside him. Jesus held down 
 his lamb for her to snuffle, and we all set off across 
 the plain. 
 
52 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “And it was Tobias found him for you, Naggai,” 
 laughed Jesus. “And you wanted to hang him.” 
 
 “Ay, well! One never knows. But the wife’s 
 happter without him anyway.” 
 
 He called to the other sheep as we came up to 
 them and then strode ahead and they all trailed 
 after him. 
 
 At the fold he let down the door and called 
 them by name, and they ran in under his rod and 
 settled down for the night, and we went up home 
 through the village. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 Or His Ways wiTH “THE FAMILY” 
 
 JESUS BEN JOSEPH had a very curious power over 
 all beasts and birds. But I think it was just that 
 he loved them all so much that in some strange 
 way they knew it and loved him in return. 
 
 When I once said something like that to him, 
 I remember he said, “‘Yes, of course, I love them 
 all. They are all of the family. I love them and 
 so they love me. That’s how it is in the world. 
 For the most part you get what you give, Little 
 Azor. Give people love and they will love you. 
 Give them scorn and hate and you get that back. 
 
 But,” he said, after thinking it over, “it’s 
 
 not always so. There are some one meets who 
 seem to have no love in them, except for them- 
 selves. So they can’t give any, and they are 
 dificult to get on with. Nachor is like that now. 
 He doesn’t seem to care for anyone except him- 
 self, and it is not easy to love him.” 
 
 “T hate him,’ I said, and I had good reason to, 
 ‘and so do all the others.” 
 
 “That does no good either to him or you.” 
 
 “But if you try to be nice to him he only 
 thinks you’re a fool and he’s twice as nasty to 
 you.” 
 
 53 
 
54 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “Have you ever tried to be nice to him ?”’ 
 
 ““N—n—no! I don’t know that I have, because 
 I know it would be no use. He’d only hit me in 
 the face or screw my. arm round.” 
 
 “I know. He’s very difficult. But there is 
 some good spot in everyone if one can only find 
 ithe 
 
 “There aren’t any in Nachor—at least none of 
 us have ever found any.” 
 
 One of his most usual and characteristic sayings 
 was “I love.” Where I or another boy would 
 say “I like,” with him it was always “I love.” 
 And that was just him all over. His liking for 
 things and people was so great that it really was 
 love. He did nothing by halves. 
 
 He loved to sit in the dusk of evening up on 
 the hillside and watch the birds and little beasts 
 busy about their little businesses. 
 
 I have sat with him there and seen the rabbits 
 and coneys come out of their holes and hop all 
 about him without the slightest fear, and they 
 are surely the timidest beasts you can find. 
 
 And birds—I remember once as we were pass- 
 ing through a grove there was a sudden flutter of 
 wings alongside us, and he stopped and stood 
 looking up with his finger on his lips. 
 
 And just up above us was a nest, and the mother- 
 bird was getting the little ones to fly. Three she 
 got to the edge all right and pushed over, and 
 they spread their baby wings and reached the 
 ground all right, and went hopping and fluttering 
 among the bushes. 
 
HIS WAYS WITH “THE FAMILY” 55 
 
 But there was evidently another one that was 
 too timid or too lazy to want to fly. 
 
 She scolded it and then, at last, she got down 
 inside the nest, and ruffled herself up under the 
 birdling till it had to get out, and it fell with a 
 thud on the ground at our feet. 
 
 Jesus picked it up and soothed it, for it was 
 going in and out like a little bellows. 
 
 The mother flew at him and round and round 
 him, and at last lit on his hand and pecked 
 angrily at it. 
 
 And he smiled and said, ‘Good little mother! 
 But I’m not going to hurt it, dear.... It’s too 
 frightened and bumped to try to fly again just 
 now, and if we put it back into the nest you'll 
 only try again to make it fly.... We'll take it 
 home and give it a night’s rest and tomorrow it 
 will fly all right.” 
 
 So he put it inside his tunic above the girdle 
 and we set off home. And for a time the mother 
 accompanied us, flying round and round him with 
 little cries. And then she seemed suddenly to 
 think it would be all right, and she left us and 
 went back to the others. 
 
 And it was the same with nearly all birds and 
 beasts. He seemed in some curious way to feel 
 them kin to him, and they felt it and had no fear 
 of him. | 
 
 With the wilder beasts and birds it was different 
 of course — hawks and eagles, and wolves and 
 hyenas, but we were not very much troubled 
 with them. 
 
56 I'HE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 But I remember how we stumbled one day on 
 a fox’s hole out on the plain, and there were some 
 very small cubs playing about in the opening. And 
 he picked one up and was stroking it when the 
 mother-fox came trotting back, and Tobias and I 
 got well away from her, for she looked ugly and 
 we thought she would fly at us. 
 
 She seemed to count her cubs, and gave each 
 one a hasty lick, and when she saw the one in 
 Jesus’s arms she stood and snarled up at him, and 
 watched him anxiously as he stroked it. So he 
 put it down and it ran to her, and she smelled 
 it to make sure it was all right, and sent them 
 all into the hole, and looked up again at Jesus 
 and went in after them. 
 
 I asked him once what he felt towards those 
 wilder things, and he said, “I would like to feel 
 the same towards them, Little Azor, but they 
 wouldn’t let me if I tried. They but follow their 
 nature in preying on their fellows, and so, I sup- 
 pose, it’s all right in some way, but... no, I 
 don’t understand it. ... Perhaps some day it 
 will be different,” he said wistfully. 
 
 And presently he said, as if he was just thinking 
 out aloud: 
 
 “The wolf shall couch with the lamb, 
 The leopard’s lair shall be with the kids, 
 The lion shall eat straw like an ox, 
 The wolf and lion shall graze side by side, herded by a 
 little child, 
 The cow and bear shall be friends and their young shall 
 
 lie down together. 
 None shall injure, none shall kill.” 
 
EELS WANS IVITH SPAT BANE © 157 
 
 ‘When?’ I asked, urgently. 
 
 “When?” he said, coming back to himself 
 again — ‘“‘When the Deliverer comes and his 
 Kingdom is established in full. But who can say 
 when that will be? ... You and I may not 
 live to see it, Little Azor. But come it will, for 
 God has said it through the prophet.” 
 
 “Our Teacher says it will be very soon.” 
 
 “T wish he may be right. With all my heart 
 I wish it. ... It is worse to see men preying on 
 their fellows than to know that the wild beasts 
 do so. And they do, Azor. Men can be very 
 cruel, crueller far than lions or bears. And it is 
 worse in them, for the beasts know no better. 
 A cruel man is worse than all the beasts in the 
 world. When that good time comes there will 
 be no more cruelty, either among men or 
 beasts.” 
 
 Many things come back to me as I recall those 
 rambles of ours. One was his very great love for 
 all things that grew and had life in them. 
 
 In the Spring-time the plain was covered with 
 flowers of all colours, so that it looked, from the 
 hill top, like a great wonderful rich robe, richer 
 and more beautiful even than the garments of the 
 great ones we at times saw pass along the road to 
 the coast or to Jerusalem. 
 
 But he very rarely plucked flowers, except just 
 now and again for his mother. And he said to 
 me once, when I had gathered a great bunch and 
 dropped some of them in the road—‘‘Ah, never 
 - do that, Little Azor! It hurts them.” 
 
58 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ‘Hurts them?” I echoed, in surprise, for I had 
 never thought of them so. 
 
 “Surely,” he said, carefully picking up those I 
 had dropped. “They have life in them and so 
 they must feel it when they are killed. But I 
 think they must feel it still more when they are 
 thrown aside as worthless.” 
 
 “But Pve seen you pick them,” I urged. 
 
 ‘My mother loves them as I do and feels about 
 them as I do. But she is kept so busy in the 
 house that she cannot see them outside as much as 
 she would like, and so she asks me at times to 
 bring her some. And her wishes are more to me 
 than the feelings of the flowers.” 
 
 “But,” I said again, after thinking that all over, 
 “we have to prune the vines and the figtrees.”” 
 
 “That's different. It’s to make them bear 
 better, and perhaps they know it. If you had a 
 finger or a toe that had gone rotten, and the 
 physician told you that unless it was cut off you 
 would lose your hand or your foot, or perhaps 
 your life, you would bid him cut it off, no matter 
 how it hurt... .’’ And then he said thoughtfully, 
 in that way he had at times of thinking out loud, 
 “And perhaps it’s the same among men... . 
 If a bad man is corrupting his fellows, and he 
 can’t be cured of his badness, it is better he should 
 Bercut ony iW oAnd sume coud seman oir iane 
 giving up his life he could save his village or his 
 country, it would be a great thing for him to die. 
 
 There have been such and their deaths were 
 glorious.” 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 Or Our MEETING WITH CoUuUSIN JOHN 
 
 LitTLE ARNI, the one whom Jesus saved from 
 drowning that day at the hill-pond, had gone 
 with his mother to live in Nain where her brother 
 had offered her a home. She was very poor and 
 had had hard work to make a living in our small 
 village. , 
 
 Jesus was fond of the lad. ‘As he once said 
 about Tobias, ‘“When you save anything’s life you 
 can’t help loving it.” 
 
 Certainly he had saved Nachor’s life at the 
 same time, and I have no doubt he would have 
 loved Nachor too—as he would have loved the 
 wild beasts if they would have let him — but 
 Nachor was as hard and thick-skinned as one of 
 the elephants that piled the logs at Ptolemais, and 
 he wanted no one’s love. 
 
 ‘And so, at times, when we could get a whole 
 day off, we would go along the valley towards the 
 Plain of Esdraelon and strike up through the olive 
 groves and over the hills to Nain, to see Arni and 
 his mother. 
 
 It was a glorious tramp, for the Great Plain, 
 with the Kishon wandering through it in wide 
 
 59 
 
60 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 curves on its way to the sea, was a wonder in 
 itself, and Jesus made it still more wonderful by 
 the stories he told of the great things that had 
 happened there. While we lay on our faces on a 
 hill-top and ate our meal, he told of King Joram 
 and Ahaziah, and Jehu the furious driver, and of 
 Elijah and Elisha, and of Judith and the Assyrian 
 King. 
 
 And there, just in front of us, was Mount 
 Gilboa, where Saul and Jonathan were killed. 
 And on the other side was Tabor. It was a 
 wonderful place. 
 
 We were lying there one such day when Jesus, 
 who had been gazing very intently across the 
 valley towards Gilboa, said, ‘“‘Who is this, I 
 wonder?” And I saw, a very long way off, a 
 small black figure coming from the direction of 
 Mount Gilboa. It crossed the stream and came 
 steadily on as though making straight for us, 
 though it could not possibly see us lying there 
 among the rocks of the hill-top. 
 
 “Who can it be?” I whispered, but I got no 
 answer. 
 
 Jesus only lay and watched, but I knew that he 
 was very full of something, by his eager face and 
 the absolute quietness in which he lay. Ha 
 seemed to me like a tightly-strung bow. 
 
 And when the stranger below drew near to the 
 olive groves that lay about the foot of our hill, 
 he suddenly sprang up and gave a great “Hallo! 
 Hallo!”’and Tobias barked loudly. 
 
 The stranger stopped and stared at us under 
 
MEETING WITH COUSIN JOHN 61 
 
 his hand, and then came striding on through the 
 grove and straight up towards us. 
 
 Jesus ran down to meet him, with Tobias 
 racing and bounding beside him, and I lay still 
 and watched, though I had guessed by this time 
 who it must be. 
 
 I recalled what that ox-man had said when he 
 bought the yoke and wanted to buy a goad also. 
 
 There was no mistaking who this strange- 
 looking figure was, and I stared my hardest at 
 him. We had queer people passing through the 
 village at times, but I had never seen anyone quite 
 as queer as this. 
 
 In the first place his skin was burned red-brown 
 with the sun, almost black—what you could see 
 of it, and that was only part of his face and his 
 arms and legs. And all the rest of him was shaggy 
 hair. The hair of his head was, as the ox-man 
 had said, like a horse’s mane that had never been 
 trimmed, and it tumbled wildly about him. And 
 his coat was hair of some kind and very shaggy, 
 and round his middle he had a wide leather band. 
 His hand was hard and bony but looked very 
 strong, and in it he grasped a long thick stick 
 which was taller than himself. 
 
 “You are my Cousin John,” I heard Jesus say, 
 and he threw his arm round his neck and kissed 
 him on the cheek. 
 
 “And you are Jesus ben Joseph!” — and the 
 other held him off at arm’s length to get a better 
 sight of him. 
 
 “Dye been hoping you would come,’ said 
 
62 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Jesus. “It’s a long time since we’ve seen one 
 another,” and they came up the hill together. 
 
 And as they came John was gazing at Jesus all 
 the time in the most curious, searching way. It 
 might be to see how he had altered since they 
 met. But his eyes were as strange as all the rest 
 of him. 
 
 He had very bushy brows and his eyes were set 
 deep under them, and they burned in their hollows 
 like live coals in the dark. 
 
 “This is Azor ben Azor, my dearest friend,” 
 said Jesus, as I stood up to meet them. “Little 
 Azor, it is my Cousin John.” 
 
 “T know,” I said. ‘I remembered him.” 
 
 ‘““Why—where have we met?” asked John, 
 abruptly, almost harshly, and turned his great 
 smouldering eyes on me. 
 
 ‘We haven’t. But,” I said, tearing my eyes 
 away from his with an effort, for they held me as 
 by a spell, and looking up at Jesus, “I remember 
 what the ox-man told us.” 
 
 “Ah, yes—the ox-man. He told us he met you 
 down by Sharon, and what you were like. Little 
 Azor forgets nothing. The ox-man said you 
 might come up this way, and I’ve been expecting 
 you ever since. I’m very glad you’ve come, 
 ohn. I want to hear all you’ve been doing— 
 and thinking.” 
 
 “The doing is soon told. The thinking would 
 takellong. i eee 
 
 His voice was vibrant and sonorous, but rather 
 harsh. I thought he probably talked much aloud 
 
MEETING WITH COUSIN JOHN 63 
 
 to himself in the deserts where he lived, and per- 
 haps shouted and sang. There was none of the 
 roundness and sweetness, as of a flute, or at times 
 as of a silver trumpet, that was in Jesus’s voice. 
 Him it was a joy to listen to, no matter how long 
 he spoke. But John’s voice was so harsh and 
 rasping that it was hard to endure for any length 
 of time. 
 
 “And this?” he said, looking down at Tobias, 
 who, after a sniff or two, did not seem to like him 
 much and had got round to the other side of 
 Jesus. 
 
 “That’s my other little friend Tobias.” 
 
 “Y our—friend?” with surprise and a touch of 
 scorn. 
 
 “Yes, he belonged to Naggai, the shepherd. 
 But Naggi called him Sheitan and was going to 
 hang him, and Azor and I came along just in time 
 to save his life and Naggai let me have him. He’s 
 a faithful little friend and I love him.” 
 
 But John was not much concerned about either 
 Tobias or me. So we sat there quietly while the 
 cousins talked. And their talk sounded strange 
 to me. 
 
 “And you spend all your time in the open, 
 Cousin John? Or was the ox-man telling us tales 
 out of his head?” asked Jesus. 
 
 “Where should one live better than under God’s 
 sky?” and he threw his arms up with a strange 
 wild gesture. 
 
 “T love the open too,” said Jesus, “especially 
 the hill-tops i 
 
 
 
64 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ‘“‘Ay—the hill-tops! One feels nearer to God 
 Onptheshill-topsei gem eateniont aes 
 —the nights!—‘The firmament showeth His 
 handiwork!’ . .. I make my bed with Maz- 
 zaroth — with Arcturus and Orion and_ the 
 Pleiades . . . great bed-fellows! And at dawn! 
 
 . the morning stars sing together! I would 
 not live in a house—no, not in Herod’s palace.” 
 
 “Truly—not there would any of us live. But 
 in the winter storms, John? How do you suffer 
 them ?” 
 
 “There are caves without number down 
 yonder if one needs them—ay, enough to shelter 
 all Israel.” 
 
 “But how do you live? What do you eat, if 
 you're for ever wandering on the hill-tops and 
 never go home?” 
 
 “Eat? I eat what God gives me to eat. He 
 feeds the ravens and He feeds me. ‘The earth is 
 full of things to eat—wild carobs, and honey, and 
 now and again a fig, some dates, some grapes.” 
 
 ‘And your father and mother? What do 
 the x 
 
 “They dedicated me Nazarite for life to the 
 service of Jah,” broke in John, as though, it seemed 
 to me, to fend off further questions about them, 
 and I wondered if, maybe, they would have had 
 him live otherwise. 
 
 “But how do you serve Jah by roaming about 
 the hills?” persisted Jesus. 
 
 “I am learning. Sometime I shall know. 
 ‘And you oe 
 
 
 
 
 
MEETING WITH COUSIN JOHN 65 
 
 All the while he spoke his burning eyes were 
 fixed hungrily on his cousin’s face. 
 
 They were about as unlike one another as they 
 could possibly be. For Jesus was the comeliest 
 boy I ever saw, and it was joy just to look upon 
 his face, and to watch his feelings in it, and the 
 star-shine in his clear, steady eyes. 
 
 But John was rough and wild and unkempt, 
 and he was harsh and abrupt, and his eyes were 
 deep smouldering fires. 
 
 “1?” said Jesus. “I live with my father and 
 mother, and help in my father’s business.” 
 
 “You make ox-yokes,” with a touch of scorn 
 again. 
 
 “And good ones too. I serve Jah by making 
 the best yokes that can be made.” 
 
 “And life is corrupt and the world is going 
 down into darkness.” 
 
 “Deliverance will come.” 
 
 “Ay—how and when?” with a hungry look at 
 him. : 
 “With the promised Messiah. ... But when 
 _.. we know not. They say very soon now.” 
 
 “Who say?” 
 
 “The Teachers.” 
 
 “Ah!—the Teachers! False shepherds, most 
 of them. They are so blind and deaf with their 
 own learning that they cannot see Jah. They will 
 never deliver the people—nor themselves.” 
 
 ‘“No!—the Messiah!” 
 
 “And he will come! He will come!... 
 He may be among us now if he is to come 
 
66 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 soon, as your) Wcachersisay. 0). 1.) Lola mony 
 knew!” 
 
 He gazed devouringly at his cousin’s face, so 
 full of quiet strength and the joy of living and all 
 the grace and spirit of youth. 
 
 Iivcan) jsee them: vyet, those two, pasmtnevmers 
 among the rocks that day. And as I recall them 
 they stir me again as they did then; — John, all 
 abristle outside and all aboil inside with the 
 turmoil of his thoughts, jerking out his words in 
 harsh abrupt sentences which sometimes ended 
 and as often broke off short to let some other 
 thought shoot out;—-Jesus, quiet, but vividly 
 alive, restrained, but, as I well knew, as brimful 
 of energy as the other, and so much more desir- 
 able as a friend. 
 
 I did not feel as if I could ever like John much, 
 and indeed he did not look or speak as if he 
 desired anyone to like him. 
 
 But, though he seemed scornful of his cousin’s 
 simple workaday way of life, there must have been 
 something in him that pleased him—if one could 
 imagine anything giving John pleasure. ‘The 
 mere thought of pleasure of any kind assorted ill 
 with him. For he hardly took his eyes off Jesus, 
 and at times the smouldering glow in them seemed 
 to burst into flame. And once IJ heard him 
 murmur under his breath, as it were just his 
 thought breathing out unconsciously, “I wonder! 
 ydwondertiinl, 
 
 And I wondered what he wondered. 
 
 “(Do you see the evil of men up your way?” 
 
MEETING WITH COUSIN JOHN 67 
 
 he broke out again. “All up and down the 
 land it is the same. Everywhere I go.... The 
 villages, the towns, the country-sides . . . craft 
 and guile and self-seeking . . . and the wickedness 
 of Rome, and she rules the world.... And our 
 own princes ... and our priests—it is the Devil 
 they serve, not Jah. And still He comes not... 
 nor makes any sign. . . . How long, oh Lord, 
 how long?” and he flung his arms up again in a 
 great beseeching gesture. 
 
 “He will come,” said Jesus quietly. ‘In God’s 
 good time, be sure he will come, John.” 
 
 “T orow sick with the waiting. Every day but 
 makes his task the harder.” 
 
 “With God no task is hard. He made the 
 world. He will save it. Else why did He make 
 ene 
 
 ‘“Ay—why? why? I often wonder. For He 
 can find no joy in it.” 
 
 “Tt’s a very beautiful world,” said Jesus softly, 
 and his eyes roved lovingly from Gilboa to the 
 great plain with its silver river, and on to Carmel. 
 
 “But for the men in it... . All spoiled by 
 His own creatures. ... Why does He suffer 
 them?... Break it all up! ... Drown it as in 
 the time of Noah, and begin afresh!” 
 
 “That would be to confess failure,” said Jesus 
 thoughtfully. ‘‘And He cannot fail.” | 
 
 “A terrible world ... a terrible world,” said 
 John, and fell silent with the thought of it. 
 
 “You will come home with me, Cousin John?” 
 said Jesus presently, for the sun was sinking towards 
 
68 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 the sea beyond Carmel. ‘‘My father and mother 
 would wish to see you, and you don’t come too 
 often.”’ 
 
 “I would see them too. Joseph and Mary are 
 dear to my father and mother. But I will sleep 
 without, with Orion.” 
 
 “You shall sleep where you will if you won’t 
 take my bed.” 
 
 ‘‘T have not slept on a bed since I have had any 
 say in the matter.” 
 
 Jesus was about sixteen years old at the time 
 when he and John met, and John was a little 
 older. He was taller than Jesus and very lean 
 and hard. But they seemed to me as different in 
 nearly all things as the day is from the night, and 
 I could never have felt towards John as I did 
 towards Jesus. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Or His HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS AND BREADTHS 
 
 Lire teaches us all that at times things go on 
 smoothly and quietly for a long while and then 
 there comes a break and many changes. 
 
 It was so in our village. In those first seven 
 years nothing out of the common seemed to 
 happen. A few old people died, babies were born. 
 Some people left and new ones came. But such 
 changes were few. 
 
 Then came the greater ones. Jesus was 
 eighteen — a boy no longer, but a grown man, 
 doing man’s work, and known far and wide as not 
 only a clever craftsman, but as an absolutely 
 upright man, and possessed of better judgment 
 and greater wisdom than most. 
 
 He had always had a very thoughtful side, 
 though in the earlier days, when with the rest of 
 us, he was just a boy like the others. But even 
 at that time, as I have told before, he was looked 
 up to us all because of his clearer common- 
 sense and his strong will for all that he believed 
 to be right. So we had all trusted him and 
 accepted him as our leader. 
 
 [ had been specially favoured with his love and 
 friendship, and I loved him in return as I had 
 
 69 
 
70 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 never before loved anyone. I loved my mother, 
 of course. But that was different. Jesus ben 
 Joseph was the first who woke in me all those 
 other feelings of absolute devotion which between 
 a young boy and an older one mean so much. It 
 was what David and Jonathan had felt for one 
 another. I can never be grateful enough. Jesus 
 was my hero and I worshipped him. 
 
 I had more opportunities than any of knowing 
 and loving him, for when I had learned all our 
 old teacher could give me at the school, I stuck 
 to my old wish to be a carpenter as Jesus was, and 
 I was allowed to help him and his father in the 
 workshop, and no better apprenticeship could I 
 have possibly had. 
 
 They were both skilled workmen, and what is 
 more, they loved their work and put their hearts 
 into it. Men knew that if Joseph ben Heli or 
 Jesus ben Joseph fitted a door to their house and 
 a lock to their door, both would do their proper 
 service till they fell to pieces with old age. If 
 they made a chest, it was a thing to treasure and 
 hand down to their children. Their yokes and 
 plows, as I have told, were sought from afar. 
 
 And, working in their company, I learned much. 
 Not only to do best work, but, from all I heard in 
 the workshop, to think upon things, and, to some 
 extent, to comprehend men and their natures. 
 For, more than ever, the other men of the 
 village came up there to consult Joseph and Jesus 
 about their affairs, for they were a quarrelsome 
 lot;/;and) at) \times')/abouty) the largcrmeanairs 
 
HIS HEIGHTS, DEPTHS, BREADTHS 71 
 
 outside, for their grievances under Rome were 
 many. 
 
 As he grew to be a man Jesus became ever more 
 thoughtful, and that habit of his of going up to 
 the hill-top to think things out for himself grew 
 upon him. 
 
 At times he would have me go with him, and 
 those were times to remember. So gay and 
 joyous would be his talk and the stories he told. 
 He had endless stories, quite simple, but they 
 started one thinking, and more often than not 
 drove home into one’s mind something he desired 
 to fix there, as deftly and truly as he drove his 
 nails in the workshop. 
 
 But at times we got upon deeper subjects, for 
 he was often sorely troubled by the things we 
 heard and saw among the village-folk. And there 
 were times—and they grew ever more frequent— 
 when he wished to go up there alone, with none 
 but little Tobias, who gave him his heart, as I 
 did. Yes, I have often thought that, if Tobias 
 had only been gifted with speech, like Balaam’s 
 ass, what things he could have told. But I know 
 well that he would not. For he was a faithful 
 little soul and Jesus loved him dearly. 
 
 Joseph, his father, was growing old, and was 
 often unable for his work. He was of a good age 
 when he married Mary, and all his life he had 
 worked hard. 
 
 So the heavier part of the work began to fall 
 upon Jesus, and by degrees, also the leading part 
 in the discussions in the workshop. 
 
72 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 For years he had listened and thought, had 
 said little but thought more. So that now his 
 mind was matured beyond his years, and when 
 he spoke men listened to him. His thinking was 
 so clear and direct that it went right to the root 
 of any matter, and his words were so simple and 
 weighty and so exactly right that none failed to 
 understand him. 
 
 As a rule he spoke very gently, but if occasion 
 arose, as at times it did, his speech could be like 
 a sharp chisel, piercing deep, and his thoughtful 
 eyes flamed fires. 
 
 The grave concentrated gaze with which he 
 listened to each one who spoke to him was very 
 disconcerting to such as had anything to conceal, 
 and many had. 
 
 To each man with whom he talked he gave his 
 whole mind absolutely, and each felt that all his 
 concern was for the matter in question. And 
 those deep comprehending eyes of his penetrated 
 all subterfuges and looked deep into men’s hearts. 
 
 It seemed to me, quietly watching him and 
 them, that he always did his very best to get 
 clearly into his mind their own complete and 
 true points of view —to see the matter as they 
 saw it. And then, bringing it to the touch- 
 stone of his own larger and clearer vision, he would 
 point out in a few pithy words—and as often as 
 not in a crisp and novel little story—the error in 
 their reasoning or the mistake in their doing, and 
 give them his own clear-cut view of the matter. 
 And if their mistake was a wilful one, and they 
 
HIS HEIGHTS, DEPTHS, BREADTHS 73 
 
 tried to mislead him, or conceal anything in order 
 to bias his judgment — and that was very usual 
 with them, for it is very human to tell but half 
 the truth when one is in the wrong—then his eyes 
 would flame, the stars in them would become like 
 little flashes of lightning, and his words would 
 make them shrivel. 
 
 I have seen men three times his age shrink 
 abashed before his scorching words and eyes, 
 knowing well that they were in the wrong and 
 had attempted to deceive him. 
 
 And such happenings always troubled him. I 
 remember him one day saying sadly to me, when 
 the offender had slunk off down the road, abashed 
 but, I fear, muttering curses, “Little Azor, where 
 are we getting to when men can act like that?” 
 and he was clouded for the rest of the day and 
 spent the whole night on the hill-top. 
 
 But with it all he grew to a deep understanding 
 of men. And I think it was that very deep 
 desire to understand, and share fully with them 
 all their troubles and all their hopes, that drew 
 men to him and led them to unburden themselves 
 as to no one else. 
 
 Joseph ben Heli died after a very short illness, 
 and was buried in a tomb at the foot of the hill 
 near the village. He was mourned sincerely by 
 all, for all men had looked up to him because of 
 his wisdom and his kindliness, and for the good 
 work he always did. 
 
 Jesus felt his loss more than any, for he had 
 learned from him all that the Teacher could not 
 
74 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 teach him, and he had always held his father 
 
 above all other men. 
 
 His grief was greater than he allowed to show. 
 He missed him at_every turn. But he bore him- 
 self calmly. “For,” as he said to his mother and 
 me in the workshop, “we shall see him again,” 
 and of that I knew he was quite assured. But he 
 seemed to grow suddenly much older, as though 
 to fill his father’s place. 
 
 After that, the work grew heavier upon us two, 
 and we had to toil early and late to cope with it. 
 Before long we had to get in another to help us, 
 and Jesus chose Neri, the son of Jotham the 
 smith. He was small but strong and sturdy, and 
 very willing because he liked wood better than 
 iron to work on. And he was always smiling and 
 cheerful. 
 
 We all worked very happily together, all 
 putting in the very best that was in us, as indeed 
 one could not help doing, when Jesus was over- 
 looking us. 
 
 The happiest days I had ever known were 
 spent in that workshop, with its one side open to 
 the plain below and the dark hills of Lebanon, 
 where sunshine and shadow chased one another 
 in perpetual games of hide-and-seek, and away in 
 the distance the cap of Hermon shining white 
 above them. 
 
 Mary would often come in from the house with 
 her stool and her work and sit and chat with us, 
 and the birds flew in and out and perched where 
 they would and chirped and twittered con- 
 
HIS HEIGHTS, DEPTHS, BREADTHS 75 
 
 fidently to us. And when the sun was hot the 
 whole place was sweet with the smell of rosemary 
 from Mary’s two big bushes, and with pine and 
 cedar, as Tobias, all abristle with shavings, and 
 his black nose covered with sawdust, played about 
 the floor with his mouse, or jumped up on to the 
 bench where Jesus was working and watched all 
 that he did with sharp expectant eyes. For to 
 Tobias the hoped-for moment was when the sun 
 sank behind Carmel, and the tools were hung up 
 in their places, and the floor was swept clean, 
 and the evening meal was eaten, and a word or a 
 whistle from his master called him to company 
 him up the hill. 
 
 Tobias’s mouse was one of the many humours 
 of the workshop. He discovered it one day 
 among the shavings and gave chase. The mouse, 
 by a happy instinct, ran up the first thing that 
 offered chance of escape, and that was Jesus’s 
 leg. It scrambled right up into the bosom of 
 his tunic and lay there quivering. And Jesus 
 laughed and took it into his hand and soothed it, 
 and then showed it to the panting Tobias, and 
 with uplifted finger admonished him, “Little 
 Tobias, this is one of the family and is not to be 
 harmed!’? And Tobias understood, and _ there- 
 after played much with the mouse but never 
 hurt it. But Mary was always rather doubtful 
 of it. 
 
 Tobias went up the hill with him much oftener 
 than I did, many times oftener, but in that matter 
 understanding was vouchsafed me. And _ such 
 
76 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 times as Jesus called me to go with him were times 
 of deep delight. 
 
 As I have said, as time passed, he sometimes 
 spent the whole night up there. Whether he 
 slept under the stars, as John did — with Maz- 
 zaroth and Arcturus and Orion and the Pleiades— 
 I do not know. But I do know that he never 
 showed any sign of weariness next day. Indeed, 
 he would go up at times looking spent, after a 
 long hot day’s work, or still more after some 
 disputation with some troubled and none too 
 straightforward neighbour, and he would be at 
 work again by sunrise, all himself, and as cheerful 
 and happy as was his wont. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Or MY QUEST AFTER Two Farr MAIps 
 
 THEN came another change in our lives, a change 
 that meant more to some of us than we then 
 knew. 
 
 My mother received word that her brother 
 Matthat ben Nathan had died, leaving two 
 daughters with no one to look after them and 
 almost nothing to live on. 
 
 After thinking it all over carefully she decided 
 that they must come to live with us in Nazaret. 
 My earnings, and what she had from my father, 
 would suffice us. We could build another room 
 on to the house, a small one in a corner of the 
 roof, for me to sleep in, and the girls could have 
 my room. 
 
 She knew very little of them, but thought one 
 of them was about my age. They lived in 
 Kedesh, in the north country, not far from the 
 Waters of Merom. And, to my great delight, 
 it was decided that I should go and bring them 
 down to Nazaret. 
 
 The room was put in hand at once. We 
 borrowed three asses from a neighbour in the 
 village, Peleg, who kept the inn and did a trade 
 in fish from the lake. 
 
 ti) 
 
78 LHE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 He picked out for me his three best, or so he 
 said, but eithér the others must have been very 
 slow beasts indeed or I lacked the knowledge of 
 how to induce mine to their quickest. 
 
 It was a three days’ journey, and I had had 
 little experience of travelling, except on foot about 
 our own hills, and the yearly Passover journey 
 to Jerusalem when we all went in company. And 
 so the neighbours gave me much good advice; 
 so much, indeed, that if I had heeded all their 
 warnings I should probably never have started at 
 all. Peleg’s, however, was useful as the result of 
 his own experience. 
 
 ‘Keep away from the Great Road as much as 
 you can,” he said. “Take rather the village tracks 
 even if it takes you longer.” He was to receive 
 so much a day for the asses, but it was good 
 advice all the same. 
 
 ‘Last time I came up from the lake,” he said, 
 “a devil of a Roman on a horse upset one of my 
 beasts into the ditch and scattered all my fish. I 
 put a curse on him and pray Jah he may suffer. 
 So keep you to the village tracks and clear of all 
 Romans, especially if they’re on horses.” 
 
 ‘Was your beast in the middle of the road, 
 Peleg?” asked Jesus quietly. 
 
 “Well... it was, but not by my will. I had 
 five to look after, you see, and it had strayed a 
 bit. 
 
 “So you were to blame, you see, and your 
 curse will not work.’ And to me, he said, ‘“Keep 
 a civil tongue and your own counsel, Little Azor, 
 
QUEST AFTER TWO FAIR MAIDS ‘79 
 
 and the side of the road if you have to go on 
 ira! 
 
 He still called me Little Azor at times, though 
 I was growing quickly and even looked like topping 
 him in time. But he was of so shapely a build, and 
 bore himself so well and uprightly, that he looked 
 taller than he really was. And there was such 
 strength of calm unruffled wisdom in his face that 
 he looked older than his years. 
 
 When he went up the hill of a night, at times 
 he went heavily and slowly enough. But when 
 he came down again his step was that of a moun- 
 tain deer, light and full of life and spring, and 
 his face was always placidly strong again. 
 
 So, in the early dawn one morning, I set off 
 with my three asses on that great adventure, bear- 
 ing with me a tablet from my mother to the two 
 girls, and food for several days so that I should 
 not be a burden on anyone on the way. And 
 Jesus came down to the foot of the hill with me, 
 and gave me a farewell kiss and many heartening 
 claps on the shoulder when we parted. 
 
 “Be very circumspect, Little Azor, and may 
 Jah have you in His keeping and prosper your 
 going and coming!” were his last words, as he 
 turned to climb the hill to his daily work. 
 
 A wonderful journey that was. Our great plain 
 was carpeted with flowers of every colour one 
 could think of, and growing so thick and close that 
 at times it was difficult to find the track. 
 
 I made first for Cana,.whose white walls shone 
 in the distance, and from there headed straight 
 
80 TIT ESE ED DION YEE S 
 
 for the white cap of Hermon, though it lay far 
 beyond the end of my journey. 
 
 It was all a great joy ta me. Never was so blue 
 a sky or so bright a sun. Away on my right hand, 
 as I topped the hills, that other blue streak was 
 the Great Lake, with the white walls and towers 
 of its busy cities and the gray and brown hills on 
 its far side. And away on the left I could still 
 see Carmel, standing, as I well knew, with its feet 
 in the still greater sea. 
 
 But never surely were there slower asses than 
 those three of Peleg’s. They set their own pace 
 and nothing I could do sufficed to quicken it. 
 Beating might, but I was unused to asses, and 
 their gentle meekness left me at their mercy, so 
 our progress was slow. I could have walked 
 faster, but we could not ask the girls to walk all 
 the way back with their belongings. 
 
 As we jogged slowly through Cana a man 
 stopped me in a crowd and said solemnly, “‘So you 
 have found them at last?” 
 
 And I stared back at him and said, ‘Found 
 what?” 
 
 ‘Your father’s asses. Are you not that son of 
 Kish who has sought them all these years?” 
 
 It was in me to make some smart reply that 
 would have turned the laugh against him. But 
 I could think of nothing till I was a good mile 
 past the village, and then it came to me that I 
 might have said, “Sir, had I known you were 
 here I would have come at once to claim the 
 greatest of them.” 
 
QUEST AFTER TWO FAIR M4IDS 81 
 
 But maybe it was just as well, and when I 
 remembered the counsel Jesus had given me, I 
 was sure it was. 
 
 I slept that night in a little village on the other 
 side of the hill towards Beth-Meron, and the 
 next night at Gischala. And on the third day, 
 after climbing up and down another range of hills, 
 I drew near to Kedesh. 
 
 I stopped at the first house in the village and 
 asked where Zerah and Zoe, the daughters of 
 Matthat ben Nathan, lived, and a house on the 
 hillside was pointed out to me. 
 
 As I came near it I saw a girl sitting on a stool 
 spinning coarse flax with distaff and spindle. 
 She gazed at me with surprise as I came steadily 
 on with my three leisurely asses, and when I got 
 quite close she stood up, staring hard, but never 
 stopped her spinning. 
 
 I had not had much to do with girls, and none 
 of our Nazaret maids had ever quickened my 
 heart by one beat. But I thought this girl the 
 most beautiful one I had ever seen. 
 
 She was, I guessed, somewhere about my own 
 age. Her face was very sweet and comely, and 
 she had black hair and large dark eyes with a 
 little cloud of sadness in them. And she was slim 
 and shapely. 
 
 Yes, my heart beat quicker as I looked at her, 
 and I felt suddenly tongue-tied and rough and 
 uncouth before her, and very aware of the dust 
 that was thick upon me. 
 
 My little ass stopped right in front of her, as we 
 
82 DHECALDDEN WEARS 
 
 two stared at one another, and with an effort I 
 managed to say, “I am seeking my cousins, Zerah 
 and Zoe, the daughters of Matthat ben Nathan.” 
 
 And she cried, in a voice like a flute, ‘“Zerah!” 
 
 Then in the dark doorway behind her another 
 girl appeared and stared at me also. 
 
 Now if the first girl had taken my breath with 
 her beauty, how shall I try to tell of her sister 
 Zerah? 
 
 It is beyond me. Though I added word to 
 word in a great procession I could never make you 
 see Matthat’s Zerah as she appeared to me that 
 day. For she was beautiful beyond all words 
 to tell. , 
 
 She was several years older than her sister Zoe, 
 and so in the full splendour of her maidenhood— 
 tall, and of a very gracious dignity: dark lke 
 her sister and with the same sadness in her large 
 dark eyes. 
 
 ‘“‘F¥e says he is our cousin and has come to 
 seek us,” said Zoe, and I was grateful to her, for 
 I could only stare dumbly at the two of them. 
 I had not known that such beauty existed, and it 
 overpowered me and made me feel like a log of 
 wood. But I was grateful that the log had eyes 
 to see with. , 
 
 Bits out of the Song of Songs bubbled and sang 
 in my head and in my heart as I gazed mutely at 
 those two girls. 
 
 “Who is this glowing like the dawn, fair as a mirror, clear 
 
 as the sun, overawing like an army with banners? 
 You stand there straight as a palm. 
 
QUEST AFTER TWO FAIR MAIDS 83 
 
 Your body is a bundle of wheat encircled by lilies. 
 
 Your waist is round as a goblet. 
 
 Ah, you are fair, you are fair, 
 
 With dove-like eyes. 
 
 The dark stream of your hair is as a flock of goats on 
 the slopes of Gilead. 
 
 Your cheeks are like slices of pomegranate. 
 
 Your neck is like David’s tower. 
 
 Your eyes are like the Pools at Heshbon. 
 
 A King’s Daughter!” 
 
 ‘And in that I was right, for their mother traced 
 direct from Elmadam, the son of Er, who was of 
 the line of David, the King. 
 
 The great dark eyes of the elder girl rested 
 searchingly upon me, calmly questioning, seeming 
 to look deep into my heart—just, I thought, as 
 Jesus ben Joseph’s eyes looked into people and 
 seemed to read their innermost thoughts. 
 
 But I had nothing to hide from her, and least 
 of all the wonder and joy the sight of her and 
 her sister were to me. 
 
 So I gave her back look for look, and perhaps 
 she read in my eyes or in my heart somewhat of 
 all I was feeling. 
 
 “You are then the son of Miriam, our father’s 
 sister?” she asked, and her voice was like her 
 sister’s, but even more round and mellow and 
 flute-like. 
 
 af am.’’ 
 
 “And your name?” 
 
 “T am Azor ben Azor.”’ 
 
 She nodded. She had no doubt heard from 
 
84 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 her father that his sister had married Azor ben 
 Amon of Ptolemais. 
 
 ‘And wherefore do you seek us?” 
 
 ‘My mother heard of your father’s death— 
 peace be with him!—and that you were left lonely. 
 She would have you come and live with us at 
 Nazaret. See—here is her own word!” and I 
 pulled out my tablet and handed it to her. 
 
 She read it at a glance, and said, “You will 
 stop the night with us, Cousin Azor? The 
 beasts can go into the walled garden there. 
 There is little they can destroy, but there are 
 many thistles they can eat. I will get you water 
 to wash with.” 
 
 She and her sister went into the house, and I 
 joyfully led my three meek little asses into the 
 neglected garden, and when I came back there was 
 a basin of water and a towel on the doorstep. 
 
 When I had washed I felt very much better, 
 but I still lingered shyly outside. For my heart 
 was leaping wildly and my head was in a confused 
 whirl of happiness. 
 
 I felt like one to whom has come unexpected 
 good fortune. And amid it all I was saying to 
 myself again and again, “What will Jesus think 
 of them?” 
 
 And I knew that he would delight in them, for 
 he loved all beautiful things. 
 
 Then, while I still hesitated at going into the 
 house of such wonderful maids, Zerah came to 
 the door again and looked out and cried, ‘‘Where 
 —oh, you are there, Cousin. Why don’t you 
 
QUEST AFTER TWO FAIR MAIDS 85 
 
 come in? The supper is ready,” and I followed 
 her in, all agog with expectation. 
 
 The house was of fair size but very sparely 
 furnished, and the meal was of the simplest. But 
 it was enough for me to feast my eyes on those 
 two most beautiful maidens. 
 
 As we ate, Zerah quietly drew from me all she 
 desired to know — about my mother and myself 
 and Nazaret and our home. And Zoe listened 
 with sparkling eyes, and looked up at me as I 
 told, in a way that filled me with a great and novel 
 joy. I had never had anyone regard me so 
 admiringly before. It made me think of the way 
 little Tobias sat watching Jesus as he worked. 
 But it was much greater joy to be watched by 
 Zoe than by Tobias. 
 
 I told them all about Jesus and Mary and Joseph 
 and Tobias, and everything and everybody else I 
 could think of, and I had never known such joy 
 in talking before, nor that I could talk so well. 
 But there was something about them that went 
 to my head, and maybe to my heart, and I was 
 no longer Little Azor but felt myself a very Big 
 Azor, and very rich in having two such wonderful 
 maids for cousins. 
 
 And they enjoyed listening, I could see. For 
 it was the opening of a new life for them, and the 
 birth of new hope where there had been only 
 clouds and sadness before them. 
 
 When we had finished supper, Zerah said, 
 “We are very grateful to your mother and you, 
 Cousin Azor, and we will gladly come with you to 
 
w 
 
 86 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Nazaret,” and perhaps my face showed how glad 
 I was. 
 
 ‘And when, Cousin Zerah?”’ 
 
 “We would like one day to wind up our small 
 affairs here, and the next day we will go.” 
 
 And then, very quietly and simply, she told me 
 of themselves. How their father had been a 
 merchant, trading with Damascus and Tyre and 
 Sidon, and how one of his principal debtors, a 
 Greek, had robbed him of almost all he had, and 
 the anxiety of it had stricken him down, and he 
 had died leaving them almost nothing. And 
 they had been very forlorn and hopeless, not 
 knowing what they could do, and had even of 
 late been selling their furniture and ornaments 
 in order to eat. 
 
 And so my coming, with that warm invitation 
 from my mother, had been like a Godsend to them, 
 and their hearts went out to us. 
 
CHARI ERs x 
 
 OF ouR TREASURE-I ROVE 
 
 ON the next day but one we started on the journey 
 to Nazaret. And if the journey up to Kedesh 
 had been wonderful to me, how shall I tell of the 
 wonder of the journey home? 
 
 Then, my only companions were the incor- 
 rigibly slow little asses, and the way had seemed 
 long. Now I shared the road with the two most 
 beautiful beings I had ever met, and the way 
 seemed all too short. If it had been ten times as 
 long it would not have been long enough for me. 
 
 The two girls rode the other asses, with some 
 of their bundles tied on to them, and the rest I 
 piled on to my beast and walked beside it. To 
 that they raised objections at first, but I assured 
 them that walking was more to my liking than 
 riding, and that I could have come in half the 
 time if I had not had the asses, only that we 
 could not expect them to walk and carry their 
 bundles as well. 
 
 They had spent most of their lives in Kedesh, 
 so this journey by the country paths, up and down 
 the hills and across the streams, was a new joy 
 to them. 
 
 Zerah, by reason of her three or four more 
 
 87 
 
88 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 years, and having been in charge of the household 
 since her mother died, and sharing her father’s 
 troubles, was the graver of the two, as she was, 
 I suppose, the more beautiful. 
 
 But Zoe, who looked up to me, grew and grew 
 upon me till I thought there never could have been 
 a sweeter maid in Israel. 
 
 We laughed and talked and enjoyed every 
 minute of each day, and Zerah listened and 
 joined in at times, but for the most part she was 
 grave and thoughtful. 
 
 I told them much of my chief friend, Jesus. 
 In fact, I talked so much about him—which was 
 only natural, seeing that he was the dearest and 
 greatest thing in my life, along with my mother, 
 only there was more to tell about Jesus — that I 
 remember Zerah saying, with her grave sweet 
 smile, ‘“He must be a very wonderful man to fill 
 your heart and mind so full of him.” 
 
 “Oh, he is,” I said. ‘He is the best and most 
 wonderful one you can imagine. You'll love him, 
 Zerah. i) wand she swill slovemyousm tte lo vesman 
 beautiful things, and all flowers and birds and 
 beasts, and they all know it and they all love him. 
 You can’t help loving him.” 
 
 And Zerah smiled again that grave sweet smile 
 which made her face so rarely beautiful. But 
 Zoe’s happier laugh and her young bright face, 
 and the way she looked up to me, set my blood 
 racing, and I was happier, I think, than ever in 
 my life before. 
 
 They rejoiced in everything we saw—in distant 
 
OF OUR TREASURE-TROVE 89 
 
 Carmel and a silvery gleam of the Great Sea, in 
 the glimpses of the blue lake on the other side 
 whenever we topped a hill—in ‘Tabor and Gilboa, 
 and especially in the wonder and beauty of our 
 flower-decked plain. 
 
 ilteismaniaircn land than) ours, said Zoe, joy- 
 ously. “I am glad we have come. And perhaps 
 there are no wolves here in the winter.” 
 
 “T have never seen one yet. Naggai has to 
 suard his sheep in the winter, but they have never 
 come near us.” 
 
 “We used to hear them nearly every night. 
 And if the winter was a hard one they would come 
 right into the village. I cannot see why wolves 
 should be,” said Zoe. 
 
 “T know. That is one of the hard things to 
 understand. ... Even Jesus cannot understand 
 it, though he says there must be some reason for 
 them since they are all of the family.” 
 
 ‘The family?” said Zerah. 
 
 “He says all things—all beasts and birds and 
 flowers and trees are of God’s family, as well as 
 men and women. But even he cannot understand 
 why bears and lions and wolves are in it.” 
 
 “Tt is hard to understand,” she said. 
 
 “But he says that men who prey on their 
 fellows, and are cruel and brutal, are worse than 
 bears and lions és 
 
 “They are,’ and I thought she was thinking of 
 her father and the Greek who had robbed them. 
 
 “But he says too that sometime it will all be 
 made all right, and the wolf and the cow will 
 
 
 
90 THE HIDDEN YEAKS 
 
 couch together, and the lion will eat straw like 
 the ox i 
 
 ‘‘That’s out of the prophet,” said Zoe. 
 
 “And does he say when it will be?’ asked 
 Zerah. . 
 
 “When the Deliverer comes and rules over all 
 things.”’ 
 
 “May it be soon!” she said softly. 
 
 It was the afternoon of the third day when we 
 came to the foot of our hills, and the little asses 
 considered they had done a fair day’s work. So 
 the girls got down to ease them. 
 
 And I suppose little Neri had spied us coming. 
 He ever had an eye on all things outside as well as 
 inside the workshop. For we had hardly started 
 to climb when I saw a white figure coming lightly 
 and swiftly down the path to meet us. 
 
 “Tt is Jesus,’ I said. ‘‘He comes to welcome 
 you. They saw us from the workshop.” 
 
 And presently he met us, with Tobias jumping 
 up beside him. He kissed me warmly on the 
 cheek and said, “God has. sped you happily, 
 Little Azor. And these are your cousins,’ and 
 he gave a welcoming hand to each of the 
 girls. 
 
 Thisnis)Zerah,. Lysaid, and) thisiiss Zoe. 
 and I felt like one who shares his chiefest treasure 
 with his friend. 
 
 He looked sweetly and straightly at each of 
 them, with the deep stars in his eyes, and said 
 gently, “ ‘The Rising of Light,’ and ‘Life’. 
 You are surely well named. Welcome to your 
 
 
 
OF OUR TREASURE-TROVE gt 
 
 new home! May God give you great happiness 
 amongst us!” 
 
 And Zerah said softly, “Amen!” 
 
 And then they stood for a full minute, he and 
 she, looking deep into one another’s eyes, and I 
 was glad, for I knew they would love one another, 
 and they were such a noble pair. 
 
 Then we climbed on and up after the asses; 
 and Mary, his mother, came out to greet them, 
 and my mother too, came running down, and they 
 all kissed one another, and the two girls were 
 made very happy by the warmth of their greeting, 
 and their faces showed it. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Or Nose Lovers 
 
 THE coming of Zerah and Zoe was one of the 
 happiest things that ever happened to us, and I 
 can never be grateful enough for it. 
 
 It was my mother’s gracious thought, and we 
 all shared in the benefit of it, and she by no means 
 least. She loved them as if they had been her 
 own, and they repaid her in full. 
 
 With three to share it, the housework was no 
 longer a toil but a matter of joyous activities, 
 spiced with much talk and laughter. A happier 
 family could not have been found. 
 
 Of an evening, when the day’s work was done, 
 and their three spindles twirled merrily and 
 ceaselessly as they sat outside in the cool of the 
 sunset, very often Mary would come along from 
 the other house and bring her spinning too, and 
 there was for me no higher joy than to sit and 
 listen and watch them. For I was assured in my 
 own mind that the world had never held four 
 more gracious and beautiful women. 
 
 As often as he could Jesus would come along 
 too, with Tobias at his heels, and would sit and 
 talk, and tell us stories which sometimes slowed 
 the twirl of the spindles, so absorbing were they. 
 
 92 
 
OF NOBLE LOVERS 93 
 And he liked to get the others talking—which 
 
 indeed needed no incitement as a rule, for when 
 he was not there their tongues rippled on like 
 merry brooks in spring time. 
 
 But when he was there I noticed that Zerah and 
 Zoe were more given to listening than to talking, 
 and Zerah especially. 
 
 Zoe would at times break spiritedly into their 
 talk, and offer and maintain her opinions with 
 sparkling face and lively eyes, and we would listen 
 and watch her with enjoyment. But Zerah 
 would sit quietly working, listening to every- 
 thing, enjoying everything, and comprehending 
 us all in the gaze of her dark eyes. Beautiful 
 eyes they were. Always when I watched them I 
 thought of the Pools of Heshbon on a starry 
 night. 
 
 When Jesus talked, in that rich, tuneful voice 
 of his, which seemed to play upon the strings of 
 one’s heart, her eyes would dwell upon him 
 intently at times, and at times would settle on the 
 distant hills. But I, at all events, knew that 
 every fibre of her beautiful body, and of her soul, 
 was strung to its uttermost to miss no slightest 
 perception of what he meant. For at times his 
 talk was simple enough for any to understand, but 
 at other times, simple though it might sound, it 
 was charged with meaning which grew and grew 
 upon one and disclosed itself only by degrees. 
 
 Zerah remained for me just as I had thought 
 of her that first day I saw her at Kedesh—some- 
 thing almost too wonderful for this common 
 
94 PHE HIDDEN VYEARS 
 
 workaday world of ours. She was, as a woman, 
 what Jesus was to me as a man, something quite 
 above and beyond one’s ordinary ken, dear beyond 
 words, but quite recognisably above one, and 
 compassing heights and depths quite beyond 
 one. 
 
 With Zoe I never felt so. She was a year 
 younger than myself and still at times looked up 
 to me, which occasioned me great joy and satisfac- 
 tion. There is surely no more certain way to one’s 
 heart than a little loving admiration. 
 
 She was of a very bright and lively nature, and 
 in the genial home atmosphere I watched her 
 daily expanding like a flower. She was quick and 
 clever too in all the housework—as indeed Zerah 
 was no less, but Zoe’s bird-like activities attracted 
 one’s admiring attention, while Zerah’s quiet 
 grace accomplished quite as much but passed 
 almost unnoticed. 
 
 It was a great joy to me that they found such 
 favour in Jesus’s eyes. He had with all women 
 a way that raised them in their own esteem; for 
 they all felt the high and deep respect in which 
 he held them; and instinctively, I suppose, they 
 tried to live up to his belief in them. 
 
 I had seen it in his converse with the women of 
 the village, even when we were only doing their 
 repairs or taking their instructions for what they 
 wanted done. Every woman he spoke to went 
 about her daily tasks with a larger spirit because 
 she had felt the reverence in which one man 
 held her. 
 
OF NOBLE LOVERS 95 
 
 And, if that was so with outsiders, how much 
 more with those of his intimate circle. 
 
 I have said that four more gracious and beauti- 
 ful women it would not have been possible to find. 
 He loved all gracious and beautiful things, and 
 as we sat in the sunset with them his eyes would 
 dwell on them with delight. 
 
 And longest and most lovingly, I came to notice 
 in course of time, they loved to linger on our 
 Zerah, and that was not to be wondered at, for 
 no more surpassingly beautiful a thing to look at 
 could he have found anywhere. 
 
 Mary and my mother had, in unusual measure, 
 the rich matronly beauty of early middle life. 
 They had both seen about five-and-thirty years— 
 they were roses opened to the sun. 
 
 Zoe, the joy—and at times now the torment— 
 of my anxious heart, was young and girlish still in 
 all her delightful ways. She was a rosebud unfold- 
 ing day by day. 
 
 Zerah, in her maidenly reserves and unfathom- 
 able heights and depths, was like a tall white open- 
 ing lily, whose snowy petals still ward the golden 
 heart within. 
 
 It was Jesus himself so spoke of her one day as 
 we passed a clump of lilies by the roadside. He 
 stopped and reverently touched one, and stood 
 gazing down into it with delight. And then he 
 said, very softly, as if it was but his thought that 
 spoke, “No earthly queen was ever robed like 
 these, nor had such grace and beauty.... They 
 make me think of Zerah...pure white and 
 
96 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 heart of gold”... and presently he went slowly 
 and thoughtfully on his way and for a space was 
 silent—thinking, I was sure, of Zerah. 
 
 Yes, his eyes loved to dwell upon her, for he 
 loved all things gracious and beautiful. And as 
 the months passed and he came to know her still 
 better, his eyes seemed to seek her at once when 
 he joined us and to rest upon her most of the 
 time. And though his talk was for us all it seemed 
 to me chiefly for her. 
 
 I could see that she was conscious of his look, 
 even’when her eyes were on her work or on the 
 distant hills. For at such times the calm, sweet 
 face would glow softly with a touch of heavenly 
 colour akin to that of the setting sun, but it came 
 from within and was sent there by her heart. And 
 it always made me think how well she was named 
 —Zerah, the Rising of Light. 
 
 And at times, moved by something he was 
 saying, the great dark eyes would rise quietly and 
 meet his and their souls seemed to speak to one 
 another. 
 
 If she was not there when he came and sat 
 down among us, I could see that he felt some- 
 thing awanting, and his heart was not satisfied till 
 she came. 
 
 Now the understanding of all this came to me, 
 not of any natural intelligence on my part, but 
 simply because I myself was feeling in that same 
 way towards Zoe, and I suppose it quickened me 
 to perceive the same in him. 
 
 And in the assurance that it would make him 
 
OF NOBLE LOVERS 97 
 
 feel as happy and uplifted as it did me—though 
 I hoped without those occasional torments of 
 doubt which Zoe at times afflicted me with — I 
 was glad. 
 
 They were such a wonderful pair, and, as it 
 seemed to me, so absolutely made for one another. 
 When, sometimes of an evening, we four wandered 
 up the hill, he with Zerah and I with Zoe, I 
 would trip at times and stumble because I could 
 not take my eyes off them, and Zoe would laugh 
 padeicalleme);Clumsy-footy ™% But, sreally,, «she 
 rejoiced as I did in the growing friendship 
 between them. 
 
 “Yes,” she would say, with many wise nods of 
 her lively little head, “I am glad. Zerah is the 
 most beautiful girl in the world. And he is surely 
 the most wonderful man. And he is beautiful too. 
 Has there ever been anyone like him?” 
 
 “Never!” I said vehemently, with all the 
 devotion of my hero-worship. ‘He is far above 
 all the men of Nazaret and, I should think, of all 
 the world.” 
 
 But I must not let you think that all his even- 
 ings were spent in our company. I have told 
 about them at length because of the joy we had 
 in them, and as I was there I could tell about 
 them. 
 
 But there were many times when we sat hoping 
 he might come and he did not. And we missed 
 him. We felt something awanting. The glow 
 of the sunset was not so bright and our talk 
 seemed commonplace. 
 
98 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 For as time went on he went oftener and 
 oftener up to the hill-top alone, with the weight 
 of many things in his face and in his step. And 
 sometimes, though not very often, he would not 
 even have Tobias with him. And then poor 
 little Tobias would sit among us looking wistfully 
 towards the hill, shifting restlessly from one foot 
 to another, and wondering, I think, what he had 
 done to be left behind. He could not under- 
 stand that there were occasions in his master’s 
 life when even a dearly-loved dog might be 
 in the way. 
 
 Then too, there were many evenings — too 
 many for us—when the neighbours would come 
 up to the workshop to discuss some news or to 
 wrangle over some dispute, and he would go into 
 all they required of him as though nothing else 
 mattered. But I am as sure that he would very 
 much sooner have been up above with us as I am 
 that he never allowed the smallest sign of it to 
 appear to the neighbours. 
 
 Through the still evening air we would hear 
 their voices down there droning on and on, and 
 sometimes growing loud and shrill in dispute, and 
 Zerah would watch disappointedly for them to go. 
 But very often they would stay till it was night, 
 and then as often as not he would go away up the 
 hill to ponder things in the quiet. 
 
 For the littleness—and worse—of his fellows 
 lay heavy on him, and the men of Nazaret were 
 very narrow and sometimes very crooked — like 
 the streets in the lower part of Ptolemais—and 
 
OF NOBLE LOVERS 99 
 
 sometimes even he could not let light into 
 them. 
 
 There are some people whose absolute straight- 
 forwardness is accepted by all without ever a 
 doubt. Not very many perhaps, at least among 
 us. For we are a self-seeking and over-reaching 
 race, and our men of Nazaret were probably not 
 much worse than the rest—ready to swear any- 
 thing to clinch a bargain or gain an advantage. 
 
 But, just here and there, one lighted on a 
 man whose word one would no more dream of 
 doubting than one would doubt the sweetness 
 and brightness of the morning sunshine. 
 
 Jesus ben Joseph was like that. Even the most 
 perverse among us recognised that his cas 
 meant yea, and his ‘Nay’ meant nay, without 
 any other word or oath to back it up. They felt 
 that anything in the nature of a lie, even in them- 
 selves, was hateful to him, and in himself utterly 
 unthinkable. One felt that he would die sooner 
 than swerve by one iota from what he believed to 
 be right and truth. 
 
 And I think it was that that gave him such a 
 standing in all their disputes and discussions. hey 
 recognised that, above everything, he stood for 
 Right and Truth, and had no end of his own to 
 serve, as they at all times had. 
 
 As I have said, when he came down from his 
 vigils on the hill, as a rule he showed no signs of 
 weariness, but tackled the work in hand as if he 
 had found new strength up there. 
 
 Yet, as time passed, I perceived that in him 
 
100 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 which was quite beyond me. I loved him very 
 dearly, and the eyes of love perceive things 
 beneath the surface. 
 
 At times his thoughts were so deep and long 
 that he spoke no word for an hour at a time, and 
 his face was intent and absorbed though his hands 
 worked on with unfailing certainty and skill. At 
 such times neither Tobias and his mouse, nor 
 the birds that he loved, could divert him from 
 his thoughts. And much I wondered what was 
 working within him. 
 
 His mother was greatly concerned about him. 
 That look of—what was it?—-wondering expect- 
 ancy —— suspense — apprehension—appeal—that I 
 had always been conscious of in her sweet eyes 
 and face seemed to me to grow more pronounced 
 in these days. And with them all was an immense 
 solicitude which she could not hide, strive as she 
 might. 
 
 He was very gentle and tender with her, but I 
 do not think she obtained any enlightenment from 
 him, or surely she would have told me when we 
 talked of the matter. 
 
 What was working in him was—I know it now 
 —too vast and too sacred for any discussion of it, 
 even with his mother. And perhaps he himself 
 was at this time only as yet beginning to under- 
 stand, and even then but dimly, all that it meant. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Or His Ways WITH MEN 
 
 As my mind wanders back along these old tracks, 
 this happening and that starts up and appeals to 
 me, for now I recognise them as forerunners of 
 what came after. 
 
 I remember well how old Amos ben Rhesa— 
 the astute old man who discovered the treasure 
 in the field he had stripped himself to buy— 
 came toiling up the steep path to the workshop 
 one afternoon, and his face was sad and heavy. 
 
 He had not gone to Kaphar-Nahum, as he had 
 thought of doing, but had bought more land and 
 built a larger house and lived in much comfort 
 just outside the village. 
 
 “Tt is Amos ben Rhesa,”’ said Neri, long before 
 we had noticed him. Neri’s eyes missed nothing 
 outside. | 
 
 And when the old man drew near, Jesus went a 
 little way down the path to meet him. He had 
 doubtless heard the village talk, and guessed why 
 he had come. He drew the trembling old arm 
 within his own, and led him in, and seated him 
 in a shady corner with his back to the wall. Then 
 he went quietly on with his work and waited t:'l 
 
 the old man recovered his breath. 
 IOI 
 
102 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 And presently old Amos, leaning heavily for- 
 ward on his staff, said, ‘““You and your father 
 Joseph were always wiser than most, young Jesus, 
 and your advice is generally sound. Tell me now 
 what you would do in my case?” 
 
 ‘Tell me, father, and I will gladly help if I 
 can,’ said Jesus gently. 
 
 ‘You know I became rich through finding that 
 treasure. . .. Sometimes I have wished it still 
 below the ground.... For my boy Judah took it 
 into his head that he must see the world. You 
 remember him. He was at school with you. 
 
 ‘‘He was my dearest one, and when he asked 
 for his portion I gave it to him. It was not wise 
 perhaps, but it was hard to refuse him. 
 
 ‘He was young and high-spirited, and all his 
 life he had been cooped up in Nazaret. It was 
 but natural he should wish to see life.... Well, 
 he went, and I have missed him sorely. Jotham 
 has stayed with me and manages things for me. 
 
 eee butehewsinot.| Udanwwete 
 
 ‘“‘And now I have bad news of Judah. He has 
 wasted his share in a young man’s follies, and 
 Jotham is hot against him.... It breaks my 
 heart to think of him in want.... He never 
 knew want at home. ... Shall I send for him 
 to come home, or shall I leave him to himself, as 
 Jotham advises? What would you say?” 
 
 And Jesus asked quietly, “Have you heard from 
 Judah himself ?” 
 
 ‘Not one word since he went. It has troubled 
 me sorely.” 
 
OF HIS WAYS WITH MEN 103 
 
 “Adversity is sometimes the best  school- 
 master, father. It may teach him what he never 
 would have learned otherwise. It may bring 
 him to himself. When it does he will recall your 
 love for him and all you did for him. Then, if 
 he has learned his lesson, his heart will turn to 
 you, and he will come home and beg your for- 
 giveness. He may be the better man for his 
 suffering.” 
 
 “We have thought he would probably come 
 home. Jotham is 
 
 “Your own heart will guide you better than 
 Jotham, father. If he comes, asking your for- 
 giveness 
 
 “Oh that he may! How I will rejoice in 
 him! My heart aches for the sight of him. 
 Ay me!—if I saw him coming I would run to 
 meet him.”’ 
 
 “We will pray that he may come, father; and 
 if he does, greet him as your heart bids you,” and 
 presently the old man went home, slowly and 
 heavily, for he was full of years and sorrows, but 
 happier than when he came, because his mind was 
 made up and he hoped to see his son again. 
 
 Another time I remember Dathan, the mason, 
 who had started in the village after Uncle Joda 
 died, and for whom we had done a great deal of 
 work, fitting doors and cupboards in the houses he 
 had built, coming up in much distress. 
 
 He was a fair workman but not a good man of 
 business. He had lost money on some of his 
 jobs, especially on the big new house he put up 
 
 
 
 
 
104 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 for Amos ben Rhesa. It was on the hillside, 
 and Dathan had not gone down for his founda- 
 tions as deep as Uncle Joda would have done. 
 The winter storms undermined it somewhat, and 
 he had been put to much trouble and expense to 
 make it good. 
 
 He was rather easy-going with his debtors too, 
 and never liked to press a man, and some took 
 advantage of him. 
 
 His wife, and his little daughter Ruth, a very 
 pretty child and the apple of his eye, had both 
 been ill, and he found himself in debt and did 
 not know which way to turn. He owed us, I 
 suppose, more than anyone, and he came up in 
 great trouble about it. 
 
 Jesus listened to him sympathetically, with 
 those penetrating eyes of his looking through and 
 through him. 
 
 And when Dathan had ended his tale and stood 
 looking forlornly at him—TI can see it as if it 
 were but yesterday — Jesus smiled at him and 
 picked up a curly shaving of cedar and said, “See 
 now, Dathan!—here is our bill against you... 
 and now: ’’ he crumpled the cedar-shaving into 
 fragments and threw it behind him—“it is gone. 
 Let it trouble you no more. Better times will 
 come.” 
 
 And Dathan dropped on to his knees and cried 
 like¥a’ child; *whichiis "a vsore thino sto seeming 
 grown man. 
 
 When he had gone away comforted, I remem- 
 ber I said to Jesus, “You will never make money 
 
 
 
OF HIS WAYS WITH MEN 105 
 
 at that rate, Jesus;”—and the joyous laugh with 
 which he answered, “‘We have made more than 
 money to-day, Little Azor. We have lifted a 
 weight from a worthy man and given him fresh 
 heart.” 
 
 As I have said, he still at times called me ‘Little 
 Azor,” though by now I prided myself on being 
 fully as tall as himself, but I never could claim 
 his gracious mien, which made him noteworthy in 
 whatever company he was. 
 
 Many such things come back to me. A great 
 book could not contain the half of them. 
 
 I remember Naggai coming up, not long after 
 Dathan’s visit, and with a similar plea. We had 
 done a lot of work for him, propping up his house 
 which was old and in bad condition, and making 
 it weather-proof and habitable. Jesus kept urging 
 him to seek a safer one, but he always said he 
 could not afford it. 
 
 And Tobias hid himself among the shavings in 
 a dark corner as soon as he saw him coming, as he 
 always did. 
 
 Jesus listened quietly to what he had to say, 
 with his eyes fixed gravely on his face. And when 
 he had done, he said quietly, “It can wait, Nageai. 
 We never press any man. Pay when you are 
 able,” and Naggai went, thinking in his heart, I 
 fear, that, since it was left to him to decide, the 
 time might be long of coming. 
 
 “THe could pay if he would,” I said, as Jesus 
 picked Tobias out of the shavings and comforted 
 him. 
 
106 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ‘Perhaps he will,” said Jesus quietly. 
 
 And presently Neri came up the path from the 
 village, where he had been sent on a message, and 
 he was grinning more broadly even than usual. 
 
 ‘Wherefore laughest thou so, little son?” asked 
 Jesus, smiling at his mirth. 
 
 “Tt was Naggai down yonder. He had old 
 Eliakim by the beard and was wagging him as if 
 he were a goat, and shouting, ‘What about that 
 paschal lamb you had from me, old son of a dog? 
 When am I going to see my money for it?’— 
 And old Eliakim’s mouth waggled and waggled— 
 just like an old goat he was,”’ and Neri chuckled 
 again at the thought of it. 
 
 But when I looked at Jesus’s face it was grave 
 and sad: ) He patted: little M[obias, vand kissed 
 him on the head, and set him down, and went on 
 with his work, and he spoke little all the rest of 
 that day. 
 
 But, though many of the older folk there were 
 quarrelsome and unneighbourly among themselves, 
 it was always a joy to go down into the village 
 with him, to do some job at one of their houses, 
 even though we knew the payment might be 
 delayed or not forthcoming at all. 
 
 For always the children of the house came 
 running as soon as they saw the carpenter coming, 
 and called to their friends that he was there. And 
 they would all gather round him, with joyous 
 shouts and sparkling eyes and faces full of expec- 
 tation, and would laugh and joke with him, and 
 call on him for stories as we worked. And out of 
 
OF HIS WAYS WITH MEN 107 
 
 his head and his heart he would spin them the 
 most delightful little tales, some of them facts 
 and many of them fancies, but all as delicately. 
 wrought and finished as a piece of his own carved 
 work, and mostly with a little lesson in them which 
 the pretty story would pin so firmly into their 
 minds that they never could forget it. 
 
 He had a wonderful gift that way, and enjoyed 
 the telling as much as they enjoyed the hearing. 
 I wish I could recall some of them, but they were 
 very many, and my mind at that time was very 
 full of my own concerns, which were all centred 
 on Zoe. I got many a gash in those days, through 
 Zoe’s sparkling face dancing about between me 
 and my work. 
 
CELA PER gov 
 
 OF HIS GRIEF AT THE Loss OF HIS FRIEND 
 
 ANOTHER thing that I shall never forget as long 
 as I live, was his grief at the death of little Tobias. 
 The little fellow had been his constant companion 
 ever since that day, five years before, when he had 
 saved him from Naggai’s cruel hanging. 
 
 He followed his master everywhere, and by his 
 meekness and absolute devotion had woven him- 
 self round his heartstrings. 
 
 When I came in that afternoon and found him 
 lying in Jesus’s arms, limp and spent, and panting 
 hard for breath, my heart sank as it would not 
 have done for many of our neighbours. 
 
 For I knew all that he was to Jesus and how 
 dearly they loved one another. Mary was there 
 too, and she was crying quietly. 
 
 Jesus held him as tenderly as he would have 
 held a baby, and now and again little Tobias 
 would turn his heavy little eyes, bright no longer, 
 up to the sad, loving face that was bent over 
 him, and would make an effort to lick it. And 
 when he no longer had the strength, Jesus bent 
 down and let him lick it and kissed him lovingly 
 in return. 
 
 The poor little fellow lay looking up into the 
 
 108 
 
LOSS OF HIS FRIEND 109 
 
 sorrowful face of his friend. It was the last thing 
 he saw. Then he made one more effort to kiss it 
 but sank back, and as the beloved face bent down 
 to him again, he gave one little sigh, and stretched 
 himself out, and was gone from us. 
 
 mleaithiulaunto) deatha... lly little loved 
 one!” I heard Jesus whisper. ‘Then he kissed the 
 quiet little head once more, and his eyes were sad 
 and full of tears. 
 
 In the evening light, in which they two had so 
 often gone up there together, Jesus carried him 
 away up the hill and buried him there, but we 
 never knew where. 
 
 He came down in the dawn next morning, and 
 his face was calm and strong. But he missed his 
 little friend sorely, and many times in the follow- 
 ing days he would look suddenly down and round 
 the workshop, and I knew he was looking for 
 Tobias. 
 
 He had been with us just about five years and 
 was loved by all of us, but by none so well as his 
 master. 
 
 We could only suppose that down in the village 
 he had picked up something that poisoned him, 
 but we had not the knowledge or the experience 
 to discover what it was or how to defeat it. 
 
 The first time Jesus came to sit with us after 
 Tobias’s death, I heard Zerah murmur softly as 
 she greeted him, “We are all so very sorry,” and 
 he said quietly, “It is always sad to lose a faithful 
 friend, but happy are they who have nothing to 
 reproach themselves with when it is too late.”’ 
 
IIO THE STI DDEN YEARS 
 
 And then, as he sat among us, he told us many 
 things about Tobias’s funny little ways and how 
 he had endeared himself to him, and how he 
 missed him every minute of the day. And he 
 said, sadly and thoughtfully, “If we could all be 
 as faithful and as loving as little Tobias how 
 much happier the world would be!” 
 
CTE BE Re avi 
 
 Or A FIGHT HE FOUGHT AND WON 
 
 I was madly in love with Zoe, and when she con- 
 sented to marry me my cup was full to the brim. 
 
 For her sister Zerah my feeling was, as it had 
 been from the first time I saw her in her house at 
 Kedesh, and as it has been ever since, one of 
 intensest admiration, adoration almost, such as 
 the Greeks and others might feel towards their 
 goddesses. | 
 
 But, while I loved her dearly, I always felt her 
 very far above me in every way. I would no 
 more have thought of loving her in the way I 
 loved Zoe than I would have thought of loving 
 the sun or the moon. 
 
 She was to me a being apart, of a loftier and 
 finer nature than any I had ever met—yes, to me 
 different even from my mother or Joseph’s Mary. 
 They may have been even finer and sweeter, but 
 I was young and they were nearing middle-age, or 
 so it seemed to me. . 
 
 And that feeling of aboveness — not aloofness, 
 for Zerah was ever intimately one of ourselves, 
 and most lovingly and sisterly in all our doings— 
 and my feeling of reverence for her grew greater 
 still, as I shall tell you. 
 
 rir 
 
112 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Between my best of friends and this my deares¢ 
 of sisters I could see growing up a love which 
 rejoiced me greatly. 
 
 A nobler pair the world has never seen—of that 
 ITamcertain. Bodily and mentally—and as I may 
 now believe, spiritually—they seemed meant for 
 one another. And yet nothing seemed to come of 
 it, and I was sorely puzzled. 
 
 That Jesus rejoiced in her—in her grace and 
 beauty, in her sweetness of heart, and loftiness of 
 soul, was apparent to all of us. His eyes loved 
 to dwell upon her. The sight of her seemed to 
 help and soothe him when other people’s troubles 
 and waywardnesses lay heavy on him. 
 
 And yet at times—and that it was that puzzled 
 me so—he seemed almost to shun her. Often I 
 could see she looked for him to come and he came 
 not, and my heart was sore for her, for I knew 
 what it meant to her. 
 
 And at this time the burden of his thoughts 
 was such that for hours on end we would work 
 side by side with scarce a word between us. 
 
 I had very early learned when he wanted to be 
 alone with himself, and at such times I forbore 
 from troubling him. Yet, if a neighbour came 
 in to discuss his affairs with him or to ask his 
 advice, Jesus would give all his mind to him, and 
 would devote himself to the matter as if it were 
 the only thing in the world that needed him. 
 
 I never could have done that, and many a time 
 I would have liked to send them about their busi- 
 ness with a sharp word, when I saw them adding 
 
epi Giieh EhOU GI etN DION. a3 
 
 the weight of their foolish little quarrels to all 
 that he was already bearing. 
 
 But he was not like that, and none of them ever 
 lacked from him the kindliest consideration.— 
 Unless, indeed, one of them came with the inten- 
 tion of deceiving him, and then he went back 
 smaller than he came and knowing himself very 
 much better —but never knew how barely he 
 escaped from me the biting word, or even the kick, 
 I itched to administer. 
 
 Jesus’s thoughts in those days seemed almost 
 too much for him. At times he would straighten 
 up from the bench and stand gazing meditatively 
 out over the plain towards Hermon, and then 
 perhaps he would silently raise his arms as though 
 he were praying for guidance or help, and as they 
 sank again he would bend to the bench and get on 
 with the work more intently than ever. 
 
 And I wondered if it was thought of Zerah and 
 doubt of her love for him that was troubling him. 
 I knew myself what torment that could be to a 
 man, but I did not see how he could have a 
 moment’s uncertainty on that head. I had none. 
 Zerah, I knew, loved him, body, soul, and spirit, 
 absolutely. 
 
 He was suffering. I could see it. I would 
 have done anything I could to help him. And once 
 I did venture—but only once. 
 
 ‘Jesus,’ I burst out, one such time when we 
 were alone in the workshop, “are you in doubt 
 about Zerah? She loves you with her whole heart 
 and soul. I am sure of it.” 
 
114 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 And he turned and looked at me with those deep 
 eyes of his which seemed to look right through 
 one, but now they were heavy with the stress of 
 his feeling, heavy almost to tears, it seemed to me. 
 Just then they were very like those other eyes, which 
 always made me think of the Pools of Heshbon. 
 
 And he said softly, “That is how a man would 
 be loved, Little Azor,” and he patted me gently 
 on the shoulder, as who would say, ‘‘But there 
 are things that even well-meaning little boys cannot 
 quite understand,” and he went on with his work. 
 
 But that night he and Zerah went up the hill 
 together in the sunset, hand in hand as lovers 
 should, and my heart rejoiced greatly. And when 
 Zoe would have had us go too, I restrained her 
 and we went off by another path. 
 
 The moon was up when Zerah came in and went 
 quietly to her own room. I got but a glimpse of 
 her face as she passed, but I can see it yet, after 
 all these years. That is perhaps because I have 
 seen it so often just the same since then. 
 
 It was calm and quiet, but strangely radiant and 
 uplifted, as though the soul within her had been 
 kindled into heavenly flame and could not but 
 show through. 
 
 We saw her no more that night, and it was 
 many years later before I heard from her own lips 
 what passed between them on the hill-top. 
 
 When I went to the workshop in the morning, 
 Jesus was not there, and Mary, when she heard 
 me at work, came in, with that apprehensive look 
 strong in her sweet face, and said, “Azor, he has 
 
A FIGHT HE FOUGHT AND WON 115 
 
 not come home. Do you think anything can have 
 befallen him up there?” 
 
 “He loves to stop up above when he has much 
 to think onvelisald: 
 
 “But he has always come down before.” 
 
 “Tf he does not come I will go seek him,” and 
 she sighed, with a little catch in the breath. 
 
 But as the sun climbed high and the morning 
 passed, I began to grow anxious myself. He had 
 never lingered up there so long as this, and we had 
 some pressing work on hand. 
 
 I put my head in through the house-door and 
 said, “I will go seek him, Mother. But no harm 
 has befallen him, I am sure. So don’t be 
 troubled.” 
 
 “But I am,” she said, and she looked it. 
 
 I went quickly up the path he usually took, but 
 he was not on our hill, and it was quite a while 
 before I found him on the top of one of the 
 further hills. 
 
 He was lying prone, on his face, in a curious 
 attitude,—his arms stretched out in front of him, 
 his head sunk in between them, as though indeed 
 he had fallen asleep while praying. 
 
 At first I thought some ill had come to him, but 
 then I saw by the slow regular movement of his 
 sides that he really was fast asleep. 
 
 From my knowledge of him and love for him I 
 was sure that he must have been unusually weary 
 to fall asleep like that. And as sleep is the best 
 restorative for an over-tired man I forbore to 
 wake him. I gathered some branches and made 
 
116 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 a little shelter over him from the heat of the sun, 
 and sat down and waited. 
 
 It was a long time, and seemed longer, before 
 he made the slightest movement. Then I saw, by 
 the lessening of his breathing, that he was awake. 
 
 He lifted his head from between his arms and 
 lay gazing out over the plains. Then his arms 
 rose in a gesture of entreaty and he murmured, 
 “Eloi! Eloi! Eloi!” 
 
 It was but a whisper, but in some strange way 
 it seemed to my heart to be compounded of sup- 
 plication, penitence, submission, and it sent a lump 
 into my throat. He was suffering, though how 
 and why I could not tell. 
 
 His head sank down again and a convulsive sob 
 shook him, almost a shudder. 
 
 Then, after a while, he gave a deep sigh and 
 sat straight up, as one who has suffered a weak- 
 ness and suddenly determines to brace himself to 
 strength again. 
 
 My screen of branches fell about him. He 
 looked round and saw me sitting there. 
 
 “It is you, Little Azor,” he said quietly, “And 
 you covered me from the sun.... It was good 
 of you.” 
 
 “Your mother was in distress about you, Jesus. 
 She begged me to seek you.” 
 
 “Let us go down,” he said, and as we went he 
 leaned on my shoulder, a thing he had never done 
 before. 
 
 He did not touch his tools that day, but, after 
 eating, sat quietly in the shade, and his face and 
 
A FIGHT HE FOUGHT ANT WON 117 
 
 his attitude were those of one who has gone 
 through heavy fighting and has won through,— 
 but at sore cost. 
 
 I wondered much how things stood between him 
 and Zerah, for I was eager for their happiness; 
 and the first time they met I could not but watch 
 them closely. 
 
 But I could not make anything of it. That they 
 had talked their matter out, I was sure; and that 
 they understood one another, and I was glad. But 
 I could get no further. 
 
 She met his loving gaze, when he came in, with 
 an answering gaze of most perfect love and under- 
 standing. Her beautiful face was luminous with 
 the feeling that was in her, and—have I dreamt it 
 or deceived myself ?—it seems to me that never 
 after that did she quite lose that exalted and 
 uplifted look and that serene and supreme conf- 
 dence in her eyes. 
 
 It was many years before I came to any proper 
 understanding of the matter. But through those 
 years Zerah lived with us, and she was as an angel 
 of light in our house, and in many another house 
 as well. 
 
 From that time I could not but notice how often 
 Jesus would rest for a moment from his work, and 
 stand gazing out into the far-away. And I won- 
 dered if he was thinking of Zerah. 
 
 But now I know that it was of greater things 
 still—things which I could not have understood 
 and which indeed he as yet understood but dimly 
 himself. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Or THE MAKING OF THE SEAMLESS ROBE 
 
 By careful management Mary had saved out of 
 her household expenses a certain sum of money, 
 as most good housewives do. And she must have 
 done it steadily for a very long time, adding 
 farthing to farthing, and hoarding them carefully, 
 with one special object in view. 
 
 For when she had enough she bought with it a 
 quantity of unusually fine Egyptian flax through a 
 merchant who went at times as far as Tyre. And 
 well I remember Jesus joking her when it came. 
 
 “Now she will outshine all the neighbours,” 
 he laughed. ‘“Won’t they stare when she goes 
 into the synagogue the first time with it on. 
 They'll think we’ve dug up a treasure like Amos 
 ben Rhesa, and will all come wanting to borrow 
 money from us.” 
 
 “What am I going to make then?” asked Mary, 
 with dancing eyes. 
 
 “A tsaiph of a certainty. Flax such as that 
 would be wasted on anything less.” 
 
 ‘“We shall see,” said Mary, hugging her happy 
 secret. 
 
 She used to spin it of an evening when we all 
 118 
 
MAKING OF THE SEAMLESS ROBE 119 
 
 sat talking in the sunset. And the sun seemed to 
 linger over the Western hills, to watch her sweet 
 intent face and the loving touch of her slender 
 fingers as they twisted the fine soft fibre. 
 
 We all loved the feel of that beautiful flax, and 
 fingered with enjoyment the smoothness and 
 evenness of the thread she spun out of it. And 
 then we watched with ever-increasing interest the 
 final weaving. 
 
 To us men it was still a mystery what it was to 
 be, but I think my mother and the girls guessed. 
 Though the garment Mary was making was not 
 like any of the ordinary ones. 
 
 “Tt’s not a tsaiph,” said Jesus, with a puzzled 
 face, as he watched the loom one day. ‘‘And it’s 
 not a milpachath and it’s not a maatapha. So what 
 can it be? Is it some new fashion you've invented, 
 Little Mother?” 
 
 “Tt’s as old as the hills and as new as a mother’s 
 love,’ she smiled, and then told him the secret 
 before the loom should give it away. ‘‘What 
 about a meil for my big son?” 
 
 “A meil!—for me? ... But it’s too fine 
 and good for me, Mother. It’s fit for a Queen’s 
 wearing. Yes, it is fit even for you yourself.” 
 
 “Or a King’s,” she said, with a quick smile, 
 ‘and are you not my King?” 
 
 “You do me great honour, Mother mine. But 
 it will be almost too beautiful to wear. I’ve never 
 seen such a meil before.” 
 
 ‘‘No—you see, as it was for you I wanted it 
 different. So I’m making it all of a piece—with- 
 
120 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 out ever a seam in it,—no stitching up the side 
 for me,—for you!” 
 
 “Tt’s wonderful—the most wonderful meil that 
 ever was made. I shall be robed like a King 
 indeed.” | 
 
 ‘‘“As you should be,” said his mother, with 
 that far-away look in her eyes—the look I had so 
 often noticed there, —of love and longing, and 
 expectation, and puzzled apprehension. 
 
 It was no easy matter for her on her small loom, 
 but she wrought steadily at it, and I am sure 
 enjoyed every minute she gave to that labour of 
 love. 
 
 Often, in pauses of our work outside, we would 
 hear the regular clap-clap-clap-clap of the loom, 
 and the ceaseless swift rush of the shuttle within, 
 and Jesus would look at me with a happy smile, 
 as much as to say, ‘‘Was there ever such a mother 
 as mine?” 
 
 When the first tunic was finished, and carefully 
 washed and bleached and fulled, she made him 
 put it on and come and show it to us. 
 
 And truly it was the most wonderful meil we 
 had any of us ever seen. For Mary had wrought 
 upon it, in pale-blue thread—yust the tint of the 
 morning sky, which was always her favourite 
 colour—some of the delicate and _ beautiful 
 embroidery which she had learned in Egypt during 
 her sojourn there, and it looked almost too good 
 to wear. | 
 
 It fitted him perfectly, and both she and he 
 were very proud of it—he, for the love she had 
 
MAKING OF THE SEAMLESS ROBE 121 
 
 woven into it and she, for the joy it gave him, 
 and for the satisfaction which good work always 
 gives to the doer of it. 
 
 “T will wear your meil as long as I live, Little 
 Mother,” Jesus said, as he kissed her tenderly. 
 ‘There never was one like it before.” 
 
 “T will make another,” said Mary happily, “‘so 
 that you will always have a change. And truly 
 meils like that should last you a life-time, for 
 there is nothing in it but the very best. I’ve made 
 sure of that.... And,” turning him round and 
 round admiringly, “it fits you well. What a 
 big son it is! ... I wore it myself for an hour 
 but it was much too big for me. I felt quite 
 lost in it.” 
 
 And Jesus kissed her warmly again. For among 
 us, one can show no greater love and esteem than 
 to give or lend to a friend a garment of honour 
 which one has worn oneself. 
 
 ma ou love spun it and wove it and has worn 
 
 ’ he said joyously. ‘‘And always it shall tell 
 a8 of you and your love and make my heart 
 warm.’ 
 
 And always, when the meils were finished, he 
 wore one of them, and their pure soft whiteness 
 sat well on him and added not a little to the sweet 
 dignity of his appearance. 
 
 One could well imagine a special virtue in his 
 garments, for they drew both from himself and 
 from her who made them. And they were ever 
 fragrant with the love that overflowed from both 
 their hearts, and with the sweet scent of the 
 
122 (GEES TED D eNG CELTS 
 
 rosemary leaves which Mary always folded up in 
 the one that was not being worn. 
 
 Her two great bushes of rosemary grew just 
 outside the workshop and were her very great 
 delight. The sweet clean smell of them, mingled 
 with that of fresh-cut cedar and pine and oak, 
 filled all the place and always helped us much in 
 our work. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 OF THE COMING OF THE COUSINS 
 
 I pAss over much, or this chronicle would know 
 no end. 
 
 More changes came. Zoe and I were married, 
 and Mary and Jesus of course graced our wedding- 
 feast. 
 
 We were all humble folk together, but the 
 presence of Mary and Jesus and Zerah and my 
 mother were enough to lift that wedding-feast 
 above the ordinary and make it memorable, and 
 the neighbours felt it so. 
 
 We built another room on to the house and 
 settled down to a very happy home life. The 
 workshop kept us busy all day, and in the evening 
 we foregathered in one or other of our houses, 
 and span and talked and listened, and were con- 
 tented and happy. 
 
 Then late one night, when we had all gone to 
 bed, there came a knocking on our door, and, 
 tired with a hard day’s work, I was loth to rise 
 and answer it. 
 
 “Tet them knock,” I said. ‘It can be only 
 some stranger.” 
 
 But the knocking continued, and then I heard 
 123 
 
124 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 a voice calling me by name, and I sprang out of 
 bed and ran to open. 
 
 It was Jesus from next door. 
 
 “Too bad, Little Azor, and I am sorry to 
 spoil your sleep,’ -he said. ‘But we have unex- 
 pected visitors down there — my cousins, James 
 and Simon and Jude, and they are famished and 
 we have not enough for them. Lend me all the 
 bread you can spare till to-morrow.” 
 
 ‘fAll we have,” I said. 
 
 ‘‘Nay—what you can spare. My mother will 
 bake again as soon as it is light.” 
 
 So, after a word with Zoe, I got him three 
 loaves and some small cakes, and he thanked me 
 warmly and went off with them. And I went 
 back to bed wondering who these cousins 
 could be. 
 
 John, the hairy boy of the hill-tops, I remem- 
 bered well, but these were evidently some other 
 cousins of whom I had never heard. 
 
 My mother was still trying in her mind to settle 
 who they were, when I went down to the workshop 
 and found them there, sitting talking with Mary 
 and Jesus who was already hard at work. 
 
 “I will take up the loaves and thank your 
 mother within the hour, Azor,” said Mary. “‘Mine 
 are almost ready. It was good of her to let us 
 have them. ‘These are my sister’s sons—that is 
 James... Simon... Jude. Joses and his three 
 sisters and their mother are on the way. We are 
 wondering where to put them all.” 
 
 Then my mother came in, full of curiosity 
 
THE COMING OF THE COUSINS 125 
 
 concerning the newcomers, whose identity had 
 been troubling her all night. 
 
 “They are the sons of my sister Mary, who 
 married Clopas of Beth-Shunam,” said Mary. 
 “Te has died, and Mary wants to come and live 
 with us, though how we are to manage it I do 
 not see.” 
 
 There was much talk about it all day, while 
 Jesus and I got on with our work, which could not 
 wait on family arrangements. But he listened 
 quietly and dropped in a helpful word when 
 chance offered. 
 
 I could well imagine his own feelings regarding 
 this invasion. It meant an end and a new 
 beginning—an end of the quiet secluded life with 
 his mother, which had been, and had done, so 
 much for him—a new beginning with a crowd of 
 unknown cousins who might or might not be con- 
 genial and fit in. 
 
 These three, indeed, seemed inoffensive enough. 
 James was, I judged, about the same age as Jesus; 
 Simon, some years younger; Jude, younger still. 
 Joses, whom we had not yet seen, came between 
 James and Simon; and there were also three 
 girls. These, with their mother, Clopas’s Mary, 
 would reach Nazaret that day or the next. The 
 three had been sent on ahead to make arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 But whatever his own feelings in the matter, 
 Jesus was the last one who could ever think of 
 allowing them to stand in the way of being of ser- 
 vice to anyone in need. 
 
126 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 I gathered, from the talk, that Clopas had nof 
 been a successful man—except in the production 
 of a family too large for his means. He had, 
 indeed, obeyed the old injunction given to Noah. 
 He had been fruitful and multiplied, and had 
 replenished the earth, but the earth had repaid 
 him but scantily. 
 
 Mary saw all the difficulties, but her good heart 
 would not let her refuse her sister such help as 
 was possible. And after much discussion it was 
 settled that extra rooms of wood should be erected 
 against the house, and they should all live 
 together — the boys helping as they could in the 
 workshop or elsewhere in the village, and the girls 
 assisting Mary in the house. 
 
 Fortunately it was summer, and the erection of 
 the rooms and their simple furnishings presented 
 no great difficulties, and we all set to work on 
 them at once. 
 
 The rest of the large family arrived next day, 
 and despite the additional trouble it was bound 
 to cause her, Mary was glad to see her sister and 
 gave her very warm welcome. 
 
 Clopas’s Mary seemed to me —to us, for we 
 discussed them all at home, as was natural—very 
 different from Jesus’s Mother. They were sisters, 
 indeed, but of very different mould — different 
 both in appearance and in character. 
 
 The bearing of seven children and the rearing 
 of them on scanty means, with all the inevitable 
 anxieties entailed thereby, had left Clopas’s Mary 
 a rather weary woman. She had had some of her 
 
THE COMING OF THE COUSINS 127 
 
 sister's good looks, but the cares of life had clouded 
 them, and, without knowledge, you would not 
 have suspected their close kinship. 
 
 She was worn and tired-looking and the more 
 so with the long hot journey — but she seemed 
 gentle and amiable, and very grateful for having 
 reached a home at last where there was possibility 
 of a decent living. 
 
 The boys and girls were all strong and healthy, 
 in spite of, or by reason of, their simple life and 
 scanty faring, and were all ready to do their share 
 of the work. 
 
 On the whole I thought we were not likely to 
 suffer much from the invasion—except Jesus, and 
 for him I was inclined to fear that that crowded 
 house would be less of a home than it had been. 
 
 But he had always the hills, and after the others 
 came he spent more and more of his off-times up 
 there, and always came back the better for it. 
 
 The newcomers very soon came to look up to 
 him as did all who really knew him, and his most 
 quietly expressed wish was as the law in that 
 house. Later on, as they grew older, their vari- 
 ous personalities asserted themselves, but in the 
 meantime they did their best not to obtrude 
 themselves upon him over-much. 
 
 They recognised, I think, as we others long since 
 had done, that he was a man apart, different from 
 the ordinary run of men, though how and why 
 they understood no more than we did. 
 
 I remember well the first time the boys came 
 up to our house. They met Zoe first, and were 
 
128 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 so struck with her that it was a long time before 
 they could find their tongues. 
 
 They were just beginning to feel less dumb 
 before her when Zerah and my mother came out 
 with their spinning. Then speech failed them 
 again, and they simply sat and gazed at our 
 beautiful Zerah as if she were not of this earth. 
 She did her best, gently and graciously, to put 
 them at their ease, but it took several visits 
 before they plucked up courage to talk to her as 
 an ordinary mortal,*as they did to Zoe and my 
 mother. 
 
 When Jesus came up one night to sit and talk 
 with us, and he and Zerah greeted one another 
 with that look of perfect trustful love and under- 
 standing which always passed between them, I 
 have no doubt the elder boys drew their own con- 
 clusions. I am sure they worshipped her from 
 afar, for their faces and their voices when they 
 at times mustered courage to speak to her, told 
 their own tales. 
 
 In time they all settled down into their own 
 places. James, who had learned some carpenter- 
 ing, assisted us in the workshop, and before long, 
 Jude, the youngest of them, joined us there also. 
 Simon was good with animals and got a place with 
 old Peleg down in the village —he who did the 
 carrying trade to and from the Lake—whose asses 
 I had hired when I went up to Kedesh for Zerah 
 and Zoe, not knowing what exceeding good for- 
 tune awaited me there. 
 
 Peleg was growing fat and lazy, and was glad to 
 
THE COMING OF THE COUSINS 129 
 
 have a trustworthy youth to go to and fro on his 
 business, and Simon enjoyed the traffic, and the 
 ventures of the Great Road, and the mixing with 
 other men. 
 
 Joses knew mason’s work. He went with 
 Dathan, down in the village, and helped him to 
 build and repair houses. The girls, Mary, 
 Miriam, and Salome, assisted the two mothers 
 with the housework and spun and wove with 
 the others. . 
 
 I cannot say that I was glad they had all come. 
 Our happy fellowship of the workshop was never 
 quite the same, though we all worked well 
 together. But two alone can come much closer to 
 one another than is possible when there are four. 
 We were kept busy, but when the work was 
 divided among four each man’s share was much 
 lightened. 
 
 Jesus still loved best his work on yokes and 
 plows, and men still came from afar for them. He 
 had instilled into me his own strong feeling about 
 them and was always well pleased with those I 
 turned out. 
 
 James and Jude were, in time, able to under- 
 take much of the other work and the village jobs, 
 and Jesus was freer than he had been of late for 
 helping and advising the neighbours, who, never- 
 theless, found endless matters for dispute. No 
 sooner was one trouble settled than a fresh one 
 broke out. They were quarrelsome folk down 
 there. The best thing I can say about them ts 
 that in most cases they accepted his view of the 
 
130 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 matter, though they never seemed to grow any 
 wiser themselves. 
 
 He directed all our doings and _ neglected 
 nothing. ‘There were many times when I could 
 see he was longing for the solitude of the hill-top, 
 when, nevertheless, he remained below with us to 
 make quite sure that all was going on right. Then 
 when he felt himself free he would go up and 
 would remain there for hours and sometimes 
 all night. 
 
 The cousins wondered much and questioned me, 
 but I could tell them no more than they could 
 see for themselves. In the depths and heights 
 and width of his thoughts he was as far above 
 us as the sky is above the earth. They regarded 
 him with wonder and awe as one beyond their 
 understanding. 
 
 But for the accepted fact that he was wiser, 
 and of a more equable temper, and more evenly 
 balanced in his mind than any man they had ever 
 met, they might have thought him a little mad. 
 As it was, they accepted him as unusually clever, 
 but somewhat odd in his ways, and he remained 
 to them, as to most of us, an unsolvable puzzle. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 Or THE MoVE TO THE LAKE 
 
 Lire flowed on for a time very happily with us— 
 deep and smooth. We were enjoying a reach of 
 the river untroubled by rocks or shallows. And 
 then came the inevitable break. 
 
 Simon, in his journeyings to the lake, saw much 
 of men and the busy life of the towns, and his 
 accounts of such kindled in the hearts of the 
 younger folk a desire to see more of the world 
 than Nazaret could afford them. 
 
 It was perhaps not unnatural. ‘They were all 
 erowing up and reaching out for larger things. 
 They were probably —nay, almost certainly — 
 looking forward to marriage and the bringing up 
 of children. And Nazaret held but small hopes 
 for them in such matters. And our trade, which 
 had comfortably supported six, found twelve some- 
 what of a burden. 
 
 There were many discussions about it, some of 
 which went on as we all sat in the sunset together 
 when the day’s work was done, and others no 
 doubt among themselves in the house below. 
 
 The upshot of it all was that the joint family at 
 last decided to remove to Kaphar-Nahum on the 
 
 131 
 
UR2 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Lake, where the aspirations of the eager young 
 folk would find larger scope, and the family 
 income would be more likely to equal the demands 
 upon it. 
 
 For there, in adition to all the work we were 
 accustomed to, there were boats to be mended, 
 and many repairs to the gear of the caravans that 
 travelled the Great Roads to Damascus and the 
 Desert and the South—endless opportunities for 
 work. 
 
 Thought of the boats filled me with desire to 
 go too. I would have loved to repair boats, 
 and perhaps build them. But my mother and 
 Zoe had no wish for it. Our simple life on the 
 hillside filled all their desires, and I did not press 
 the matter. 
 
 We had two fine boys, and perhaps Zoe was 
 right in thinking that the hillside was better for 
 them than the plain and the towns of the Lake. 
 
 I was doubtful how Jesus would look upon the 
 matter, but then I had to confess to myself that 
 he was entirely above and beyond my comprehen- 
 sion. Whatever he thought, however, and whatever 
 his reasons for thinking it, he raised no objection 
 to the general wish. 
 
 Weran@ Wicoutdsscemrclunt eerie though per- 
 haps no one saw that but myself. I was so deeply 
 interested in both him and her, and I loved them 
 both so dearly, that anything affecting them 
 touched me very closely. 
 
 She went about her work, indeed, with a face 
 as calm and brave as ever, and I seemed to find 
 
OF THE MOVE TO THE LAKE 133 
 
 in it, more even than before, that radiance and 
 out-shining of an inward light which, to my eyes 
 cave her the appearance of a visitor from a 
 better world. 
 
 I knew that whatever he decided was right in 
 her eyes, that she felt within her the perfect 
 assurance that whatever he determined was for 
 the best. But I knew too that when he went 
 her heart would go with him, and I feared the 
 results to herself. 
 
 But that was only because I was not capable of 
 understanding her yet. The heights and depths 
 of that large heart of hers were beyond me, as 
 were his. 
 
 When the great upheaval had been accom- 
 plished and they were all gone, we moved down 
 to the other house so that I could live alongside 
 my workshop. Zerah, as of right, took the room 
 Jesus had always occupied, and I think she found 
 some consolation in that. 
 
 It was to her, I am sure, a sacred place, and 
 the very walls spoke to her of him continually. If 
 their stones had had tongues — what could they 
 not have told her? But perhaps, to her uplifted 
 and love-quickened perception, they spoke more 
 clearly than with tongues. For spirit speaks to 
 spirit in ways unknown to men. This, and more, 
 I learned later on. 
 
 Their going made a tremendous gap in our life. 
 We missed them at every turn. The quarrelsome 
 neighbours did not come up to consult me as they 
 used to come to Jesus —in which they showed 
 
134 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 wisdom. It was no loss, either to them or to me— 
 but still I missed them. 
 
 And for a time my trade suffered through folks 
 going to Kaphar-Nahum for their yokes and 
 plows, which was only right and natural since it 
 was Jesus who had made them in such demand. 
 
 But in course of time, as my yokes and plows— 
 made just as he would have made them and as 
 carefully wrought—got known, a portion of that 
 trade came back to me; and for the rest, as I 
 always worked on his lines of putting my very 
 best into all I did, I maintained my reputation as 
 a trustworthy workman, and had quite as much as 
 I could do with Neri’s help. 
 
 But we missed them all—and most of all that 
 calm commanding figure which used to come so 
 quietly in among us of an evening, and by his 
 presence, as by his talk, lifted us all above our 
 usual selves. 
 
 As we sat now in the sunset glow we would 
 recall the things he had said and his way of saying 
 them. And very many times I turned to the 
 place where he used to sit, expecting to find him 
 there, so strong was the feeling that he was still 
 with us. 
 
 And, indeed, when the light faded, and we still 
 sat on in the gathering shadows, more than once 
 I so felt him there, and caught the light of his 
 starry eyes upon me, that I spoke to him as though 
 he really were there, and the others laughed at 
 my foolishness. 
 
 But there was an ache and a longing in their 
 
OF THES MOVE LO THE LAKE 135 
 
 laughter. And Zerah, I felt sure, understood, 
 for she never laughed at me, but sat intent and 
 quiet. Perhaps she also felt and saw him as I 
 thought I did. 
 
 Twice I made the journey to the Lake to see 
 him. But it was a whole day’s travel each way, 
 and but for the lift Simon gave me on one of 
 Peleg’s asses I could not have spared the time. 
 
 As we jogged along — at a much better pace 
 than when I went to Kedesh, for Simon understood 
 asses and how to get the best out of them—he told 
 me, among many other things, some news which 
 amused me greatly. 
 
 Two of his sisters, after all their desire for the 
 larger life on the Lake, were coming back to 
 Nazaret. Miriam was to marry Jotham, the son 
 of rich old Amos ben Rhesa, who found the 
 treasure. And Salome was to marry Eber, the 
 son of Mattathias the corn-merchant. Mary 
 would be the only one left at home. “But,” 
 said Simon, ‘‘she will not be at home long, for 
 she’s a pretty girl and will soon find a man to her 
 liking.” 
 
 I found them all very comfortably settled in a 
 good-sized house on the shore of the lake to the 
 north of the town, and business was evidently good 
 
 ~ with them. 
 
 They seemed all well satisfied with the move; 
 the large courtyard was strewn with work; there 
 were boats drawn up on the shore for repairs; 
 their new neighbours had already begun to gather 
 there of an evening to talk things over with 
 
136 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Jesus, and I could see that they savoured his 
 wisdom and clear judgment as the men of Naza- 
 ret had done. 
 
 He seemed to me older, and more full of 
 thought than ever. But his eyes were as bright 
 and penetrating as before, his voice as round and 
 sweet, his mien as gentle and gracious, and he 
 showed me that our friendship had suffered nothing 
 from our parting. 
 
 In the evening he drew me to a walk by the 
 lake-side, Just we two alone, and we talked of the 
 old times at Nazaret. 
 
 I had given them all our news when I arrived, 
 but now he asked more particularly: 
 
 “And Zerah?” 
 
 “She misses you much, but she is very wonder- 
 ful and angel-good. We would have missed you 
 even more had she not been with us,” and I told 
 him how more than once I had believed him there 
 and had even spoken to him. 
 
 “I am often there with you all in the spirit,” 
 he said quietly. ‘No matter how much the new 
 duties call one it is joy at times to get back to one’s 
 old friends and the places one has loved.” 
 
 “How do you find the neighbours here?” I 
 asked, “‘as quarrelsome as our Nazaret folk?” 
 
 “Men are much the same everywhere, my 
 ‘Azor,” he said, and there was more than a touch 
 of sadness in his voice as he added, “More men 
 ‘—more sin, more sorrow, more suffering. . . . 
 ‘And, it might, and ought to be so different, if only 
 they would see things rightly and think rightly 
 
OF THE MOVE TO THE LAKE 137 
 
 about them. ... And they could; they could, 
 if they would . . . if—only—they—would!”— 
 from which I gathered that the men of Kaphar- 
 Nahum were no better than the men of Nazaret, 
 and that their short-comings and overdoings were 
 a burden to him. 
 
 “Unless an awakening comes,” he said again, 
 “they will die in their sleep. .. ‘And how shall 
 it come? ...’’ But he did not answer his own 
 question, and we paced on in silence. 
 
 Then he lifted up his arms, in the way I knew 
 so well, and said deeply, “It is in God’s hands. 
 He will see to it.” 
 
CHAP DERE XLX 
 OF THE COMING OF LITTLE JOHN 
 
 NoTHING could fill the place of him I had lost. 
 But not long afterwards a new pleasure came into 
 my life and afforded me a measure of consolation. 
 
 The upper little house, in which we had at first 
 lived, was taken by a woman of some wealth who 
 lived in Jerusalem. 
 
 She had one son, a boy of about ten, whose 
 bodily health did not thrive there. She had taken 
 our old house so that they could spend a part of 
 each year on the hills, in the sweet strong air that 
 came up from the sea. 
 
 She was a good woman, and my mother and 
 Zoe and Zerah were friends with her at once. 
 And her boy, John, took a liking for me and 
 became to me very much what I had been to 
 Jesus, save for the difference between us in point 
 of age. 
 
 I often smiled to myself at sight of him sitting 
 there among the shavings, just as I used to do. 
 And I tried to be to him, in a small way, what 
 Jesus had been to me. 
 
 He was an unusually clever boy, his mind at 
 
 times too active for his body, and that was why 
 138 
 
TE GOMIN GOTTEN IT EERO NG U39 
 
 they had come. While he was in Nazaret he was 
 to run wild and learn nothing that would trouble 
 his active brain too much. 
 
 As their nearest neighbours we became very 
 friendly—just as I had done with Jesus, and he 
 loved to run into the workshop and sit and chatter 
 there, as I had done ten, twelve years before. 
 
 I could not hope to be to him what Jesus had 
 been to me. But he looked up to me as many 
 years older and wiser than himself, and so we got 
 on very well together. 
 
 I naturally told him much about the friend 
 whose place and house I was occupying—told 
 him what a leader he had been to us all—and of 
 our rambles on the hills and adventures at the 
 great pool, where half of us came nigh to drown- 
 ing—and much besides. — 
 
 “T’d love to pray like that on the hill-top in 
 the dawn,” said the small boy. ‘‘When will you 
 take me, Azor? And to swim in that pool * 
 
 “Can you swim?” 
 
 “T’ve never tried. But he could.” 
 
 “Yes, he could, but the others couldn't.” 
 
 “Why couldn’t they swim too?” 
 
 “Because he doesn’t know what fear is. Per- 
 haps you do.” 
 
 “T wouldn’t be afraid if you were there. When 
 can we go?” 
 
 “We'll see when next holiday comes.” 
 
 “Well, tell me more about him. I like hearing 
 about him. I wish he was here still.” 
 
 “So do I, little John. And so do many others. 
 
 
 
140 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 But perhaps he’ll come this way to see us some 
 day, and I hope you'll be here when he comes.”’ 
 
 “Tf I knew when he was coming I’d get my 
 mother to wait. I’m sure she’d like him too.” 
 
 “Yes, ?'m sure she would. It would be a very 
 strange person that did not. You'd love him as I 
 do if you saw him—couldn’t help it. There’s 
 something about him that makes him different 
 from any other man I’ve ever met.” 
 
 What is it?” 
 
 “You'll feel it when you meet him. I doubt if 
 I could make you understand.”’ 
 
 ‘“T can understand a lot. My mother says I 
 understand too much.” 
 
 ‘Then maybe she will scold me if I add any 
 more to it,” I laughed. 
 
 ‘She tells me not to work my brain while I’m 
 here. But I can’t live if I don’t work my brain.” 
 
 “You're here to get strong. The stronger you 
 get the better you will use your brain.” 
 
 ‘Has Jesus got a very big brain?” 
 
 “Yes, little John —a wonderful brain, and a 
 still more wonderful heart — big enough to take 
 you and all the rest of the world into it.” 
 
 “He must be a big man.” 
 
 “The biggest man I ever met.”’ 
 
 ‘As big as the giant that David slew?” 
 
 “Oh, very much bigger—not just in body, but 
 in everything else that goes to the making of a 
 man.” 
 
 ‘Te must be a very big man. Does everyone 
 like him as much as you do, Azor?”’ 
 
THE COMING OF LITTLE JOHN 141 
 
 “The bad ones, and those who try to deceive 
 him, don’t like him at all. I’ve seen him wither 
 them with a look.”’ 
 
 “Not really !’’—with incredulous round eyes. 
 
 "T don’t mean their bodies—their hearts and 
 their evil consciences. I’ve seen men go crawling 
 down that path like beaten dogs. His eyes see 
 right through you, and if you try to mislead him 
 they flame and scorch.” 
 
 “Did you ever try to mislead him, Azor?” 
 
 “No, never. You see, I loved him too much 
 and he loved me.” 
 
 “He must be a great man. I do wish I could 
 see him,” he sighed. And after a time, he said, 
 in a way that told me he was half afraid I would 
 lgucheat bin AZOny i eperbaps he's: the 
 Deliverer we're all waiting for. He’ll have to be 
 a very bigman. They say he is coming very soon 
 now. And I’m sure we need him badly enough. 
 
 I wish all the Romans could die to-night. 
 You don’t feel them here as we do in Jerusalem. 
 Their hand is heavy on us’ —which he had 
 doubtless often heard said, for it was the general 
 feeling of us all. 
 
 Our friendship ripened and we had many happy 
 times together—on.the hill-tops and at the pool, 
 where in time he learned to swim all right. The 
 Great Road and its marvels he did not care for. 
 He saw more than enough of all that at Jerusalem. 
 
 Boy-like, he recounted to his mother, Mary, all 
 that I told him about Jesus, and she was intensely 
 interested and questioned me much about him. 
 
142 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Like her boy, she had a capacious mind and was 
 of a very enquiring disposition, and she had a 
 very warm heart. And, like all thoughtful men 
 and women of those days she longed and prayed 
 for the speedy coming of the Deliverer, who 
 should free us from the hand of Rome and set us 
 in our rightful place at the head of the nations. 
 
 Now I have told you about this boy John, 
 because he was my friend and a comfort to my 
 loneliness, and later on it was from him that we 
 learned much of what our hearts longed and ached 
 to know of the happenings elsewhere. 
 
 John of course promptly fell in love with 
 Zerah, who was twice his age and more. Though, 
 indeed, she did not look it, for that pure white 
 flame that burned within her kept her perpetually 
 young at heart, and she seemed to us all to grow 
 in grace and beauty with every day that passed. 
 Her heart was so full of ever-growing love for her 
 chosen one that it overflowed on to all whom she 
 met. 
 
 No wonder little John fell over head and ears in 
 love with her. He worshipped her; and though I 
 knew he liked nie well, I sometimes thought he 
 came to sit in the workshop quite as much in hopes 
 of seeing her as of talking to me. 
 
 But they were only with us in the hot season, 
 and I always missed little John much when the 
 time came for them to go back to Jerusalem. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 Or THE NEW PROPHET 
 
 Our two boys, Azor and Zadok, were growing 
 strong and sturdy, and Zoe and I were rightly 
 proud of them, but her hands were kept very full 
 with them. 
 
 My carpenter’s work went well. All the neigh- 
 bours had come to know that any job entrusted to 
 me would be well and promptly done —to the 
 very best of my ability, and I was no mean work- 
 man. I had learned my craft in a good school, 
 and for the rest, I did my utmost in all things to 
 act as I believed my teacher would have wished. 
 For very love of him I had always tried to be like 
 him, and to do, as nearly as I could, what he 
 would have done. 
 
 Looking back now, the years seem to have sped 
 quickly, with no great happenings to mark them 
 with black stones or white. 
 
 Each Spring, young John from Jerusalem came 
 bursting joyously in upon us, glad to get away 
 from the tutmultuous life of the City, and very 
 happy to be once more in the company of the 
 hilltops and of us simple dwellers on the 
 slopes. 
 
 143 
 
144 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 I remember well the time he came very full of 
 the fact that he had decided to become a lawyer. 
 That was a calling for which his active brain 
 seemed well fitted. And there was always plenty 
 of work for lawyers, for quarrels and disputes 
 throve among us like weeds in a neglected garden. 
 
 But when he told me that he was busy learning 
 a new kind of script, which would enable him to 
 write as fast as a man could talk, I smiled at him, 
 and looked on it as a piece of boyish exaggeration. 
 Nevertheless, I believe he did learn it and in time 
 was able to write at a speed little short of mar- 
 vellous. 
 
 But it took him a long time, and when he was 
 with us his mother would not have him touch it, 
 but insisted on him running loose and giving his 
 brain) aynest: 7 
 
 He and his mother cannot, however, have been 
 with us when I heard in the village the first rumour 
 of one—a prophet or a preacher—who was mak- 
 ing a great stir down south. 
 
 He was said to be rousing the people with his 
 fery talk, and they were flocking to hear him in 
 multitudes. 
 
 When I told this at home I was surprised by 
 the effect it had on Zerah especially. Her calm 
 sweet face lit up. Her great eyes shone more 
 wonderfully than ever with the feelings my news 
 aroused in her. 
 
 “Who is it, Azor?” she asked, with excitement 
 she could not hide. 
 
 “No one seems to know. Some say he is 
 
ORVRHEUNEHAVEROBE ED a tals 
 
 Elijah come back, and some say he is the Deliverer 
 we have waited for so long. Whoever he is he is 
 waking men up—and they need it. TIl go down 
 to-night and see if I can get hold of Simon. He 
 gets all the latest news at the Lake.” 
 
 The women talked ceaselessly about the matter, 
 and in the evening I went down into the village 
 to seek Simon at Peleg’s house. 
 
 But he was not there. He should have been 
 back from the Lake that day, but he had not come, 
 and Peleg was anxious about him, for with five 
 laden asses on the Great Road you never knew 
 what might happen. 
 
 They were all discussing the new prophet, and 
 every man had his own idea and asserted it 
 vociferously. But none of them knew anything 
 for certain. 
 
 I saw the disappointment in Zerah’s eager face 
 when I had no news for her. I wondered much 
 what she was thinking. And, pondering her and 
 the matter generally, I arrived at the idea that she 
 believed the new prophet was Jesus. 
 
 That was the natural conclusion for me to come 
 to. But I remember, even now, how startling 
 it was to me. 
 
 He was the most wonderful man I had ever met, 
 and he was the best and dearest friend I had ever 
 had or could ever hope to have. But, somehow, 
 I had not thought of him quite in that way. ... 
 
 I went down again the next night and found 
 Simon returned and full of news. 
 
 They were talking of nothing else on the Lake, 
 
146 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 and many were going down Jordan to hear the 
 new preacher. 
 
 ‘And who is he ?—Who is he ?—Whao is he?” 
 was the constant question. But Simon only told 
 us who he was not. 
 
 “He says himself he is not Elijah — nor the 
 Deliverer. But he says the Deliverer is very close 
 at hand and the Kingdom is nigh. And he calls on 
 all to repent before it is too late.” 
 
 And then, looking very pointedly at me, of all 
 the throng that surrounded him, he said, “They 
 say he is a wild, hairy man, and is dressed in the 
 skins of wild beasts, and he lives in the deserts 
 and eats nothing but honey and the fruit of the 
 locust-tree, and he carries a long stick in his 
 hand.” 
 
 When he could get away from the rest he came 
 along to me, and we walked apart, and he said, 
 “Jesus told me to tell you that about him. He 
 said you would know who he is.” 
 
 “Your Cousin—John ben Zechariah!” 
 
 “Yes ... I do not care to tell these others. 
 They would think I was lying or boasting. Besides 
 it might do him no good. If they knew it was 
 only our Cousin John, who has always been a little 
 bit mad, they might think the less of him. For, 
 mind you, he is doing good. He’s making people 
 think—making them think they’re not as good as 
 they ought to be, and there’s no doubt about that. 
 If his preaching makes them even a little bit better 
 it’s all to the good.” 
 
 “And how is Jesus?—and Mary ?—and all the 
 
OF THE NEW PROPHET 147 
 
 rest of the family? And what does he say about 
 ney eles 
 
 “They are all full of it, like everybody else... 
 
 Then he fell thoughtful for a space, and ee 
 presently, ‘What Jesus thinks of it all, I do 
 nou know, ..o) You know,{Azor ). tat’ times | 
 can’t understand him at all. He’s beyond me. 
 
 Peeicroocs wandering away up into the hills, 
 all by himself, in that queer way of his. I know 
 he always used to, but it’s grown upon him of 
 late. He’s got something on his mind, that’s 
 certain. ‘They’re all a bit worried about him at 
 home.” 
 
 “You can trust him, Simon. He’s the best 
 and biggest man I ever knew. And I’m quite 
 sure the work doesn’t suffer by his going up into 
 the hills.”’ 
 
 “No, I don’t say it does. He’s a wonderful 
 hand at his work, and gets through it in half the 
 time another would take. And yet he never 
 scamps it. It’s always tip-top what he turns out.” 
 
 “T’m quite sure he never scamps it. That’s 
 not his way. He’s the cleverest craftsman in all 
 Galilee and he puts his heart into all he does.” 
 
 iilevdocs that .). and, vet, ‘they tell)me,. his 
 mind seems always full of other things. If I was 
 always thinking of other things I’d lose half my 
 beasts. Of course when one is on the Great Road 
 one needs all one’s wits about one.” 
 
 “T’m sure,” I said, though it made me smile 
 inside, this magnifying of his own position, as 
 driver of Peleg’s meek little asses, in comparison 
 
148 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 with Jesus’s work. I was sure he thought Jesus 
 would find it a very different and difficult job to 
 lead his team to and from the Lake. 
 
 “Bring us all the news you can of the new 
 preacher, Simon,” I said. “They are all anxious 
 to hear all they can of him at home. And tell 
 Jesus we are all longing to see him again.” 
 
 When I disclosed the news to them up there 
 they were all greatly astonished. 
 
 Zerah questioned me eagerly as to all I knew of 
 John ben Zechariah, and of our meeting him on 
 the hills near Gilboa, that day long ago, and as to 
 what he and Jesus had said to one another. 
 
 And, though she was outwardly calm and sweet 
 and usual, I thought I perceived in her an excite- 
 ment which she found it difficult to hide. From 
 the others she might, but she could not from me. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 Or AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 
 
 THAT year we had very heavy rains, and many 
 cold winds from Hermon and the Lebanon, and 
 my mother got some sickness that crippled her. 
 
 It was, I think, a kind of palsy, but it so bent 
 and twisted her that she could do nothing for 
 herself, much less for the household, and this 
 caused her even more distress than the pain, 
 though that was hard to bear. 
 
 Then indeed we had reason to bless Zerah. In 
 the tenderest and most loving way she gave herself 
 to the stricken mother — dressed her, fed her, 
 cheered her with happy talk, always held out hopes 
 of cure—did everything for her, and did it all as 
 if it were a joy and a privilege. 
 
 For the rest of us it was a joy and a privilege 
 to watch her, though we did all we could to help. 
 For she was like an angel of light in the house. 
 And in spite of the pain my mother suffered at 
 times, Zerah succeeded in keeping her brave and 
 cheerful. 
 
 I was as a rule very careful in the workshop, as 
 Jesus, both by precept and example had taught 
 me to be. But one day a nail, and a rusty one at 
 
 149 
 
150 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 that, escaped me, and, lodging head between the 
 boards and point upwards, in its own evil time it 
 pierced my sandal and ran into my foot. 
 
 I suppose I did not give it proper care—I was 
 extra busy at the time—for before long my foot 
 swelled up and was very painful. I had to work 
 as well as I could on one foot, with the other 
 swathed in bandages. Fortunately Neri was 
 getting on well and could do most of the small 
 outside jobs. But I was much tied, and even 
 when it did recover enough to let me set foot 
 to earth, I had to go very cautiously or it 
 broke out afresh and J had to begin the healing 
 all over again. 
 
 I was working late one evening on a job that 
 was urgently needed — for the work went slower 
 on one leg than on two—when Jesus stepped 
 quietly in through the doorway. 
 
 And so unexpected was he that I dropped my 
 plane with a clatter and stood staring. For my 
 thoughts had been full of him, and he seemed to 
 me for a moment only an embodiment of them. 
 I was not at all sure that he was real flesh and 
 blood till he spoke to me. I had so often before 
 imagined him there when he was not. 
 
 “Tt is myself, my Azor,” he said gently. “‘Why 
 are you so startled?”’ and he came and kissed me 
 on the cheek. 
 
 ‘Well, you see, I was thinking of you, and then, 
 all of a sudden, there you were, and I thought you 
 were in Kaphar-Nahum. I so often feel as if you 
 were here when you are not.” 
 
OF AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 151 
 
 “Tt is good to live in the hearts of one’s friends,” 
 he said, with a smile, and asked, “What is wrong 
 with your foot?” 
 
 I told him, and had to acknowledge shame- 
 facedly that it was all my own fault. 
 
 He shook his head in good-humoured reproval 
 and said, ‘‘Nails in their right place are profitable, 
 but one’s foot is no place for them.” 
 
 And then Zerah, hearing his voice, came run- 
 ning in from the house, her face radiant with 
 welcome and the joy of seeing him again. She 
 looked like falling on her knees before him, but 
 his hands restrained her and he kissed her rever- 
 ently and sweetly. 
 
 “You will stay with us?” she asked eagerly. 
 
 “T will eat with you, but afterwards I must go 
 up the hill. I had a great desire to see you all and 
 the old home once more.” 
 
 “We are glad,” said Zerah. “We miss you 
 greatly.” 
 
 “It is good to be desired by one’s friends. Azor 
 took me for a spirit, but it is a spirit with a 
 hungry body, for I have walked far,” and Zerah 
 laughed joyously at the hint and the opportunity 
 of serving him, and ran in to tell the others and 
 prepare the meal. 
 
 Zoe and the boys came hurrying to us and gave 
 him warm welcome, and then Zoe went off to 
 help Zerah, and Jesus took the boys one on each 
 knee. 
 
 “But where is your mother?” he asked. 
 
 I told him of her trouble, and he went in at 
 
‘Ua THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 once, with a kicking boy on each shoulder, to see 
 her. 
 
 He put the boys down by her bedside and was 
 about to take her hands to greet her. But when 
 he saw how warped and painful they were he 
 stopped, and instead just patted them gently and 
 stood looking wistfully down at her. 
 
 “You suffer, mother,” he said softly. ‘And 
 yet you are happy.” 
 
 ‘They are all very good to me, Jesus, but I can 
 do nothing for them in return,” she sighed. 
 
 ‘They remember all you have done, Miriam. 
 It is their turn now to serve you and I am sure 
 they rejoice in their service.” 
 
 “They are all good, but Zerah is an angel. I 
 thank God many times in the day for sending her 
 to us.”’ 
 
 “He put the good seed into your own good 
 heart and now you are gathering the harvest. It 
 is well. We will all ask God for your relief,” and 
 he looked at her very wistfully again, for suffer- 
 ing, either in people or in animals, was always a 
 sorrow to him. 
 
 Then he sat in the doorway again with the boys 
 on his knees, and we talked till supper was ready. 
 
 ‘It is almost like the old times,” Jesus said, as 
 he sat there in the doorway, “‘and the rosemary 
 is as fragrant as ever,” but he looked round the 
 old shop as though missing something, and I am 
 sure it was Little Tobias. 
 
 ‘My mother often wishes she had her rosemary 
 bushes with her at Kaphar-Nahum,” he said. 
 
OF AN UNEXPECTED VISIT. 153 
 “Take them back to her,” I said. ‘They are 
 
 hers.7 
 
 “Pve heard it said that it will not grow unless 
 you steal it,” he said with a smile. 
 
 ‘Then steal them.”’ 
 
 “Stealing from you would not be stealing, my 
 ‘Azor,” he laughed, ‘‘and one cannot steal from 
 oneself. So we will let them stop where they are, 
 and at times I will come and smell them for her.” 
 
 Azor and Zadok sat very happily on his knees 
 with his arms round them, but they were too 
 young yet even to understand stories. ‘They just 
 sat and looked up into the loving, wistful face, and 
 now and again stroked him with their small hands. 
 And when the little hands went near his mouth he 
 kissed them. 
 
 At supper he told us of the life at Kaphar- 
 Nahum, and then spoke of his cousin John and of 
 the good work he was doing by forcing people to 
 think. And he said: 
 
 ‘IT am going down there to see him 
 
 me ncmeCient wieasked) ’/Zcranwun inna meager 
 whisper, so low that it was scarce more than a 
 breath. 
 
 “Then — as God wills,’ he answered, in an 
 equally low voice. And I think she understood, 
 for her face was strained and uplifted. But his 
 meaning was hidden from me at that time. 
 
 “T was going to ask you to company me on the 
 road, Azor,” he said. ‘“‘For two together halve 
 a journey if their hearts are knit. But with that 
 foot it is out of the question. I must go alone.” 
 
 ”? 
 
 
 
154 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 So I paid dearly for my carelessness — more 
 dearly than I then knew. 
 
 He asked as to this one and that one of the 
 neighbours. He had heard, through Jotham and 
 Miriam, of Judah’s return home to old Amos. 
 Jotham had been none too pleased at it at first. 
 But as Judah had evidently learned his lesson, and 
 had settled down to steady work, the past was for- 
 given and old Amos’s heart was glad. 
 
 “And Dathan? How is he getting on?” 
 _Jesus asked, and that was a question we had all 
 been dreading. His cousin Joses had gone with 
 the rest to Kaphar-Nathum, and so he had not 
 heard. 
 
 “He is doing very much better,” I said at last. 
 
 “And little Ruth?” 
 
 And there we fell silent, for Dathan’s poor little 
 Ruth had fallen on sorrow. 
 
 Jesus looked round at us in surprise, and then 
 said, “Nay then, tell me! What is the trouble ?” 
 
 “She loved a man and trusted him overmuch,”’ 
 said Zerah pitifully. 
 
 “The poor child!” he said, very sadly. “‘Poor 
 —littlh—maid!... And she always so sweet 
 and modest! It was always a joy to meet 
 Netw 
 
 “Yes. Her only fault was in loving too much 
 and trusting too much.” 
 
 There was a flame in his eyes as he said sternly, 
 “The sin was his, whoever he be. To him be 
 the punishment! ... But for her, poor child!” 
 —and the stars in his eyes shone softly again— 
 
OF AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 155 
 
 “To one who loveth much, much shall be for- 
 given.’ 
 
 “She is dead, Jesus.” 
 
 “Tt is well. She is with her Father. In His 
 love she has peace and rest. Yes, it is better so.” 
 
 But the thought of poor little Ruth’s suffering 
 and sorrow saddened him, and after a while he 
 quietly bade us farewell and went alone up the 
 hill, and we did not see him again. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 Or A GREATER PROPHET STILL 
 
 Ir was not very long after that before the strange 
 happenings began which altered all our lives, and 
 —lI can say it now, though at the time I could see 
 no more than what passed before my eyes—which 
 altered the whole life of the world. 
 
 They were so amazing, and—from an ordinary, 
 matter-of-fact point of view—so entirely incom- 
 prehensible, that I doubt if I can make it, and all 
 we felt about it, and its effect upon us, in any way 
 clear to you. 
 
 You see, nothing like it, nothing we could ever 
 possibly have dreamed of, in all its immensity and 
 wonder, had ever befallen us. Though in that 
 we were only like the rest of the world. We had, 
 indeed, known what the rest of the world did not 
 know, but that very knowledge was to some of us 
 a hindrance rather than a help. 
 
 We had known and loved Jesus as a dear family 
 friend, as a fellow-workman at the bench, as a 
 thinker and dreamer on the hill-top. And 
 DOW: 
 
 No, it was not easy to readjust all one’s thought 
 
 of him in the past—happy beyond one’s telling as 
 156 
 
OF 4 GREATER PROPHET STILL 157 
 
 all that was—and to fit this new, overwhelming 
 conception of him into it. 
 
 Happenings so amazing, when one is quite close 
 to them, are apt to be somewhat staggering and 
 blinding. 
 
 I can think upon them all now very much more 
 clearly than I could then. But my desire in this 
 simple record is to show you, if I can, how it all 
 appeared to us just at the time it was happening. 
 
 But from all this feeling of utter amazement I 
 must leave out Zerah. It was to her—I was 
 certain of it at the time, and she has since told me 
 so herself — but the longed-for fulfilment of a 
 mighty hope—a complete justification of her 
 perfect trust —the crown of her self-sacrificing 
 love. 
 
 The first we heard of it all was from Simon. 
 He climbed the hill one night to tell us and was 
 in a very curious state of mind—partly scornful, 
 partly angry, and entirely amazed and confused. 
 It was quite beyond him and it was that that upset 
 him so. 
 
 Jesus, he told us, had gone down Jordan, with 
 many others, to see John, and had not come back 
 with the rest. Where he was they could not 
 find out. He had disappeared and no man knew 
 where he was. 
 
 We were very anxious about him. It was a wild 
 and lonely country down that way. Anything 
 might happen to him there. 
 
 And again, Zerah did not share our anxieties. 
 She remained calm and undisturbed and went on 
 
158 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 with her work of looking after my mother and the 
 rest of us, with as cheerful a grace as ever. 
 
 John and his mother, who were then with us, 
 though they had never met him, were as excited 
 aAsutiearestyOreuse 
 
 tet us) gomtseck him, ozo. aausicaeey one 
 eagerly. 
 
 “You will stop here, my son,” said his mother 
 very decisively. ‘And Azor has his work to 
 dow 
 
 But I would have loved to go, work or no work, 
 if my foot had permitted it. 
 
 Then, after what seemed a terribly long time 
 of suspense and anxiety, Simon came panting up 
 one night with the good news that Jesus was 
 home again. 
 
 “But,” he said—wagging his head in a way that 
 very clearly expressed his own utter incompre- 
 hension and grave doubts as to Jesus’s sanity— 
 ““He’s come back different. He’s not what he 
 was before.” 
 
 ‘How different, Simon?” asked Zerah quietly, 
 in that beautiful rich voice of hers, and there was 
 not a tremor in it, only eager longing. 
 
 “Well — he’s setting up for a preacher and 
 teacher himself now. And I can’t see that 
 there’s much in it. ..... And he’s different in 
 himsel tar ws 
 
 ‘How different, Simon?” asked Zerah again. 
 
 “T don’t know,’”—Simon was never much of a 
 thinker or speaker.—‘“‘Seems to me he’s like what 
 he was sometimes when he’d stopped out all 
 
COPE GREA TERSPROPAE MS TIEEIS9 
 
 night up in the hills — only more so, if you can 
 understand what I mean, but now he’s like that 
 Altice etnies: 
 
 And Zerah, at all events, understood, I think. 
 
 “And are the people listening to him?” she 
 asked, bending eagerly towards him. 
 
 “Oh, they’re listening right enough. You 
 can’t get into our courtyard for them — crowds 
 and crowds and crowds, all day long and never 
 had enough.” 
 
 And Zerah sat back, her eyes and face glowing 
 softly with that inward illumination which I had 
 seen in her more than once before. 
 
 “You see,” said Simon, scratching his head 
 bewilderedly, “they say he’s doing things that have 
 never been seen before in this world A 
 
 “What kind of things?” asked Zerah, leaning 
 eagerly forward again. 
 
 “Well” —he said, a trifle shame-facedly, as 
 though he feared how we might receive it—"they 
 do say he’s set some people free from demons 
 that have possessed them. And they say he’s 
 cured some people of their sicknesses, though the 
 physicians hadn’t been able to. [ve not seen 
 anything of all that myself, but everyone’s talking 
 about it, so there must be something in it. And 
 I did see Joanan ben Josech last night and he 
 seemed quite all right. And if anyone ever was 
 possessed of a devil it was Joanan. And there is 
 old Jabez the leper. Everyone knows him well, 
 his skin’s as wholesome as mine now. And it was 
 our Jesus did it—just with a word and a touch. 
 
 
 
160 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 So everyone’s carrying their sick folk up to our 
 house "f 
 
 “And he heals them?” said Zerah. 
 
 “Yes, so they say. But it’s all beyond me and 
 I don’t know what to make of it.”’ 
 
 We none of us knew what to make of it—except 
 Zerah, who, as I now know, understood very much 
 more than most. 
 
 The next news we had was that Jesus had left 
 home and was going about the country teaching 
 and preaching, and curing many sick folk, with 
 some of the lake-men, who had given up their 
 work to be with him; and great crowds were meet- 
 ing him everywhere and were following him. 
 
 It made me restless to go and seek him again. 
 I would have loved to see and hear him and be 
 with him once more. It was all very astounding 
 and quite beyond me. But when Simon told us 
 that he told the people many stories and at times 
 made them laugh, I could just imagine him doing 
 it, and I knew those stories of his would never be 
 forgotten. 
 
 Many times young John proposed that we two 
 should go and hear him. But his mother, eager 
 as she was herself to see Jesus, deemed him too 
 young for such a journey, and Zoe and my mother 
 were against my attempting it. 
 
 Zerah said quietly: ‘‘Wait, Azor. He will 
 certainly come back here in time,’’ and her face 
 was all alight those days with the certainty she felt 
 of seeing him again before long. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Or uIs COMING TO HIS OWN 
 
 Ir seemed to us a very long time, and it was; but 
 at last we heard that he was coming to Nazaret, 
 and we were all agog with impatience till we 
 should see him. 
 
 We heard and saw, by the crowds below, when 
 he arrived, and young John and I went hurrying 
 down the path so fast that we kept falling over 
 our feet, for one of mine was not much good and 
 John’s went faster than his body. 
 
 But, before we got to the bottom, Jesus was 
 beginning to climb to meet us, and at sight of our 
 stumbling haste his wonderful eyes lighted up with 
 a welcoming smile and his face was joyous. 
 
 It was partly the roughness of the path and our 
 eagerness, and partly—yea, I am sure mostly— 
 something new in himself that almost blinded me 
 and took my breath—but whatever it was, as we» 
 met him we both found ourselves on our knees, 
 and gazing up at him in wonder. 
 
 With a ‘hand to each of us he lifted us to our 
 feet and kissed us both on the cheek. 
 
 “It is a joy to see you again, my Azor,” he said, 
 and his voice was fuller and richer and sweeter 
 than ever. ‘And who is this?” 
 
 161 
 
162 INSU IeNGOIOION, VAEBTIRS 
 
 “It is John, who lives with his mother in our 
 old house. They are from Jerusalem. He has 
 been aching to meet you. So has his mother. And 
 so have we all. See—they come—all of them!” 
 for Zerah and Zoe, and John’s mother, and Azor 
 and Zadok were hurrying down the path above us 
 to give him welcome. 
 
 That first meeting of Jesus and Zerah, after all 
 that time, I never shall forget. 
 
 He looked more like my idea of what a mighty 
 leader of men should be than ever before. And 
 she was radiant and passing good to look upon. I 
 had never seen her so supremely beautiful. That 
 wonder, as of a holy inward light, seemed to fill 
 her and overflow from her, as the sun shines 
 through the morning mist. 
 
 I watched them, breathless. 
 
 His all-comprehending eyes were full of a feel- 
 ing far beyond my understanding as they dwelt 
 lovingly upon her. Hers, as they met his, were 
 brave and trustful, and deep and luminous with 
 love—great stars in the Pools of Heshbon. 
 
 “God’s sweet grace be yours forever, Zerah 
 he said deeply, and kissed her as he used to kiss 
 his mother. 
 
 ‘Amen!’ she said, softly and sweetly—as she 
 did that first day they ever met. 
 
 Then he greeted the others, and filled Zoe’s 
 heart to the brim with his cordial praise of her 
 sons. 
 
 ‘And you live at Jerusalem?” he said to John’s 
 mother. 
 
 '? 
 
OF HIS COMING TO HIS OWN 163 
 
 ‘““When we have to, Master,” she said, somewhat 
 overcome, I think, by his dignified presence. ‘But 
 we live better here. They need you badly down 
 there though.” 
 
 “Everywhere the need cries aloud,” he said 
 gravely. 
 
 Then he turned to me, ‘And how is Miritam— 
 your mother, Azor? Is she still prisoner?” 
 
 “She is waiting for you in the house, Jesus. 
 Her trouble still holds her, but she has been long- 
 ing to see you again.” And he quickened his pace 
 up the hill-path which his feet knew so well. 
 
 We passed through the workshop and into the 
 living-room, which had been home to him for so 
 many happy years. 
 
 My mother was lying on her bed—her thin 
 face and bright eyes straining for the sight of 
 him. 
 
 He went up to her and took her poor twisted 
 hands in both of his, and looked down at her with 
 two heavens of compassion brimming his eyes. 
 
 “Th the name of our Father!” he said gently. 
 
 And as we stood and watched amazed, those 
 poor crooked hands straightened themselves grate- 
 fully in his. The shaking arms ceased their 
 troublous moving and clung to him with new life. 
 Her thin, worn face glowed with a mighty hope. 
 And presently, her hands still in his, she rose to 
 her feet as if he had lifted her. And when he 
 let go her hands she walked—she who had not set 
 foot to the ground for years. 
 
 She fell on her knees, sobbing for joy, and her 
 
164 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 joy overcame even her wonder at the marvel of 
 it. For the time being she could think of 
 nothing but the fact that whereas she was helpless 
 now she could walk. The wonder of it remained 
 with her all her life. 
 
 She fell on her knees and clutched his robe and 
 brokenly sobbed her gratitude. He raised her 
 again with a glad face and said gently, ‘Give 
 thanks to Him, Miriam, and of your goodness get 
 me something to eat, for I am hungry,” and she 
 set rejoicingly to provide for him. 
 
 The rest of us were too amazed to speak. 
 But Zerah, with a joyous face, said quietly, “I 
 hoped you would,” and he smiled very tenderly 
 at her. 
 
 And as my mother got ready our meal, with the 
 glad energy of her years of enforced rest, she told 
 him of all that Zerah had been to her and to all 
 of us, and could not find words for it all. 
 
 We sat in the sunset that night as we used to 
 do, and he told us of his journeyings, and spoke 
 hopefully of the eagerness of many of the people 
 to hear his message. — And sadly of some who 
 would not. 
 
 Before he came, when we were hoping he might 
 sometime come, we had been full of questions we 
 wanted to ask him. Now that he was sitting in our 
 midst, so great upon us was the awe and wonder 
 of that most amazing thing that he had done for 
 us, that our tongues were tied, and we could only 
 sit and listen. 
 
 _ Zerah alone was just herself; uplifted indeed, 
 
OF HIS COMING TO HIS OWN 165 
 
 but calm and rational, and she asked him many 
 things we longed to know. 
 
 I listened eagerly to all he said, but, I suppose 
 because my mind was in such a turmoil, I remem- 
 ber only the general sense of it. And, besides, 
 there was much that I could not then comprehend. 
 
 And, you must remember, this marvellous new 
 power of his was very upsetting to me who had 
 seen him sweating with saw and hammer at that 
 bench just behind him. That very hammer lying 
 on the bench was the one his hands had used. 
 And now I had seen those same hands give new 
 life to a shrunken body. It is no wonder it took 
 me, and the rest, some time to fit this new Jesus 
 into the new place he must occupy in our hearts 
 and lives. 
 
 I gathered, from the quiet talk between him and 
 Zerah, that the call to some great work for God 
 had been growing and growing in him, always 
 growing stronger and stronger, while he lived 
 here—that the preaching of his cousin John, and 
 his vehement assertions that the Kingdom was 
 close at hand—and chiefly something that took 
 place when he met John on the banks of Jordan 
 and was baptized by him there—had made it a 
 certainty to him. 
 
 He had felt wondrous new power given to him, 
 and now, heart and soul and body, he was to 
 devote himself to the work. 
 
 And, from the way they spoke together, I knew 
 that it had been discussed by them before, and that 
 there was perfect understanding between them. 
 
166 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 In a pause in their talk he picked up one of my 
 yokes that was standing there, and ran his fingers 
 carefully over it, just as he used to do. ‘Then he 
 nodded smilingly to me and said: 
 
 “Good work, Azor! You keep them up to our 
 standard.” 
 
 “IT do them, and all else, as I think you would 
 wish them done.” 
 
 ‘It is well,” he said gently. ‘The poor dumb 
 brothers! Easy yoke makes burden light. I have 
 been devising a happier pack-saddle for the camels. 
 But they are not very grateful as yet, or they 
 don’t know how to show it.” 
 
Gis Fa 0 Dap. O.@ Ri 
 
 OF THE RETURN OF ARNI 
 
 Jesus slept in his own old room that night, Zerah 
 joyously going in with my mother. 
 
 Very early in the morning three of his followers 
 came seeking him. They were named Simon and 
 James and John, and all three, before they gave 
 up their work to follow him, had been fishermen 
 on the Lake. 
 
 But he told them he would spend that day up 
 aloft and would join them in the village that 
 night or the following day, and they went down 
 again. 
 
 “You and I are for the hills to-day, my Azor,”’ 
 he said joyously. “For to-day we will be boys 
 again. We have hills not far away at Kaphar- 
 Nahum, but my heart turns oftener to the hills 
 of Nazaret. The days here were very happy 
 days.” 
 
 “May I come too?’ asked young John 
 eagerly. 
 
 “Can you walk far and keep up with us?” 
 
 ‘“T’m sure I can, with you, Master. Azor can 
 tell you. I’m a good walker, and I can swim too.” 
 
 “You shall come.” 
 
 And Zerah, when she heard, begged to go too, 
 167 
 
168 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 and he would not say her nay, for he understood 
 all that was in her. 
 
 ‘Tt will not be too much for you?” he asked. 
 
 ‘Not with you,” she answered, and so it was 
 agreed. ! 
 
 So, after eating, we four set out, and Jesus led 
 us by the hill-paths, and across the plain and the 
 stream, to that hill where once, long before, we 
 two had met his cousin John, and they had sat and 
 talked of things beyond me. 
 
 It was no small walk, but to my great amaze- 
 ment my foot never troubled me all the way. In 
 fact, I had never once thought of it. 
 
 It was only when we flung ourselves down that 
 the surprise of it came upon me. 
 
 ‘My foot is healed,” I said, looking up at him 
 in wonder, and, I think, after what he had done 
 for my mother, in some dim way ascribing it to 
 him. 
 
 He just smiled at me and said gently, ‘“Try to 
 keep all the nails in their proper place in future, 
 AZOrt 
 
 And, however it was, my foot troubled me no 
 more. 
 
 We had brought cakes and fruit with us, and 
 we lay long on the hill-top, looking across at 
 Tabor and Gilboa, and he spoke quietly, but with 
 feeling so deep and intense that it awed me again, 
 of his mission and the way people were receiv- 
 ing it. 
 
 I did not as yet understand very much of what 
 it all meant, though I think Zerah did. 
 
OF THE RETURN OF ARNI | 169 
 
 He jumped up suddenly and stood gazing 
 earnestly out towards the village that lay below 
 us. From the gateway had issued a small com- 
 pany carrying a bier, and was coming towards 
 the hill. 
 
 It was the meagreness of the following which 
 appealed to him, I think. For it consisted of one 
 solitary woman, and that was just the kind of 
 thing that would touch his heart. 
 
 ‘Let us go down,” he said, and we followed 
 him. And as the scanty procession drew near, 
 he said, very tenderly, “A widow ... and poor, 
 since there are none with her. And probably her 
 only son.... Poor Mother!” 
 
 When the bearers met us he made a sign to 
 them to stop. ‘The forlorn little mother stood 
 and stared at us in wonder and reproach. Her 
 face was very sad and worn and her eyes were red 
 with weeping. 
 
 Jesus regarded her steadfastly for a moment. 
 Then he bade the bearers set down the bier, and 
 they wonderingly did so. 
 
 He stood looking down at the dead man who 
 lay on it wrapped in his cerements. ‘Then he 
 leaned over him and said quietly, ‘Arni— 
 Koum!” 
 
 And slowly—slowly and heavily—the dead man 
 opened his eyes and lay looking up into his face— 
 full of tenderest love and pity. 
 
 Then he sat up, struggling to free his arms 
 from the folds of the wrapper, and tore the 
 linen bandages off his face. His face was lean and 
 
170 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 shrunken, and out of their deep hollows his eyes 
 stared mistily with dawning recognition. 
 
 “Jesus!” he gasped. 
 
 And Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him 
 off the bier. 
 
 “Little Mother,” he said joyously, ‘Your 
 Father gives him back to you for happier times. 
 Serve ye Him all your days!” 
 
 The amazed little woman fell on her son’s 
 breast, weeping as though her mind had gone. 
 And then she slipped down to the ground, and 
 knelt and kissed the folds of Jesus’s robe. 
 
 “To God your thanks, Mother!” he said softly, 
 and lifted her up. ‘See now — Arni is hungry. 
 Take him home and give him to eat.” 
 
 Arni’s face — the wonder, the awe, and very 
 much more, that no man, I think, could under- 
 stand—remains stamped upon my memory. I can 
 see it now. I wondered often if he ever again 
 looked quite as other men. For he had been 
 dead—and was alive again. 
 
 He fell on his knees before Jesus, and knelt 
 there, gazing up into his face. And Jesus put 
 his hands on his head and blessed him, and then 
 lifted him up and kissed him, and said, ‘Think 
 of me, Arni! Do as you know I would have you 
 do. Tend your mother, and be as a light to your 
 neighbours. And may the blessing of God rest 
 upon you!” 
 
 Then he turned and led us quickly away up the 
 hill. For the bearers, when they saw the dead 
 sit up, had fled to the village, and now the whole 
 
OFTEN RE AOR NG OFRV IRN Pew sige 
 
 population came pouring out of the gate and was 
 running towards us. 
 
 Zerah’s face, as we went, was full of rapture 
 and streaming with tears—a bright sun shining 
 through joyous rain. Young John’s eyes were 
 nearly falling out, and his face was blank with awe 
 and amazement. For myself, I went blindly— 
 my feet stumbling along of their own accord, my 
 mind groping helplessly for something to hold 
 on to. 7 
 
 For I had, with my own two eyes, seen a dead 
 man, and one whom I had known and loved, 
 
 raised to life again — an incredible thing! — an 
 impossible thing! .. . But I had seen it, and 
 it was! 
 
 And the doer of this incredible and impossible 
 thing strode lightly on in front there—the dearest 
 and closest friend I had ever had — my fellow- 
 workman at our own carpenter’s bench —a man 
 like myself.... 
 
 But there I brought up sharply, as a man in the 
 dark bumps up against a wall, and, dazed, stands 
 and gropes to discover where he 1s. 
 
 A man—like—myself! ... But a man like 
 myself could not do things like that! 
 
 Then this, my friend, with whom I had played, 
 and swam, and walked, and talked, and worked, 
 was not simply a man like myself! 
 
 What then? And—who? And how?... I 
 was a man against a wall in the dark — stunned 
 and dazed, and not knowing where I was or 
 which way to turn! 
 
172 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Looking back I saw all the people of the village 
 gathered round Arni and his mother, all talking 
 excitedly and staring after us as we climbed the 
 hill. 
 
 We went in silence for a very long time—down 
 the other slope, across the plain and the stream, 
 and began the opposite ascent. 
 
 Then Jesus, looking back, caught sight of 
 Zerah’s face, and motioned to us to sit and rest. 
 
 My heart and my mind—yea, and my very soul 
 —were in a turmoil of perplexity. I was bursting 
 to know — to know — as I now know — what no 
 mortal man could tell me, for the full of it was 
 beyond the mind of mortal man to grasp. For 
 the soul can believe and trust where the heart 
 accepts in faith, but the mind has little help to 
 give in such a matter, and sometimes provides but 
 stumbling-blocks. 
 
 I sat gazing at him dumbly —as little Tobias 
 used to do — worshipfully, lovingly, but without 
 understanding, except that he was altogether good 
 and lovable, and very wonderful, and of a higher 
 order than myself. 
 
 The others, I know, must have been feeling 
 much as I did. John sat gazing at him with eyes 
 which looked as if they would never again lose 
 their amazement. 
 
 Zerah’s shining eyes were fixed on him too, 
 but in them were unspeakable love, perfect trust, 
 and a rapt touch of exultant understanding, as of 
 one whose blind faith has been suddenly blessed 
 with sight. 
 
OF THE RETURN OF ARNI 173 
 
 Jesus sat gazing thoughtfully out over the plain, 
 where a shepherd was collecting his flock for the 
 homeward trail. I knew that deep intent look of 
 his so well; and when it was on him I had never 
 ventured to disturb him. But that which was in 
 me was beyond my power to contain. 
 
 bevy Homthent ess What)... f 9 jerked out 
 through my dry lips. 
 
 He turned and looked lovingly at me, and said, 
 “Tt is my Father’s work, Azor. I but do His 
 will—His good will to men es 
 
 me COUTe err. 
 
 inicetather crear. }osephwwthe carpenter? 2)... 
 Bute but 2). 
 
 And then the scales fell from my startled eyes 
 and I saw what he meant .. . and the immensity 
 of it—the overwhelming wonder and magnitude 
 of it. 
 
 oun. mean .. ..GodzZ, l.whispered. 
 
 “Is He not my Father and your Father? .. . 
 The Father of us all?... He has sent me to call 
 His children back to him. ‘They have strayed like 
 sheep, but He wants them, every one.” 
 
 The sheep on the plain below were following 
 the shepherd to the ford in a long straggling line. 
 The still air was full of their bleatings as the lambs 
 sought their dams. 
 
 NAre youl. ey Arervyou .|... the Deliverer then?’ 
 I whispered, awestricken. 
 
 OBywatheueoodawilwot, my Pather,’ he said 
 quietly. 
 
 ‘And you will drive out the Romans and give 
 
 
 
174 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 us our right place in the world,” said John, 
 bursting through the amazement which had 
 held him. 
 
 Jesus was silent for a time, and the far-away 
 look in his eyes seemed to go away past us, right 
 out over the whole world. 
 
 Then he said gently, ‘““There are greater King- 
 doms than Rome, John, and greater things than 
 driving the Romans into the sea... . The will 
 of my Father is for the greatest things of all.” 
 
 ‘Let me go with you to help!” I said eagerly. 
 
 “And I!” said Zerah, in her rich fluty voice, 
 which trembled with the flood of her feelings. 
 
 “And I!” piped John, starting up from the 
 ground. 
 
 But Jesus shook his head and said, gently but 
 very decisively, a Nov. 2° )Zerah Azores 
 work lies to your hand in the home and beyond 
 it.... What would become of the home, Azor, 
 if you left it to follow me?” 
 
 And I was silent, for I knew the home would 
 starve, since there was none but me to feed it. 
 
 “Tn it,” he said, “you can both follow me as 
 truly as if you trod the pathI tread.... Little 
 John, stay now with your mother and do her 
 bidding! . . : Sometime, perhaps. ... “Butlin 
 all things, all of you, strive to think of your 
 fellows as The Father thinks—your Father and 
 my Father. And do to them as He would have 
 you do....” And after a moment’s thought, he 
 said, “If that is beyond you as yet—you know me 
 and my way of thinking — think of them in the 
 
OF THE RETURN OF ARNI 175 
 
 way you know I would think of them, and do to 
 them as you know I would do. For in this I 
 anceniye dacicwearcyones 7) Come, let. usebe 
 going!’ and we followed him up the hill, in 
 silence and overful!l of our thoughts. 
 
CHAPTER XXyV; 
 OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN 
 
 THE next day was the Sabbath, and we all—and 
 my mother—went down with him to the synagogue. 
 It was the first time in three years that she had 
 been able to go, and the neighbours were amazed 
 at the sight of her. 
 
 I shrink from the recollection of that day, for 
 it shows our people of Nazaret at their worst. 
 
 There was quite a crowd in the village, for they 
 had already got word of the raising of Arni from 
 the dead, and all were eager to see the man who 
 could do such wonders. 
 
 His followers were there waiting for him, and 
 they made a way for us into the synagogue. The 
 roll was handed to him and he read from the 
 Prophet. And he read—not as they were in the 
 habit too often of hearing, in a dull monotonous 
 drone — but clearly and weightily, in that full 
 rich voice which gave a new authority to the words 
 and played upon one’s heart and made every word 
 sink into it. 
 
 This is what he read. I have never forgotten 
 
 it, because, in the light of my new perception of 
 176 
 
OF HIS REJECTION BY HISOWN 177 
 
 him, it seemed to me to speak so exactly about 
 
 himself. 
 
 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for He has 
 consecrated me to preach the good news to 
 the poor, 
 
 He has sent me to proclaim release for captives, 
 and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free 
 the oppressed, to proclaim the Lord’s year of 
 favour.” 
 
 Then he handed the roll back and sat down, 
 and they all waited eagerly for him to speak. 
 
 And when he did speak they were astounded. 
 For he said, so that every man heard it: 
 
 “To-day ... this scripture is fulfilled in your 
 hearing.” 
 
 They grasped his meaning, and a gust of resent- 
 ful whispering ran through them. 
 
 my batedoesuhe mean’. Ll heard) “Isnt he 
 the carpenter?” ... ‘“‘Haven’t we known him 
 allmeniswlites and sallwhiss tolke ye), 0.2 ue Phe 
 spirit of the Lord upon him! Well, what next?” 
 Sere Ofeall thes impudence ls But 
 whatepebouts Ari? >.>. & “And ' Miriam?” 
 ! ‘All the same. .. .”,—-and much more of 
 the like. 
 
 “Quite so!” he said quietly. “A prophet 
 receives no honour in his own country—nor ever 
 did,” and, grieved at their perversity, he added, 
 ituealwaysmhas i ibeen so. (i) herew were many 
 widows in Israel at the time of the great famine, 
 but Elijah was sent, not to one of them, but to— 
 a widow in Sidon. And there were many lepers 
 
178 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 in Israel in the time of Elisha, yet none of them 
 was cleansed, but instead—Naaman the Syrian.” 
 
 That bit deep and made them furious. They 
 all sprang up and foamed and howled at him and 
 would have clutched .and struck him. I thrust 
 through them to get to my women-folk on the 
 other side. 
 
 But Zerah was up and trying to make her way 
 to him. “Foolish! Foolish and wicked!” she 
 cried. ‘Are you all blind? Can you not see what 
 he is ?’”—But, as the others seemed in no danger, 
 I climbed the barrier and helped to clear her way 
 by digging my elbows into any who hindered her, 
 and I did it with gusto. 
 
 But before we could get anywhere near him, 
 his followers had closed round him, and then— 
 I thought suddenly of the path cleared through 
 the Red Sea when Moses lifted his rod. For 
 Jesus just looked at them with those great calm 
 compelling eyes of his, and they wavered and 
 broke before him, and he and his people passed 
 out unharmed. When we saw he was safe we 
 went back to my mother and Zoe and the others, 
 and by the time we were able to get into the street 
 he had disappeared. 
 
 We went up home sadly, for we knew how this 
 rebuff could not but pain him, and could we have 
 had our way we would have removed every 
 obstacle from his path. 
 
 After that, for a long time, we got little word 
 of him, and Simon who was our chief news- 
 bringer was not a very satisfactory reporter. He 
 
OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN 179 
 
 picked up all the tittle-tattle of the Lake towns, 
 but only the exciting things appealed to him and 
 so got through to us. 
 
 We heard of Jesus going into Judea and to 
 Jerusalem, and of vast multitudes following him 
 everywhere, even into the deserts, to listen to his 
 teaching. We heard of some of the wonders he 
 did — lepers cleansed, blind given their sight, 
 many sick cured, several more dead folk restored 
 to life, great crowds numbering thousands fed in 
 some mysterious way with nothing but a handful 
 of loaves. 
 
 We heard that his fame was become so great 
 by reason of these things, and by his wonderful 
 teaching, so unlike any that had ever been heard 
 before, that the great mass of the people were 
 convinced that he was the Promised Deliverer 
 and wanted to proclaim him King. And we heard 
 too, and could well understand, that the rulers 
 were very bitter against him. For the things he 
 taught were so different from what they taught 
 that there was not room in the world for both 
 them and him. 
 
 Up in our quiet home on the hillside we fol- 
 lowed his doings with hearts abrim, and wondered 
 what the end of it all would be. But at times we 
 got no news of him for weeks on end. All Simon 
 could tell us was that he was away and nobody 
 knew where. 
 
 Zerah treasured every scrap of news Simon 
 brought us, but suffered much from the longing 
 she had to see and hear him herself again. 
 
180 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 When we heard of the imprisonment of John 
 the Baptiser by King Herod, she was filled with 
 fears for Jesus. Prophets, she said, generally paid 
 with their lives, and it would be so with him. 
 
 And when later on the word came of John’s 
 beheading in the Castle of Machaerus, her sweet 
 high spirit suffered a heavy blow. She was, I 
 could see, full of forebodings, though she carried 
 herself very bravely. 
 
 Zerah craved above all things to see Jesus once 
 more, and the craving grew so fierce in her that we 
 feared it would consume her strength entirely. 
 
 And so, for her sake, it was settled that she and 
 I and young John—who flatly refused to be left 
 behind—should visit Kaphar-Nahum as soon as 
 we heard that Jesus in his journeyings was to be 
 there again. 
 
 Simon at last brought us word that he was there 
 and would be there for yet another day or two. 
 
 ‘Resting ?” asked Zerah hopefully. 
 
 ‘Resting! He takes no rest. The folk give 
 him no chance — éxcept when he goes away by 
 himself into the hills now and again. They run 
 after him in thousands and are always wanting 
 more. We don’t know how he stands it. He 
 must be made of iron. And he looks it. He 
 never tires. He’s like an eagle — only he cures, 
 not kills.” 
 
 So we made our arrangements at once. Simon 
 was starting at dawn with his asses and would 
 give Zerah, at all events, a lift. John and I would 
 have to walk. 
 
OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN 181 
 
 We were to be at Peleg’s house before daybreak. 
 So my mother and Zerah and Zoe set to work at 
 once baking cakes for our journey. 
 
 We were up and dressed in the dark. John, 
 who said’ he had not dared to close his eyes lest 
 he should be late, came along from the other 
 house with his mother, and ¥ we bade them all fare- 
 well and set off. 
 
 And then, as we stumbled down the rough hill- 
 path, a strange thing happened. And to this day 
 I have never ceased to be sorry for it. For it 
 deprived me of what I had greatly desired, and 
 the opportunity was never vouchsafed me again. 
 
 Most people have seen at some time or other a 
 tree that has fallen through old age or been blown 
 down ina storm. And we have all of us seen here 
 and there a house or a tower that has sunk into 
 ruin. But it is not given to many to see the tree 
 as it falls or the house as it sinks. 
 
 We were passing Naggai’s house at the foot of 
 the hill. We could not indeed see much, for it 
 was still dark, but, helped by our ears, we could 
 perceive what happened even if we could not 
 actually see it. 
 
 At the very moment of our passing there came 
 a strange muffled rush and roar—a sound like 
 ‘r-r-r-ruff’—then a moment’s startling silence, and 
 then a heavy creaking and falling — and groans 
 and cries. 
 
 I scrambled over the wall — and in doing it, 
 thought of that day long ago when Jesus and I 
 went over it to the rescue of Tobias. 
 
182 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 I knew at once what must have happened, for, 
 if I had warned Naggai once about that sagging 
 south wall of his house, I had warned him a 
 dozen times. He was always going to have it seen 
 to but never did. And now it had gone, before 
 our very eyes, as you might say; and, deprived 
 of its help, the roof had sunk down upon those 
 within. 
 
 My duty was there to my hand. ‘Run on you 
 two and tell the nearest neighbours. Tell them 
 to bring spades. ... And then go you on with 
 Simon. You can do nothing here. I will follow 
 you as soon as I can.” 
 
 They sped away and I set to work as well as I 
 could, groping in the dark amid that dreadful - 
 confusion and the cries and groans of the buried 
 ones, for what of life I might find. 
 
 That they were not all killed outright was evi- 
 dent, but it was desperately difficult to do anything 
 useful in that half-darkness. I did what I could, 
 and I knew that the neighbours and daybreak 
 could not be far away. 
 
 “Where are you— Naggai? — Elizabeth ?— 
 Damaris ?”—his wife and daughter, the one whom 
 Tobias used to waken with his barking. Nachor 
 had long since gone away—to sea, which I always 
 thought was the best place for him. 
 
 Smothered cries alone answered me, for the 
 heavy roof, with its floor of trampled earth, had 
 sunk in on them, and but for its big cross-beams 
 would have stifled them at once. 
 
 I began hauling blindly at anything my groping © 
 
OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN 183 
 
 hands could clutch, and then I saw the unwisdom 
 of zeal without knowledge, for I might but loosen 
 any protection the fallen beams were aftording 
 them and so but add to their peril. 
 
 The darkness thinned suddenly and I heard the 
 neighbours panting, up the path, and presently 
 there were a dozen of them there and we could 
 see what we were about. 
 
 It was all a terrible mess and not easy to know 
 where to begin. While the others delved with 
 hands and spades I ran up the hill for a couple of 
 saws, to the vast astonishment of my Mother and 
 Zoe who supposed me on the way to Kaphar- 
 Nahum. ; 
 
 It took some hours’ hard work and the sawing 
 through of a couple of big beams before we could 
 drag them out one by one—all more or less bruised 
 and still terribly frightened. 
 
 It was only the slow sinking of the roof, with 
 the beams at an angle, that saved their lives. 
 
 Little Damaris, white and shaking still, I took 
 up to our house, and my mother and Zoe tended 
 her. Naggai and Elizabeth were taken in by 
 neighbours below. 
 
 . But the strain of the work, and still more the 
 desperate fear all the time that after all we might 
 be too late, had exhausted me completely. When 
 at last we recovered them [ felt as if I had been 
 in a battle and had been worsted. Zerah and 
 John and Simon would be halfway to Kaphar- 
 Nahum, and much as I longed to be with them 
 I had to give it up. I lay flat most of that 
 
184 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 day, finding myself again, and was no good for 
 anything. . 
 
 Zerah and John came back with Simon on the 
 third day, very full of all they had seen and heard. 
 And Zerah was very much happier in her mind 
 thereafter, though I know she always went in fear 
 that King Herod would sooner or later take Jesus 
 and kill him, as he had done his cousin John. 
 
 She and young John told us about it all between 
 them, first one then the other breaking in as new 
 bits of their great experience came back to them. 
 
 They had found nearly all the town gone out 
 to the slope of a hill some distance away, and had 
 followed them there. 
 
 ‘“‘And he was sitting there on a lump of rock, 
 leaning forward with his elbow on his knee, 
 talking to them just like a big elder brother to a 
 lot of children — not at all as the priests talk to 
 them,” said Zerah. ‘And they listened just like 
 children, with wide eyes and open mouths, and 
 now and again laughing out at the way he put 
 things. Oh, it was wonderful! . . . wonderful!” 
 she said, with shining face and eyes. “‘We were 
 right on the outside of the crowd but we could 
 hear every word.” 
 
 “And what was he talking about?’ asked 
 John’s mother, whose interest in Jesus was grow- 
 ing all the time. 
 
 “Ah, if I could only tell you it all!” said Zerah, 
 raising her clasped hands. “It was ‘Blessed! .. . 
 blessed! . . . blessed! ...’ Oh, it was wonder- 
 ful!” and she pressed her palms over her eyes 
 
OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN 185 
 
 as if to bring it all back to her mind, all she had 
 seen and heard that day. 
 
 “And,” she said, ‘‘you see, it was all so strange 
 and new. For he said those were blessed whom 
 the world does not consider so—the poor—the 
 hungry—those who weep—those whom men hate 
 and cast out.’’ 
 
 “Strange teaching, indeed!” said John’s mother, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 ‘“, . And those who hunger and thirst x 
 broke in John, as if that had struck him most. 
 
 “after right,’ added Zerah. 
 
 “And the merciful and peacemakers, and 
 ever so many more,” said John. “I could not 
 understand it all, but it did me good to listen to it. 
 And he told us some stories y 
 
 “He was sure to do that,” I said. 
 
 ‘And he made them laugh about a man with a 
 plank in his eye trying to take a splinter out of 
 his brother’s eye.” 
 
 ‘And then his ‘Woe’s!’”’ said Zerah—‘Woe 
 to the rich—the well-fed—those whom men speak 
 well of—those who laugh now.”’ | 
 
 “And if a man hits you on the cheek you 
 should ask him to hit the other cheek as well,” 
 said John, enjoying our surprise. ‘‘And if he 
 takes your coat you should give him your shirt 
 too!” 
 
 “And—love your ‘enemies! —and judge 
 nobody!” said Zerah. 
 
 “Very strange teaching!” said my mother. 
 “It is just what he would do himself but it will 
 
 
 
 
 
186 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 not be easy for the rest of us.... Did you see 
 Mary, Zerah?—and what is she feeling about it 
 all?” 
 
 “She fears, I think, that it will get him into 
 trouble—especially since they did his cousin John 
 to death. Her face is very anxious and her eyes 
 are full of forebodings.” | 
 
 “Ay,” said my mother. ‘‘She will suffer sorely 
 if any ill befalls him. He is the apple of her eye, 
 but I doubt if she has ever quite understood him.” 
 
 ‘He is beyond any of our understanding—or 
 of any man’s,” I said. “Did you speak with him, 
 Zerah?”’ 
 
 “I did,” she said, her face radiant, her eyes very 
 bright. “Amid all that crowd his eyes found me. 
 It was wonderful! I was gazing hungrily at 
 him, and his eyes came slowly round, searching, 
 searching, as though he knew I was there. And 
 then they lighted on mine, though we were 
 almost the farthest out, and it was as though a 
 flash of lightning struck me and shook my soul. 
 
 But,” she added, dreamily, joyously, “it 
 was the lightning of his great love and it filled me 
 with unspeakable joy... And, when he had 
 bidden them all go home, he came to us and spoke 
 to us. .’ She fell silent, savouring again, I 
 think, what he had’ said to her. But all she told 
 us was—"And he bade us all be of good cheer 
 and not let our hearts be troubled.” 
 
 And presently she said, “He asked for you at 
 once, Azor.’”’ I nodded, for I was sure he would 
 wonder at my not being there. ‘‘And when I 
 
OF HIS REJECTION BY HIS OWN 187 
 
 told him how eager you had been to come, and 
 about Naggai’s house falling down, he said, ‘Azor 
 did right to stop and help them. He knew I 
 would have done that. It is better to do even 
 than to listen.’ ”’ 
 
 “FTe’s a very wonderful man,” said John’s 
 mother. 
 
 “How very wonderful we none of us really 
 know,” said Zerah thoughtfully. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 OF OUR JOURNEY THROUGH THE 
 VALLEY OF SHADOWS 
 
 I DRAW near the end. And I shrink from the 
 telling of it, though I know now that the wonder 
 and the glory of it all exceed, beyond the com- 
 prehension of man, what to us at the time was all 
 heart-breaking sorrow. 
 
 Not one of us up there in our house on the 
 hillside but believed absolutely that Jesus, the 
 dearest friend we had ever had, was the Chosen 
 One of God—the Promised Deliverer, the long- 
 looked-for Messiah—the One who should estab- 
 lish God’s Kingdom on earth. As to exactly what 
 that Kingdom was we were not very clear. Nor 
 as to how the friend, who had played and worked 
 and lived with us as a boy and as a man, who had 
 grown up amongst us in the closest relationship, 
 should have become what he was. 
 
 But that he was more than man our hearts told 
 us beyond the possibility of doubt. 
 
 We were filled with awe when we acknowledged 
 to ourselves what we believed him to be. But 
 
 the beauty and joy and wonder of the love he had 
 188 
 
THE VALLEY OF SHADOVS _ 189 
 
 given us were greater even than the awe which 
 hardly dared to whisper its belief. 
 
 For months at a time we heard little of him, 
 save that at times no one seemed to know where he 
 was, and then again we would hear of him jour- 
 neying slowly through distant parts of the country, 
 up in the Lebanon, round Tyre and Sidon, and in 
 many out-of-the-way villages and places. 
 
 And everywhere the people, when he spoke to 
 them, listened to him gladly and followed him in 
 crowds—everywhere . . . except in his own village 
 of Nazaret; where he came no more. They had 
 rejected him and he had much to do. 
 
 We hoped always that he would come again, but 
 we did not then know how short his time was 
 
 John and his mother were in Jerusalem. They 
 generally came to us soon after the Passover. 
 
 My mother was well and active, rejoicing once 
 more in all her household duties. Zoe had her 
 hands full with the boys, active little fellows, 
 always in mischief. I looked forward to the time 
 when they would be to me what John had been, 
 what I had been to Jesus. What times we would 
 have in the workshop! What rambles over the 
 hills and swims in the pool! 
 
 Zerah was quite beyond my understanding in 
 these days. My experience of women, outside my 
 own circle, was very small. I could only reason 
 about Zerah on the lines I knew, and she was 
 altogether beyond them. 
 
 She was gracious and sweet and good to us all, 
 as she always had been; but I could not help 
 
190 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 feeling at times that, though in the body she was 
 with us; in the spirit she was away with Jesus in 
 his wanderings—following him everywhere, listen- 
 ing to him, watching him hungrily, as she had 
 done that day on the hill at Kaphar-Nahum— 
 perhaps communing with him in the spirit. 
 
 For at times, as we all sat together of an even- 
 ing, her spindle would slowly cease its spinning, 
 and she would sit in deep thought, with her eyes 
 on the distant hills, till something called her 
 back to us. 
 
 And at times, and more often as the months 
 drew on, she would go off quietly by herself up 
 the hill. And, from the calm in her eyes and the 
 sweet high look on her face when she came back, 
 I think she spent much of the time up there in 
 prayer. 
 
 Simon brought us such news as he heard, but 
 it was always much the same—ceaseless journey- 
 ings, teaching that drew crowds, many wonders of 
 healing and help, ever-growing belief among the 
 people that the time of deliverance had come 
 at last. 
 
 Then, one night he came up with the word that 
 Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem forthe Passover. 
 
 The next morning Zerah came to me while I 
 was at work and said, quietly, but in a way that 
 showed me her mind was quite made up, ‘‘Azor, 
 my brother, I want you to take me to Jerusalem 
 for the Passover.” 
 
 And I straightened up from my work and stared 
 at her. 
 
Ess csr Er srt t—OS 
 — as 
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOVS | ior 
 
 “Tf you won’t take me I must go alone, but it 
 would be more seemly iy 
 
 “But wherefore, Zerah? I don't under- 
 stand.” 
 
 “Tio you not see?” she said, with deepest 
 earnestness. ‘“‘He is going there to bring matters 
 tovasheads 7). There he will win) ally or:.:. 
 or 9 
 
 
 
 “Or lose all,” I said, with a catch in my breath 
 at thought of what his going might mean — to 
 himself — to all of us. 
 
 ‘He may lose his life, for he told me that 
 might be. But—lose all! ... she said, with 
 that far-away look in her shining eyes—‘‘He can 
 never lose what he has done...or what he 
 iS ” 
 
 
 
 “He may lose his life,” I said again, and my 
 heart sank low. 
 
 “Fe who loses his life shall save it—he said so 
 himself. ... The fear of losing his life is the 
 last thing that will stop him. He counts it as 
 nothing compared with that which he has to do. 
 It is we who will suffer... . Will you take me, 
 Azor?... If he should fall on trouble perhaps 
 I might be able to minister to him in some way,” 
 and she looked at me so piteously that I said: 
 
 “Yes, we will go,” and she set about our prepa- 
 rations at once.” 
 
 From that moment she was as one in whom a 
 flaming white fire of devotion to an idea over- 
 powers every other thought. And so she was 
 throughout. She was very wonderful. 
 
192 DEL ELT) LONG 71S 
 
 Zoe and my mother said nothing against our 
 going. I think it likely that Zerah had already 
 discussed it with them. 
 
 Two days before the usual time for the Pass- 
 over company to start, she came to me and said, 
 ‘“‘Azor, my brother, can we go before the others ?” 
 and in answer to my look of surprise, for it was 
 customary all to travel together, she said, very 
 earnestly, “You see, he may choose to get there 
 before the crowds and possibly we might get 
 speaking with him again. Oh, if you knew how 
 my heart craves the sight of him! ... And— 
 truly, I could not bear to journey with so many of 
 those who treated him so despitefully. Do let us 
 go on ahead of them, Azor!” 
 
 And, understanding somewhat of all that was 
 in her, I agreed, and we set off very early in the 
 morning of the next day. 
 
 It was a wonderful Spring. Everything, even 
 the bare rounded summits of the hills, seemed 
 bursting with the very joy of living. The 
 Great Plain, as we struck across it and forded the 
 river to join the South Road, was knee-deep in 
 flowers. When the West wind swept in up the 
 river valley, it was like a mighty carpet being 
 shaken by giant hands— such a carpet as they 
 weave out there in the desert towns, the colours 
 all mixed, yet blending all into a most wonderful 
 whole. And the air was like honey on the 
 comb. 
 
 But we had both made the journey many times 
 before, I more often than she; and our hearts 
 
RAR ALEEY. OL OSH AD OHES 6193 
 
 went so much faster than our feet, and were so 
 charged with anxious thought, that we gave but 
 little heed to the things about us. 
 
 Life or Death awaited us at Jerusalem. Our 
 only desire was to get there as quickly as possible. 
 
CEA PIRE RUXUXVDTE 
 OF THE TUMULTUOUS CITY 
 
 WE slept that first night at the little khan in 
 Ginea, and the next day crossed the hills into 
 Samaria. The New City, with its rows of great 
 white columns, we passed by, and walked along 
 the river-side up the valley to Shechem, or 
 Sychar as its own people call it. 
 
 It is a very fertile and beautiful Iand along that 
 valley, and whenever I passed through it I always 
 thought that if I had to live in Samaria it was that 
 Vale of Shechem I would choose. 
 
 Ebal, with its sunny slopes covered with vines 
 and olives and pomegranates, was on our left hand, 
 and on the right, Gerizim, dark and shadowy, 
 with gaping black mouths along its base which 
 made one think of tombs and robbers and evil 
 spirits. 
 
 We slept at a little inn I knew of at Sychar, 
 and were afoot again with the dawn. Just outside 
 the town we stopped at Jacob’s Well to fill our 
 water-bottles, for its water is the coolest and sweet- 
 est you can find in all that country. 
 
 But the taste of it was somewhat spoiled for us 
 that day by the sight of a great wooden cross on a 
 
 194 
 

 
 OF THE TUMULTUOUS CITY 195 
 
 mound by the side of the road, and on it the 
 pitiful remains of what had been a man. There 
 was not very much of him left beyond his bones, 
 for the winds and the weather and the birds had 
 had their way with him. 
 
 But the titulus above his head was still clear for 
 all who passed to read— 
 
 BARGAS—THIEF AND MURDERER 
 
 and I suppose he was left hanging there as a 
 warning to his fellows. His evil deeds lived after 
 him. 
 
 Zerah’s sweet face puckered distastefully at 
 sight of him, and we filled our bottles quickly and 
 were about to hurry on, when a voice pealed out 
 above our heads and we stopped and looked up 
 and round in great surprise, for we were the first 
 on the road and there was no one to be seen. 
 
 “Fo—Rebek-kah! Where is Isaac to-day?” 
 cried the voice, clear and strong on the still morn- 
 ing air. 
 
 And the oddness of the two names together in 
 that place made us wonder if it could be haunted 
 by the spirits of the past. 
 
 But when again we heard above us, in a sweet 
 girlish voice — “He got a thorn in his foot and 
 cannot walk” — we knew that it was not spirits 
 speaking. 
 
 “T will come to-night,’ said the boy’s voice. 
 
 “T shall be glad,” said the girl. 
 
 And then we discovered, away up on the side 
 of Gerizim, bathed now in the clear early sun- 
 
196 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 shine, a white flock of sheep and a boy standing 
 like a little pillar among them. And on the far- 
 away sunny slope of Ebal was a dark flock of 
 goats, with a girl in a yellow robe behind them. 
 And I thought of Zerah and Zoe that first day I 
 ever set eyes on them, and the Song of Songs— 
 “Dark streams your hair like goats adown the 
 slopes of Gilead.... Your teeth like shorn ewes 
 paired together in rows.” 
 
 The thought of the boy and girl and their 
 rustic love sent us on our way more happily, but 
 Zerah hurried past Bargas with pinched face and 
 her head turned the other way. 
 
 ‘Perhaps he deserved it,” she said, “but men 
 are very cruel.” 
 
 “If he was a thief and a murderer, he deserved 
 itm 
 
 “I don’t know. ... There might be better 
 ways, even with thieves and murderers,” she said 
 thoughtfully, and we pressed on. 
 
 That night we slept at Beth-El, and all the way 
 along, every hill-path now had its string of travel- 
 lers making for the highway — like little streams 
 that trickle downwards to the river. 
 
 The Great Road was already black with people 
 all hurrying to Jerusalem. It seemed to me more 
 crowded than I had ever seen it before, and it 
 made me think of a great swarm of locusts, 
 pressing ever on and on. For there was in their 
 bearing an unusual intentness and eagerness, as of 
 men who went in expectation of something out of 
 the common. 
 
OF THE TUMULTUOUS CITY 197 
 
 And so we came into Jerusalem by the Damascus 
 Gate, in the afternoon of the fourth day, and were 
 well pleased to have got to the end of our journey. 
 
 The City seemed to us already overflowing with 
 people, and we were thankful that we had not to 
 seek a lodging but could go as usual straight to the 
 house of John’s mother, Mary, which had always 
 been open to us for the Passover. 
 
 Her house was on Mount Zion, not far from 
 that of the High Priest, and we had no little 
 dificulty in making our way there. It was the 
 most toilsome and trying part of our journey. 
 And when at last we reached the house, hot and 
 dusty with the road, and still more weary with 
 pushing through the crowds, it was only to learn 
 that, for the first time, Mary could not take 
 us in. | 
 
 We saw her, but only for a moment. She was 
 in a state of great excitement and exaltation, quite 
 unlike her usual placid self. 
 
 “T am sorry, sorry,” she said, “but The Teacher 
 himself is coming to eat the Passover here. What 
 can I do? What can I do?” and then, casting 
 about in her mind, she said, “See now, at Bethany 
 is my Sister Rachel. Tell her I sent you and she 
 will find you room, I am sure.... Truly, I am 
 sorry, children, but you see how I am placed. The 
 Teacher himself... .” 
 
 “Where is Jesus, Mary?” asked Zerah, eagerly. 
 
 “We do not know, child. He goes out of the 
 City most nights, with his followers. And maybe 
 he is wise. ‘There is great excitement among the 
 
198 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 people. You can see it for yourselves—and Annas 
 and Caiaphas are very wroth about it. But he 
 will come here to-morrow... .”’ 
 
 And, to upset her no more, we set off through 
 the turmoil of the streets again and made for the 
 Golden Gate by the wall of the Temple. 
 
 Zerah’s face was white with fatigue and dis- 
 comfort. I doubted if she would be able to 
 walk the further two miles. And we had no 
 certainty of Rachel being able to take us in when © 
 we got there. 
 
 But when [ said as much, and suggested trying 
 to find a lodging in the City, she said very 
 earnestly,’ “No. Vet us) go to Bethany ebte 
 may be there, and there is no rest in the City’— 
 which was true. 
 
 We had almost to fight our way through the 
 narrow, crowded streets. For everywhere, in 
 the midst of the flow, there were people standing 
 in bunches, talking and disputing, and from every 
 quarter the country-folk were still pouring into 
 the City, and rambling about seeking their 
 lodgings. 
 
 Every now and again would come the clank of 
 steel and the tread of heavy feet all marching as 
 one, as though a mighty giant strode past; and a 
 Roman patrol would come along, scattering the 
 people as though they were sheep and with no ° 
 more thought of them. Grim, clean-shaven, 
 hard-faced men they were, with shining helmets 
 and stony eyes that regarded us no more than if we 
 had been actually sheep, or dogs. Our homely 
 
OF THE TUMULTUOUS CITY 199 
 
 folk, in their dusty garments and shrinking ways, 
 made a poor show beside them. 
 
 But as soon as Rome had passed they would all 
 bunch together again, chins wagging, and eyes 
 viciously agleam with hate of her, and shining 
 with excitement over the matter that stirred 
 them still more. 
 
 And that was Jesus—The Teacher, The Deliv- 
 erer—The Promised One. Where was he? Had 
 he come? What would he do? What would the 
 High Priest do? 
 
 Every group we struggled through, it was the 
 same. Everywhere excited faces and gabbling 
 mouths and eager questionings. 
 
 I tried to get news of him from one and another, 
 but learned little. He had not been in the City 
 that day, they all agreed.on that. It was said he 
 slept outside for safety. 
 
 “And very wise too!” said one. ‘He'd be wiser 
 still if he went away altogether just now.” 
 
 ies) escidianother ay Pildtelalways); fears 
 tumults at Passover, and if there is one he’ll make 
 The Teacher pay.” 
 
 No one knew anything definite. It was all hear- 
 say and tittle-tattle, and we pushed on to get 
 away from it all. 
 
 We were glad to get out into the country again. 
 We toiled slowly over the lower slopes of the 
 Mount of Olives and so came to Bethany, and 
 sought out Rachel’s house. 
 
 She was a sharp-featured, energetic little woman, 
 with quick bright eyes. She made no difficulty 
 
200 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 about taking us in, since we had brought our own 
 provisions with us. But her house was very small, 
 and Zerah had to share her room, and I to sleep 
 on the floor of the only other room. 
 
 We were grateful for that much, for by this 
 time we were both quite spent, but more by the 
 discomforts of Jerusalem than by the distance we 
 had travelled. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Or A Rest WITHOUT WHILE THE STORM 
 BREWED WITHIN 
 
 BETHANY was very restful after the seething 
 tumult of the City. We were glad we had come. 
 
 When we had washed and eaten we went up to 
 the house-top with Rachel, to sit in the cool of 
 the evening. The sun was setting blood-red 
 behind the walls and towers of Jerusalem, which 
 showed black and grim against it; and even at 
 that distance we could hear the low growl of the 
 myriads assembled there. 
 
 “It looks like some great crouching monster 
 waiting for its prey,” said Zerah depressedly. 
 
 ‘And it sounds like it. I have never seen so 
 many people there, nor in such turmoil,” I said. 
 
 “Everyone has come this year because of The 
 Teacher,” said Rachel. ‘They say he is to be 
 King and sweep out the Romans.” 
 
 “That is not his aim,” said Zerah quickly. 
 
 ‘The people think it is, but the priests are all 
 against him. If he tries it there will be blood 
 Sheds 
 
 ‘He would rather die himself than that,” said 
 
 201 
 
202 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Zerah. ‘Why can they not understand him? He 
 wants only their good.” 
 
 ‘They can think of no greater good than to be 
 free of Rome. It’s the one thing their hearts are 
 set on. And truly they say he went in like a 
 King last Sunday, riding on a foal, just as the old 
 prophets said, and all the people strewing their 
 clothes and palm branches in front of him.” 
 
 “But that was very strange,” said Zerah, gazing 
 at her in amazement. ‘And not like him, for he 
 has always set his face against any displays of 
 that kind...” and she fell thoughtful. 
 
 But Rachel’s next words brought her back. 
 “You see,” she said, “the had been stopping here 
 in Bethany, with Martha and Mary, as he had 
 done more than once before. That’s their house 
 —the white one next to the mud one. You heard 
 about Lazarus?” 
 
 “No. What?” 
 
 ‘Why, it was the most wonderful thing that 
 ever happened in this world. Lazarus fell sick. 
 His sisters sent to ask The Teacher to come, 
 hoping he could cure him. He was a good friend 
 of theirs, you see. But he delayed, and Lazarus 
 died. And when The Teacher did at last come, 
 he had been buried four days. You know what 
 that would mean! But The Teacher went with 
 them to the tomb and called to him, and Lazarus 
 came back, and he’s there to-day alive and well. 
 If you’re about you may see him, but everyone 
 stares at him so, and wants to ask him so many 
 questions, that he doesn’t go out much in the 
 
REST WHILE STORM BREWED 203 
 
 daytime yet. But he’s often out after nightfall. 
 
 And it seems to me, and I suppose to 
 other people the same, that a man who can bring 
 folks back from the dead can do pretty much any- 
 thing he sets his mind to —so why not to being 
 King and getting rid of Rome?” she asked 
 triumphantly. } | 
 
 “That is not the Kingdom he desires,” said 
 Zerah. ‘He has told them, and told them, and 
 told them. But they are blind and deaf and will 
 not understand.” 
 
 “What is it he wants then?” 
 
 “Te wants them to give their hearts to God— 
 all men, everywhere! — and so to found a New 
 Kingdom for God on earth. That would be a 
 bigger Kingdom than Rome and all the rest of 
 the world put together.” 
 
 “Tm afraid it’s beyond me,” said Rachel, shak- 
 ing her head. ‘‘And I’m sure the people don’t 
 think of it that way.” 
 
 “Tf only they would!” sighed Zerah. ‘Then 
 Rome would not trouble them.” 
 
 “Rome will always trouble everyone that’s not 
 too strong for her.” 
 
 “‘God is stronger even than Rome.” 
 
 The moon had come up over the mountains of 
 Moab, red and threatening. But as it climbed 
 the darkening sky it grew smaller and brighter and 
 flooded the country with silvery light. It shone 
 white on the City walls and towers and seemed 
 to whisper “Peace!” But the City growled 
 unceasingly. 
 
204 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “There is Lazarus coming out now,” said 
 Rachel, in a whisper, and I leaned over the roof to 
 watch him. For a man who had lain dead for four 
 days was, after all, a great wonder. 
 
 But Zerah would not move. She said simply, 
 “It is not seemly to stare at him and he does not 
 wish it.” | 
 
 He passed slowly just below us, but his head 
 was covered with his robe, and all I could see as 
 he came towards us was a pallid face and strange 
 deep eyes. 
 
 “If he could only tell us about those four 
 days ” T said to Rachel. 
 
 ‘Many have questioned him, but he will not 
 speak of them,” she said. ‘‘Maybe it is all gone 
 from him. He looks like that.” 
 
 We were very tired, and Rachel understood and 
 let us get to bed early. And in spite of our 
 anxieties we slept soundly. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 Or LIFE AND DEATH AT THE PRATORIUM 
 
 Ir seemed to me that I had no more than laid my 
 head down when I was awakened by an insistent 
 thumping on the door. 
 
 I got up and opened it. The gray before the 
 dawn was over everything, and there stood Mary’s 
 son, John, leaning with both hands on the door- 
 posts, and panting in sobs that almost choked him. 
 
 “John?” I cried, and my heart kicked with 
 apprehension. 
 
 He stumbled in and sank down on a stool. His 
 face was as gray as the dawn, and sweat and tears 
 trickled down his face. 
 
 eltis allover!” he gasped. 
 
 mlesust 
 
 “They have taken him.... They will never 
 let him go alive.” 
 
 Rachel and Zerah had come in at the sound of 
 him. Zerah’s face set like marble as she heard. 
 
 “We must go,’ she whispered. ‘Where have 
 they taken him, John?” 
 
 “To the house of Caiaphas, on the Mount, near 
 my mother’s.” 
 
 “Let us go!” she said, and set off without 
 205 
 
aye THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 another word, and when I had gathered up our 
 few belongings, and thanked Rachel, John and I 
 hastened after her. 
 
 “Tell us all you know, John,” said Zerah, as we 
 hurried along. 
 
 “PI tell you all I saw,” said John eagerly. 
 “Jesus and the others ate their supper in our 
 upper room. ‘They sat long over it, and when 
 they came out I was waiting about, hoping to 
 see him again. And, oh Zerah, their faces 
 frightened me—they were so gloomy and anxious 
 looking if 
 
 w Noth esus 1) 
 
 “No”... he thought for a moment and then 
 said, “His face was not gloomy... nor full of 
 fears, like theirs.... But it frightened me more 
 than all the others.... It was white and set and 
 keen like an eagle’s.... I never saw him like 
 that before—never! And his eyes were very 
 bright . . . but very sad too. I can’t tell you, 
 because I never saw anyone look like that. ... 
 
 “They went towards the Temple, and I fol- 
 lowed to see what they were going to do. They 
 went out by the Gate, and down into the valley 
 and over the brook into the garden on Olivet, as 
 Hesortentdiceree 
 
 “It was after sunset and I knew the Gate 
 would be closed. Though indeed I could have 
 got in again by Caiaphas’s gate on Zion if I’d 
 wanted to, for the gate-keeper is a friend of 
 mine. 
 
 ‘But, you see, I knew from their faces that they 
 
 
 
OF LIFE AND DEATH 207 
 
 feared something was going to happen, and I 
 wanted to know what it was. 
 
 “So I lay down among the bushes and waited. 
 And after a long time I saw torches coming across 
 the valley, and Jesus and his people came down 
 top Mmect them. It) was’ some: of the Temple 
 Officers with some soldiers and a lot of roug 
 fellows. 
 
 ‘When they met I thought there was going to 
 be a fight. I saw swords out, and I went closer. 
 But Jesus stopped his people from fighting and 
 said he was ready to go with them, and they closed 
 round him and went off. One of the Temple men 
 saw me and made a grab at me, but I got away 
 and followed them further off. 
 
 ‘“They went round the South wall to Caiaphas’s 
 private gate, and as they were all crowding through 
 I slipped in too. 
 
 “IT saw them take him into Annas’s house, and 
 then I ran home to tell my mother, and she said I 
 should come at once and tell you, for you were the 
 nearest friends he had.” 
 
 ‘Thank you, John dear, for coming so quickly 
 and for telling us about it,” said Zerah, and then, 
 as if to herself she said with a sob, “Oh, what 
 will be the end of it? ... God forgive them! 
 God forgive them!” 
 
 Though it was still very early, the City was 
 evidently all astir. The hoarse growl of it grew 
 louder with every step we took. More than ever 
 it sounded like a wild beast hungry for its food. 
 
 We passed through the Temple Gate and 
 
208 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 thrust into the turmoil of the narrow streets. 
 But we had not now to fight our way. There 
 were no rings and knots of men blocking the 
 passage while they argued and disputed. The 
 crowd was all pushing doggedly the way we 
 wanted to go, and as eager to get there as we 
 were. 
 
 There was not much talking. The time for 
 talking was over. Things were happening, though 
 no one seemed to know what. 
 
 Broken sentences reached us. 
 
 “Yes, in the night— over there on Olivet.” 
 
 . . “No—no fighting. they say he gave 
 hbenielll up to them.” ... “Caiaphas will make 
 an end of him because of that Temple business.”’ 
 oe wenes, § it y touched hissspocketaeand aaa 
 Annasis.:... <Not -whatehe led) usetomnhon. 
 for... saWhocould understand) hinge 
 had his chance. The people would have risen and 
 followed him anywhere.” ... ‘Yes, it’s all over 
 now. They'll end him one way or another.” 
 ‘‘A good man . .. wonderful powers, if he’d 
 only known how to turn them to account.”’ : 
 “Too soft for the job —a fool, but it’s a pity, 
 all the same.”’ 
 
 Zerah’s white, set face twinged at times as these 
 things smote her. She clung tightly to my arm 
 lest the scuffing crowd should part us. 
 
 So we passed by the Temple and were swept 
 along towards Mount Zion, where Annas and 
 Caiaphas lived. 
 
 Then suddenly, on some later rumour, the crowd 
 
OF LIFE AND DEATH 209 
 
 swerved towards the Praeztorium, where Pilate’s 
 big house stood among its gardens. 
 
 Here there was already a great mass of people 
 standing tense and silent, watching and waiting. 
 Our crowd flowed round its outskirts and pressed 
 in to see what was going on. The ones in front 
 flung over their shoulders such information as 
 they had. 
 
 tsliheyaveusent. hime tom bilate.”. .)5 jail cs; 
 inside there.” ... ‘Pilate hates Caiaphas. He'll 
 thwart him if he can.” ... “He’s a bad one to 
 thwart, is Caiaphas’”—and much more of the like, 
 all very discomforting to us. 
 
 We waited in grievous anxiety and distress. 
 
 To these others it was just an unusual happen- 
 ing for Passover Week, and the probable end of 
 the contest between the ancient powers of the 
 Priests and Rulers with this new, surprisingly- 
 gifted Teacher, who had suddenly sprung from 
 nowhere and put them and their vested interests 
 in peril. It was disappointing in view of the hopes 
 they had cherished, but it would be interesting to 
 see which side won. 
 
 To us—it was the life of our best-loved friend 
 that hung in the balance. Our hearts were very 
 heavy, and full of prayers for him. 
 
 “Now —what’s this?” — jerked a tall man 
 behind us, as the dense pack in front began to 
 quiver and sway and thrust back upon itself with 
 cries and snarls and curses. 
 
 For through it, cleaving its way like a plow- 
 share, and as regardless of what it cleft, came a 
 
210 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Roman cohort with a centurion at its head, and in 
 its midst—Jesus. 
 
 His robe was soiled and torn. His face was 
 white and strained but bravely calm and undaunted, 
 and there were bruises and blood on it. His eyes 
 were wonderful still—sad and pained indeed, 
 but, as John had said, bold and unflinching as an 
 eagle’s. They seem to look past it all to some- 
 thing beyond. 
 
 To his guards, he was but one more victim 
 caught in the great machine of the law, of which 
 they were the ruthless instruments. They were 
 hardened to such things. 
 
 To the onlookers, he was just a half-broken 
 man being hustled to his doom. 
 
 To us, he was, in spite of it all, our Wonderful 
 One, our dearest and best of friends, and this 
 near sight of his suffering chilled the blood in 
 our veins, though the sun was pouring hot on our 
 heads. 
 
 “One for Pilate!” cried the tall man behind 
 us, who seemed to see more than most. ‘‘He’s a 
 Galilean, so Pilate sends him to Herod to judge!” 
 
 . and then, as an afterthought—‘But Herod 
 won't. He has no power in Jerusalem. . . he'll 
 be back again presently. You see if he isn’t.” 
 
 And presently we saw the cohort come plough- 
 ing back through the crowd, and in the midst was 
 Jesus, clothed now in an old purple robe. But, in 
 spite even of that, his patient dignity was such 
 that the onlookers marvelled and many of them 
 were silent. 
 
OF LIFE AND DEATH 211 
 
 Through occasional gaps between the swaying 
 heads in front we caugl:t glimpses of the portico 
 of the Praetorium. 
 
 We saw a soldierly figure with a round black 
 head come out and stand at the top of the broad 
 marble steps that led up to the Judgment Hall, 
 and speak to someone below — to Caitaphas, the 
 tall man said. We could not see him. The black- 
 headed soldier, he said, was Pilate, the Procur- 
 ator. 
 
 From those in front, round about Caiaphas, 
 there rose of a sudden, hoarse cries of ‘‘Crucify! 
 Grucity 
 
 Zerah’s arm clutched mine so tightly that I 
 feared she was about to fall. But it was only the 
 sudden shock of that cruel cry. Her face was like 
 marble, her eyes strained wide in an agony of fear 
 —after her heart, which was with him there in the 
 midst of his enemies. 
 
 We saw Pilate stand gazing scornfully down at 
 those below him. He seemed to be arguing with 
 them. Then he raised his hands and shoulders in 
 a gesture of contempt and seemed to call to some- 
 one inside. For a soldier came out with a silver 
 basin and a cloth and held it while Pilate washed 
 his hands and dried them. 
 
 We did not understand, but the tall man grasped 
 the meaning of it. 
 
 “FTe washes his hands of the matter, and casts 
 the responsibility on the Priests,” he said. “So 
 they will have their way with him.” 
 
 “And that?” I jerked out. 
 
212 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 “They will crucify him; though why, by my life, 
 
 I cannot see.” 
 
 And at that Zerah gave a heart-rending sob 
 and sank heavily on my arm. I thought she was 
 about to lose her senses. There was still some 
 water in my bottle, and I hastily gave her a drink, 
 and the tall man behind put his hands under her 
 arms, though, indeed, she could not have fallen, so 
 tightly were we packed. 
 
 “Shall we go— if we can?” I whispered into 
 her ear, though I doubted much if it would be 
 possible. 
 
 ‘‘No—no—no!” she said. “I must see. I must 
 see. ... Qh, my poor, poor, dear one! What 
 will they do to you?” 
 
 Our neighbours eyed us curiously, but she 
 heeded them not. In all that huge crowd there 
 was but one man concerned her, and though she 
 could not see him the rest were to her as if they 
 were not. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 OF THE Way OF SORROWFUL TRIUMPH 
 
 OF what went on inside there we knew nothing till 
 long afterwards, when Longinus, the centurion, 
 told it all to John. 
 
 He told him then with sorrow—for he had by 
 that time come to the truth—how they mocked 
 and maltreated their prisoner. How they set 
 him on a stool for a throne, and twisted a thorn- 
 branch into a crown, and gave him a wand for a 
 sceptre—and then how they scourged him with a 
 leather whip, every thong of which was fanged 
 with iron nails or splinters of bone. 
 
 And he told John also that his bearing under it 
 all—his calm dignity, though he was bruised and 
 battered almost to pieces; his patient fortitude 
 when the lash tore pieces out of his flesh; his 
 meekness as they mocked him; and, more than 
 all, the wonder of his anguished eyes, bloodshot 
 with suffering but all unconquerable—it was too 
 much for them. 
 
 They were rough and hard and brutal, but they 
 could tell a man when they found one. And they 
 desisted at last because this man was too much 
 for them. 
 
 213 
 
214 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “But,” said Longinus, the centurion, to John, 
 “it was months before I got rid of the look of 
 those eyes of his. Wherever I looked they looked 
 back at me. And when I close my eyes now I can 
 see them still.”’ 
 
 We waited long under the burning sun, know- 
 ing nothing of what was going on inside there. But, 
 after a very long time, the soldiers came out again, 
 and we saw Jesus among them, and two others 
 with him. And then, after another wait, we saw 
 them all move away. The crowd surged after 
 them. We did not know where they were going. 
 
 They went up the street that led to the Damas- 
 cus Gate, and we perforce went with them. And 
 the crowd was very silent now, except some ribald 
 ones whose shouts we could hear in the distance 
 in front. ‘They were probably the hirelings of the 
 High Priest—the ones who had made all the noise 
 in the Courtyard. 
 
 When we had got through the gate the crowd 
 spread out and we were able to get along faster. 
 
 The soldiers on ahead kept stopping, and 
 before long we caught up with them, and could 
 see Jesus staggering along under a great beam of 
 wood. Zerah’s arm shuddered inside mine as she 
 saw it, till it set me shaking too, like one with the 
 palsy. 7 
 
 Suddenly she snatched my water-bottle and 
 darted in among the soldiers. 
 
 Jesus had fallen again and lay with his face on 
 the ground. A venomous little Jew, with a most 
 evil face, ran up and began striking him with a 
 
WAY OF SORROWFUL TRIUMPH 215 
 
 stick, till one of the soldiers drove him off with 
 the butt of his spear. 
 
 They lifted Jesus up and held the beam off 
 him for a moment. His face was covered with 
 blood and dust, plastered to it by the sweat that 
 streamed from him. The blood was still trickling 
 from the mock crown on his head. 
 
 Zerah ran in, pulling off her veil. She sluiced 
 it with water, and wiped the blood and mud off 
 his eyes and face. 
 
 In the depth of his woe he knew it to be the 
 act of a friend, and a faint smile of gratitude 
 hovered on his lips. 
 
 When he could open his eyes properly, and saw 
 hers, streaming with love and pity, so close to him, 
 his face lighted for a moment with such a look of 
 glad surprise and undying love that even the rough 
 soldiers regarded them with wonder. 
 
 When he was speaking of it all with John, long 
 afterwards, Longinus said: 
 
 “We took her for a spirit come to comfort 
 him.” 
 
 And that was what she seemed to many that 
 day. With her long black hair falling about her, 
 and her sweet high face filled with tenderest com- 
 passion and untellable love, and in her all the grace 
 of perfect womanhood — yes, it was not surpris- 
 ing that they took her for an angel from heaven 
 come to comfort him. 
 
 But their duty had to be done — even though 
 some of them were beginning to feel a distaste 
 for it. 
 
216 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Longinus put her aside, not ungently, and look- 
 ing about him called a man out of the crowd and 
 bade him carry the beam, and he did it willingly. 
 May the blessing of God rest on him! 
 
 Zerah dropped back into the crowd which 
 opened for her to pass. Then she put on her veil 
 and drew it close, and we all moved on again. She 
 was sobbing as if her heart would break. I was in 
 great fear for her, but she would go on. 
 
 The soldiers stopped at a great mound, almost 
 a hill, which stands between the road to Samaria, 
 by which we had come into the City the previous 
 day, and the road which leads to Jericho. 
 
 The crowd gathered round them, but not very 
 close. Zerah sank down by the roadside and 
 bowed her head between her arms in an agony of 
 grief. 
 
 Then after a time we heard the dull blows of 
 the hammers, and she shuddered and writhed. 
 
 But I could not look any more than she could. 
 I bowed my head and waited. For him they were 
 doing to death there was fear to the very marrow 
 of our hearts, and every blow was as the stroke of 
 death to us ourselves. 
 
 At last from the crowd came a sound like a deep 
 “‘Oo-00-ooch”” — and we knew that the sufferers 
 were on their crosses. 
 
 One wild glance Zerah gave at them and then 
 flung herself down, sobbing as if her heart were 
 broken—great sobs that shook her whole body. 
 
 John crouched by us. He had kept close to us 
 all through, saying nothing, but watching every- 
 
WAY OF SORROWFUL TRIUMPH 217 
 
 thing. Like the rest of us he was confused and 
 confounded by it all. We could none of us under- 
 stand. It seemed the end of all things. It seemed 
 impossible. Yet there was the cross and our best- 
 beloved was on it. 
 
 The crowd began to thin, for from behind the 
 mountains great black clouds came rolling up, and 
 it looked like being a storm. 
 
 Round the crosses, some of the High Priest’s 
 rufians hung about jeering and mocking. They 
 looked ready to stone Jesus as he hung there help- 
 less, but the soldiers kept them at a distance. 
 
 Some of the other lookers-on joined in their 
 jeers, but by degrees they fell away and few 
 remained but those who loved him. 
 
 We heard him cry out more than once in his 
 agony. And each time Zerah quivered as at a 
 blow. And I prayed that he might go quickly. 
 For at times the end is long of coming, on the 
 cross — as long as several days indeed, and the 
 anguish of it no living man may know. 
 
 Then suddenly, not far from us, I saw a group 
 of women, bowed with sorrow like ourselves. And 
 I saw that it was Mary, his mother, though her 
 sweet face was so ravaged with her grief that I 
 hardly knew her. And with her were her sister, 
 Clopas’s Mary, and some others. They were all 
 weeping bitterly, all broken with their misery 
 and despair. 
 
 We heard Jesus cry “Eloi! Eloi!” and Zerah 
 shuddered again, for his voice told all his suffering. 
 But my mind flew back to him as a boy standing 
 
218 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 slim and beautiful on our hill-top, in the dawn and 
 in the storm, with his arms flung up as he cried 
 “Eloi! Eloi!” and felt God there. 
 
 The sky had grown as black as pitch. A jagged 
 flash of lightning seemed to rip the very heaven 
 above us in twain, and the thunder-clap that came 
 at the same moment was so close and so terrific 
 that it beat the breath out of us. 
 
 We lay cowering, while above us, and over the 
 City, the lightning shot and stabbed venomously, 
 and the thunder crashed and rattled as if it would 
 shake it to pieces. 
 
 Many, I am sure, that day thought it was the 
 anger of God for the deed that had been done. 
 
 We dared not move. And as we lay there, 
 pressed to the earth, with death crashing all about 
 us, and the fear of it in most of our hearts, there 
 came a sudden lull in the storm, and that strange 
 silence was more awful than the terror before 
 had been. 
 
 But as we lay, in great fear and misery, there 
 came a cry from the cross—a strange, loud, 
 triumphant cry, “‘It is finished... Father, receive 
 my spirit!” 
 
 Clear, on that great silence, it came to us. 
 Clear it seemed to ring out over the darkened 
 City, and out and on over all the earth. And so it 
 has rung in my ears ever since, and does se to 
 this day. 
 
 “He is dead,”’ whispered John. 
 
 “Thank God!’ I said, thinking only that his 
 
 suffering was ended. 
 
WAY OF SORROWFUL TRIUMPH 219 
 
 We waited still. We waited long. But though 
 the other two writhed miserably on their crosses, 
 Jesus moved no more. And our sick hearts found 
 a little comfort in the certainty that he suffered 
 no longer. 
 
 “Take me home, Azor,” said Zerah at last. 
 “T am spent —and indeed she looked it — her 
 face white and set like a piece of ivory, her great 
 dark eyes lustreless, lost in hollow pools of misery 
 and pain. 
 
 “To our house,”’ said John. ““My mother would 
 wish it so. She has never ceased to chide herself 
 for not being able to take you in yesterday.” 
 
 “Yesterday?” said Zerah confusedly. 
 
 And to me also it seemed impossible. Was it 
 only yesterday that we trod this same road and 
 passed under that same gate into the City? 
 
 Only yesterday? ... We had lived a life-time 
 since yesterday—a life-time—and a death-time! 
 And out of our lives had gone what life could 
 never give us back if we lived to be as old as the 
 ancients. We felt old and worn and bereft — as 
 Zerah said—spent. 
 
 It was dark as night still as we went slowly and 
 heavily back into the City. And there the narrow 
 streets were like tombs, and those who passed 
 were like spirits come out of them. 
 
 Mary welcomed us contritely, though there was 
 no reason for her feeling so. 
 
 When she heard that Jesus was dead she 
 drew her veil over her face and gave way to her 
 crief, 
 
220 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 John would have had us eat, but Zerah shook 
 her head. 
 
 ‘All I want is to sleep, John,” she said wearily 
 —and to herself—‘to sleep ... and sleep... 
 and never to awake!” and he took her away to 
 the guest-chamber. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 Or THE BARING OF ZERAH’S HEART 
 
 From the time she lay down, and all through the 
 following day, which was the Sabbath, Zerah slept 
 like one dead, and Mary was growing desperately 
 anxious about her. 
 
 She had had nothing to eat for over forty hours. 
 We began to fear she would slip away from us 
 in her sleep, as she herself, I knew, would wish. 
 Still, unless she died for lack of food, sleep was 
 the very best thing for her. Body, mind, and 
 soul, she had been tried beyond endurance, and 
 spent energies crave above all things rest and 
 time for recovery. 
 
 Several times during that long day, Mary, in 
 her anxiety about her, drew me into the room to 
 reassure herself that she was still alive. And, but 
 for the slow and hardly-to-be-discerned movement 
 of her breathing, we might indeed have thought 
 her dead. 
 
 She lay like a beautiful marble statue. The 
 pain and sorrow had left her face, and it was as 
 it used to be, calm and sweet and wondrous fair 
 to look upon. 
 
 It was close on sunset when, as we stood watch- 
 221 
 
222 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 ing her, her eyelids fluttered and her large dark 
 eyes looked wonderingly up at us. Then she 
 sat up, still staring at us, and asked eagerly, 
 Where is he?” 
 
 “Who, Zerah?” 
 
 ‘‘Jesus’’—and she seemed surprised at my ask- 
 ing such a question. 
 
 “Jesus...” I faltered, taken all aback. 
 
 “Yes” — with a small, provoked knitting of the 
 brow at my stupidity. 
 
 “He has been here,” she said, insistently. 
 “Where is he gone?” 
 
 but)... Zerah toe! you-know.. 7 ournteiend 
 has... gone from us i" 
 
 “Gone?” — she drew her hand across her 
 brow, slowly and thoughtfully. “Ah... I 
 remember.... But he is not dead, as you think, 
 Azor a 
 
 And I feared for her reason. But her eyes were 
 quite steady, and clear and bright as ever, and in 
 them were the little shining stars, like those that 
 were always in the eyes of him we loved. 
 
 “IT am very hungry,” she said. “Will you get 
 me to eat, Mary, dear?” and Mary, who had 
 stood wondering, hasted to get her food. 
 
 ‘‘And when we have eaten, Azor, I want to go 
 home to Nazaret,” said Zerah, while she was 
 away. 
 
 ‘“But—can you, Zerah?—Are you fit for the 
 journey yet?” 
 
 “Fit for it?—Why not?” she asked in surprise. 
 “T came all right, did I not?” 
 
 
 
 
 
THE BARING OF ZERAHA’S HEART 223 
 
 peiesetrulyssyoucamesanericnt.), | Dutiy i. we 
 have been sorely tried since then.” 
 
 “When I have eaten I shall be ready.... We 
 shall walk better under the moon than under the 
 sun, and I would be out of Jerusalem. ... It 
 was cruel to my Beloved.... We could get as 
 far as Beth-El and pass the Sabbath there.” 
 
 “But this is the Sabbath.” 
 
 *“This—is—the—Sabbath?” she gazed at me 
 doubtfully. 
 
 “You slept all through the night and all 
 through the day.” 
 
 “Ah!” she said, wonderingly. ‘Then that is 
 why I am so hungry, and why I feel so ready to 
 walk now.... Then the Sabbath is over and we 
 can go.” 
 
 Mary came in with food for her, and she ate 
 hungrily. 
 
 But when I told her of Zerah’s wish to start 
 for home at once, she was very much against it. 
 She spoke of robbers and other wild beasts that 
 prowled by night, but it was all of no avail. 
 Zerah was set on getting home and she made light 
 of Mary’s fears. 
 
 ‘“‘No robbers would look twice at us,” she said, 
 ‘‘and as to wild beasts we will not fear them.” 
 
 She was set on it, and so when we had both 
 eaten we bade Mary farewell, and John came a 
 little of the way with us. 
 
 As we issued from the City gate our eyes fell at 
 once on the mound beyond, on which the crosses 
 stood. 
 
224 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 Zerah stopped and gazed at them with wide, 
 wondering eyes. 
 
 ‘They have taken him away,” she said softly. 
 “Oh, I wonder where they have laid him!”— 
 and she hesitated as though she would fain turn 
 and make enquiry. But, after stopping so for a — 
 moment, she fell on her knees, and then rose and 
 went on. 
 
 When it came time for John to turn back he 
 was very loth to go. 
 
 “T would I were going with you to Nazaret,” 
 he said wistfully. “I never did like Jerusalem, 
 but now I hate it. . . 2” 
 
 “I know,” said Zerah softly, in a voice that 
 shew she understood. “But you and your mother 
 will soon be coming up to us, John sy 
 
 ‘Nothing will ever be quite the same,” he said 
 dolefully. 
 
 “No,” she said, very gently. ‘‘Nothing will 
 ever be quite the same again—not quite the same. 
 ... The sun has gone down but he will rise again. 
 And we can walk by the light of the moon. ... 
 and the stars. . .—and perhaps she was thinking, 
 as it made me think, of the stars that shone always 
 in the eyes of our beloved. 
 
 And when we had insisted on him going no 
 further, and had bidden him farewell, we walked 
 on along the road that wound among the rough 
 brown hills and climbed steadily towards Beth-El. 
 
 It was then, as we walked side by side under the 
 white Paschal moon, that she bared her soul to me. 
 
 I had always loved her—as I have told before— 
 
 ’ 
 
 
 
THE BARING OF ZERAH’S HEART 225. 
 
 with a love which held her in highest reverence— 
 as one apart, above, almost as one who belonged 
 of right to another world. It was quite different 
 from my love for Zoe, who filled my heart com- 
 pletely and yet left room in it for this pure adora- 
 tion of her sister. 
 
 I worshipped her and she knew it, and blessed 
 me with a very warm affection in return. 
 
 And, after what we had gone through together, 
 it was natural that she should open her heart and 
 speak freely to the one in the whole world who 
 could best understand and enter wholeheartedly 
 into all her feelings in the matter. 
 
 ‘“‘Azor, my brother,” she said softly, as we 
 walked along our shadows in the bright moonlight, 
 “vou believed my mind was wandering when I said 
 Jesus had been there while I slept.” 
 
 mevieseZ eran... | 
 
 “Perhaps it was a dream,” she said. “But to 
 me it was very real. He stood by my bedside, and 
 said, ‘I am not dead, beloved. Go home to 
 Nazaret and wait there till I come.’ ” 
 
 “Tt has made you happier even to dream it.” 
 
 “If it was a dream!’’—and then she spoke 
 strange sweet things, as a prophetess of old might 
 have done—things that at that time were a little 
 beyond me. 
 
 ‘They think they have killed him on the cross, 
 Azor. But you can’t kill Love even on a cross. 
 
 Andmhewmwastelovelpe-as bleu was uibhe 
 Very Love of God. Love never dies and so he 
 is not dead.... The—Very—Love—of—God! 
 
226 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 : How — I cannot tell you, because you and 
 I are only human. Our minds are not able to 
 comprehend it, but at times in our souls we may 
 get glimpses of it. And sometime we shall under- 
 stand it all.” | 
 
 She was silent for a time and we pressed 
 steadily on. 
 
 Then she began again abruptly—‘‘It was that 
 night he and I went up the hill together . . . you 
 remember ?” 
 
 Ses a 
 
 “I knew that he loved me. A woman always 
 knows. And for me—I loved him with my whole 
 heart and soul, and I longed to let him know it. 
 
 ‘We went up hand in hand, and the great love 
 in his heart pulsed through from his soul to mine 
 and from mine to his. We did not speak one word 
 all the way up. Words are but poor things when 
 soul can speak to soul without them. 
 
 ‘He led me to his favorite place, and we sat 
 looking out over the great plain all white in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 ‘And then, after a time, he said, ‘Zerah, 
 beloved, you know that I love you. I love you 
 as, of a surety, man never before loved woman,’— 
 and my heart sang for joy, and I needs must show 
 it. But when I would have put my arms round 
 his neck and drawn him to me, he gently restrained 
 me. 
 
 “And then, very lovingly and tenderly, he told 
 me about himself—how that, ever since he grew 
 out of childhood and was able to think things out 
 
BHE BARING OF ZERAH'S HEART, |.227 
 
 for himself—and he spoke very gladly and grate- 
 fully of all that his father, Joseph, had been to 
 him—and had done for him,—all that time there 
 had been growing in him a feeling which became 
 a certainty, that God wanted him for some very 
 special work—and wanted him wholly. 
 
 ‘Whatever it was, that work was to be supreme 
 in his life. It was to be his life-work. He did 
 not yet know fully what it was, except that it was 
 to be for the good of his fellows, but God had 
 chosen him for it and he had answered the call. 
 
 “There was no shadow of doubt in his heart 
 and mind about it. He knew it meant sacrifice. 
 It might mean the sacrifice of everything—of life 
 itself. And he was prepared for that — every- 
 thing—to the uttermost—and beyond. He had 
 given himself wholly to whatever God might ask 
 of him. 
 
 ‘‘And with deep reverence he told me how God 
 had communed with him there, on that hill-top— 
 not once, but many times — and had instructed 
 him as to the work He would have him do, and 
 how to set about it. 
 
 ‘He said the sin and sorrow and suffering of 
 the world lay heavy on God’s heart. For it was 
 His world and He felt as a father towards it. 
 
 “But it had wandered away from Him and He 
 longed for it back. And it was to be Jesus’s work 
 to call it back and show it the way. 
 
 “God gave him wonderful powers — we know 
 that, Azor, for we have seen him use them—and 
 always for other people’s good. 
 
228 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 ‘And God told him that he was His own Son— 
 
 His dear and only Son—and that all power was to 
 be his—all power on earth and in heaven.” 
 
 For the first time since she began, I spoke. 
 
 “Zerah, dear,” I said, “it is very wonderful, 
 but I don’t think I can understand it. I know he 
 himself ‘told us something like that, but. . .” 
 
 “It is beyond our understanding, Azor. .. . 
 But you have known him—better than most, and 
 you would believe anything he told you.” 
 
 “Everything,” I said earnestly. 
 
 ‘And so you will believe this of him, even as 
 idook 
 
 We paced along in silence again — she, full of 
 her gracious memories—I, pondering deeply, but 
 very confusedly, all she had said. For, as I had 
 told her, it was all far beyond me, and I felt like 
 a man groping blindly in a morning mist, when 
 the unseen sun up above fills it with a light that 
 makes one’s head spin. 
 
 ‘He told me,” she began again after a time, 
 “that his heart had gone out to me that very 
 first day when he came down the hill to welcome 
 us after our journey... . 
 
 ‘And how he had fought against it, as God’s 
 call grew clearer and clearer to him. 
 
 “ ‘Beloved,’ he said to me, ‘you will never 
 know what I have suffered for your dear 
 sak exit tan 
 
 “But,” she broke out eagerly again, “Azor— 
 that other day when he hung there on the cross, 
 I came to understand a little of what one may 
 
THE BARING OF ZERAH’S HEART. 229 
 
 suffer for love’s sake. My heart was with him 
 there, crucified with him there. When at last it 
 broke I learned a little of what he had suffered 
 for me. I began to understand.... Love is 
 greater than Life or Death and nothing can kill 
 iteeeeeeeNOthina, «048 Nothing’... >) Nothing!” 
 
 And presently she began again where she had 
 broken off. ‘‘He said, ‘Beloved, I loved you 
 with my whole being. But my Father’s will had 
 to be supreme, and for long I strove to reconcile 
 my love and longing for you with my love and 
 duty to Him. I have lain whole nights before 
 Him up here, pleading with Him in agony, for 
 you had become a very part of my heart and my 
 life; to give you up felt like tearing my heart to 
 pieces.’ 
 
 “But, very lovingly and tenderly, He showed 
 me that it could not be. He had told me from 
 the first that His Way meant sacrifice. He 
 showed me that if I was to help Him to save the 
 world I must be ready to give up everything... 
 everything. 
 
 “But He showed me, too, that in the end the 
 joy would exceed the pain— that the saving of 
 the world was greater than anything and every- 
 thing in the world — was greater than the world 
 itself. ‘He was very gentle with me,’ he said. 
 ‘Very tender and long-suffering. For He is Love, 
 and He understands.’ | 
 
 “My heart was very sore. It yearned and bled 
 for him; but I saw, though only dimly then, 
 through the pain of it, that what I had hoped 
 
230 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 for us could never be. I felt all the glory and the 
 joy of his love—and—ah me!—all the pain! 
 
 “I prayed to God to help me to bear it, and 
 I felt uplifted beyond earth and all mortal desires. 
 
 Nay, not all. For still I was a woman and 
 it was as a woman that I loved him, — beyond 
 myself and every earthly thing. 
 
 “I said to him, ‘I love you, heart and soul and 
 body. I will try to understand. Kiss me once, 
 Beloved — my life, my soul —as a bridegroom 
 kisses his bride, and it shall suffice me!’ 
 
 “He gazed at me, Azor, with all the love of 
 his great heart in his eyes. He bent towards me. 
 And, knowing now what I did, I came nigh to 
 swooning with the thought of it all. 
 
 “I closed my eyes to receive that last kiss 
 which was to be the crown and consecration of 
 our love, and my whole being went out to 
 Meet tae 
 
 “But it did not come, and when at last I 
 looked up at him his face was grey and tight 
 with pain, and he was no longer gazing at me 
 but up into the sky as if he communed with some 
 one there. 
 
 ‘‘And then—abruptly, but oh so gently—he put 
 me from him, and I sank down in a heap, feeling 
 like to die and very wishful to. 
 
 “He placed his hands on my head and very 
 tenderly begged God’s blessing and comfort for 
 me... and I felt new strength and grace flow 
 into me at his touch. 
 
 ‘Then he turned and passed out of my sight 
 
THE BARING OF ZERAH’S HEART 231 
 
 into the darkness of the trees. And when I was 
 myself again I went down home alone. My heart 
 was very sore and yet I felt within me a joy no 
 words can tell.” 
 
 “Alone! Alone!’ she said, half to herself. 
 “But never alone again. For his love has always 
 been warm about me and always will be.... 
 always! .... always!” 
 
 I told her how I had gone up the hill next day 
 at noon, when his mother grew anxious about 
 him. And how I had found him lying there 
 prone, with his head sunk down between his arms 
 as though he had spent himself in prayer and 
 fallen asleep praying. And how, when at last he 
 woke up, he raised his arms again, and cried 
 “Eloi! Eloi!” 
 
 “As he did on the cross,” she said quickly. 
 
 AS yhe did*on the cross: He cried to his 
 Father.” 
 
 And in the light of all she had told me I knew 
 now that he had fought a great battle with himself 
 that night up there — such a fight as mortal man 
 had never known, and had won it. But he had 
 suffered — oh, he had suffered. I had seen that 
 at the time. 
 
 We had both of us much to think of, and we 
 went on in silence till we came to the little inn at 
 Beth-El, where we were to lodge for the night. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 OF THE WONDERFUL VISIT 
 
 I pip not sleep much that night, for my mind was 
 over-full with all that Zerah had spoken of. I 
 was like a man after too big a meal. It needed 
 time to digest. 
 
 We were early on the road. ‘As we started, the 
 sun looked silently, wonderingly, over the moun- 
 tains of Ammon, as though doubtful of what he 
 might see after that dread yesterday. Then, as 
 though satisfied, he soared up boldly and joyously 
 and climbed the thin blue sky. 
 
 The hills of Ephraim on our left shone golden 
 for a space, and far away on the right the peak of 
 Nebo showed still his shadowed side. The air 
 was sweet and crisp, but very still. 
 
 I was, I suppose, over-wrought by all that had 
 happened, and strung tense. For indeed it 
 seemed to me that that great stillness was full of 
 expectation as though the very earth were 
 holding its breath for something to happen. 
 And Zerah, I think, felt it too, for she kept look- 
 ing earnestly about her and above her with wide, 
 wondering eyes. But her one desire seemed to 
 be to get home without a moment’s loss of time 
 
 232 
 
OF THE WONDERFUL VISIT 233 
 
 and we walked quickly, and for a time in a silence 
 in keeping with all about us. 
 
 But at last I had to try to get some more light 
 on the thoughts which were churning in my mind. 
 And so instant were they to me that I spoke as 
 though no night had interrupted our previous talk. 
 
 “Zerah,” I said, “who then do you really believe 
 Jesus to be?” 
 
 And instantly she answered, ‘The Son of the 
 Most High—His Best Beloved—His Only One! 
 ... Did he not tell us so himself that day on 
 the hill by Gilboa?” 
 
 Bae In knowsene ee bute aut ishbeyond: me. 
 I cannot comprehend it,” I said dazedly, for by 
 the way she said it I saw that she herself believed 
 it beyond all doubt. ‘You see, I cannot forget 
 that he worked with me at the bench a 
 
 “Never forget that, Azor. It shall come to be 
 your greatest glory,” she said vehemently. 
 
 “Do you understand it all yourself?” I 
 persisted. 
 
 “No. But I believe him because he told me 
 himself — and I love him. ‘That is better even 
 than understanding. Who am I that I should 
 understand God and His wonderful ways?” 
 
 We walked for a time in silence and then I 
 asked again: 
 
 “T am stupid, I know, Zerah. Perhaps it is 
 because I couldn’t sleep all night for thinking of 
 it all. But... if he died on the cross, how can 
 he help to save the world and do all that God 
 wanted him to do?” 
 
 
 
234 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 “It was only his body they could crucify,” she 
 said earnestly. ‘‘He himself—all that was really 
 him, and all that he means—is alive still. I am 
 sure of it. I knowit. I feel it. And he will go 
 on doing the work God gave him to do till it is 
 all completed.” 
 
 I could only shake my head uncomprehendingly. 
 She took it for doubt or disbelief. 
 
 “You do not doubt his own word, Azor?” she 
 asked sharply. 
 
 “Tt is not that—only I can’t understand it.” 
 
 “Some day we shall understand. But it may 
 not be in this life. Until then, trust his word as 
 Tydovy 
 
 And presently she broke out again, in that 
 strange uplifted way of hers which always made 
 me think of the prophetesses of old, “Don’t you 
 see how wonderful it all is, Azor? Why, it is the 
 most wonderful thing that has happened since the 
 world was made.... 
 
 “What is, Zerah?” I asked, much mystified, 
 for she sometimes just spoke aloud the thoughts 
 that were running in her head, and it was not 
 always easy to follow her. 
 
 “Fis dying like that—on the cross. Think of 
 it! God’s own Son giving up everything he 
 could give—his own life—in trying to turn the 
 world from its evil ways —the world that God 
 Himself made. . . . God’s Son crucified by 
 . God’s own creatures! ... It’s almost unthink- 
 able!” 
 
 “But,” I said, “I still don’t see how his being 
 
OF THE WONDERFUL VISIT 235 
 
 crucified is going to turn the world from its evil 
 ways.” 
 
 ‘People will never forget it—or him. Never! 
 It will grow and grow upon them—all his good- 
 ness and all he did for them; and then —the 
 cross! ... No, they cannot ever forget him, no 
 matter how they try to.” 
 
 I shook my head still. The eyes of my under- 
 standing were not yet open even as much as hers 
 were. Once again I said, “It is all very wonderful. 
 But I cannot understand it yet.” 
 
 “It’s beyond us. But I feel it though I can’t 
 understand it... . And then, following out 
 her own deep thoughts again, “The Law says 
 that by the shedding of blood comes atonement 
 and remission of sin.... Like the goat in the 
 wilderness when Aaron laid on him the sins of the 
 people.... He was like that ...’’ and she went 
 silent again, but her face was full of light. 
 
 It was towards nightfall when we drew near 
 that crucifix of Bargas, thief and murderer, in the 
 neighbourhood of Jacob’s Well. Gerizim rose 
 darkly between us and the yellow evening sky. 
 The top of Ebal still caught the rays of the set- 
 ting sun, but the shadows were chasing them swiftly 
 upwards. The cross stood grim and stark, and I 
 feared the sight of it would recall her sorrow. 
 
 But, to my exceeding surprise, she stood quietly 
 and gazed at it, and then fell on her knees. 
 
 And when she rose, she said quietly: 
 
 “Never again will I despise a cross, for it will 
 always remind me of my Beloved. And on every 
 
236 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 cross I shall see only him.... Oh, my dear one! 
 my dear one!’’ and we went in silence. 
 
 We reached home on the evening of the third 
 day, and received a thankful welcome from Zoe 
 and the boys and my mother. 
 
 They were shocked and saddened by our telling 
 of all that had happened, and we were a very 
 silent family that night. 
 
 But both Zoe and my mother, I could see, were 
 quietly amazed at Zerah’s bearing. 
 
 “What is it, Azor?’” asked Zoe, when we were 
 alone. together? Does yshe not! stecleitaaee 
 should have thought it would have broken her 
 hearts 
 
 And I tried my best to explain what was in 
 Zerah, but made but a poor hand at it, and Zoe 
 still wondered greatly. 
 
 Zerah took up her household duties next day 
 as bravely as ever, and I set to work on some jobs 
 that awaited me. My mind and heart were very 
 full and still very dazed, but the handling of my 
 tools again was a great help to me and tended to 
 settle my thoughts. 
 
 In the evening we were all sitting in the work- 
 shop as the sun went down, when Zerah quietly 
 laid aside her distaff and spindle and went out, and 
 we saw her going quickly up the hill. 
 
 “Now where is she going?” said Zoe, jumping 
 up as though she would call to her or run after her. 
 
 “Tet her alone, Zoe,” I said. “She understands 
 more of it all than we do. It will be good for her 
 to be up there.”’ 
 
OF THE WONDERFUL VISIT 237 
 
 And we sat on in the fading light, and I told 
 them more of what we had seen in Jerusalem. 
 My mother asked earnestly if we had seen Jesus’s 
 mother, and was very sorrowful as I told them 
 about her. 
 
 And then... it had grown almost dark... . 
 I scarce know how to tell it, and even now I 
 would not venture, but, that others, whose word 
 weighs more than mine, had the same experi 
 eNCGne rete 
 
 In the strange half-light we saw Zerah coming 
 down the hill again, and one with her. And, 
 trotting by their side with quick, loving, up-glances, 
 was a little brown dog whom I had loved but had 
 never expected to see again. 
 
 And when they drew near, Zoe jumped up with 
 a wild look at me and whispered: 
 
 “Tt is Jesus! And you said he was dead!” 
 
 I could not speak. I stood as one bereft. 
 
 They came in to us and he sat down just where 
 he used to sit, by the bench. And Tobias, after 
 a friendly word with each of us, to which we were 
 too amazed to respond properly, immediately 
 set himself to the discovery of his old friend the 
 mouse; but, though he nosed and rooted with 
 creat energy, he did not succeed in finding 
 him. 
 
 And Jesus talked with us quietly and happily, 
 but he did not touch any of us. That was the 
 only thing that made it different from the many 
 times he had sat there before. Azor and Zadok 
 were with us and gazed at him wonderingly. In 
 
238 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 the former times he would have had one on each 
 knee and their arms about his neck. 
 
 No, I cannot tell you much of what he said to 
 us, for I was quite dazed and my wits were more 
 astray than ever.: 
 
 But I know that when he came in he said gently, 
 ‘Peace be with you all!” and he bade us not be 
 afraid, for it was he himself. And when my eyes 
 strayed instinctively to his hands and his feet I 
 knew that it really was so. But he knew my 
 thought and said, with his own sweet smile, “Yes, 
 Azor—but Zerah did not need to look at them!” 
 and he looked lovingly at her, and she at him with 
 worshipful adoration. 
 
 {hen he asked my mother for one of her cakes, 
 and tremblingly she went into the house and 
 brought him one. And he broke it, saying, 
 “In the breaking of bread give thanks and hold 
 me always in remembrance!”’ and he gave to each 
 of us, and ate of it himself, and gave a little bit to 
 ‘Tobias. 
 
 And as I gazed at him in very great amazement, 
 he knew again all that was whirling in my head, 
 and he said—‘‘Not yet can you understand, my 
 Azor’—and oh how my heart leaped at the old 
 friendly words—‘‘Accept me in faith. And believe 
 —as Zerah does!” 
 
 And he said, “‘And this is what I would have 
 you believe—that I am Love—the Love that is 
 God. For this I came—to bring to the world 
 His Spirit of Love and Peace and Truth. And 
 
 that I leave with you that you and all men may 
 
OF THE WONDERFUL VISIT 239 
 
 be one with Us—My Father ... Your Father! 
 : The misguided ones could kill my body, 
 but they could not kill God’s Love .. . Love God 
 and serve Him! Love your neighbour and 
 serve him! Think as you know I would have you 
 think! And in all things try to do as I wouid 
 
 have you do! ... And may the blessing of 
 The Most High be upon you all, now and 
 always!” 
 
 He sat for a while among us, and there were 
 other things he said. But those are the ones I 
 recall. And, indeed, I wonder that I can recall 
 anything at all, seeing the state of mind I was in. 
 
 Then, raising his hands in benediction, he looked 
 lovingly upon us with the star-shine in his eyes. 
 And oh, the wonder of him!—so calm and sweet 
 and lofty—so graciously dignified! 
 
 My mind flew back to him as we had seen him 
 last — staggering under his beam, blinded with 
 sweat and dust and blood, drooping broken on his 
 cross. And now ! 
 
 A great calm fell on my heart—a great peace 
 and assurance. For here he stood before us— 
 Conqueror !—Supreme !—and yet our best beloved 
 friend and brother! 
 
 Then he went quietly out of the door towards 
 the hill. But when we looked to see him and his 
 little friend on the path which led upwards, they 
 came not, and we saw them no more. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 Or THE LoncG Days SINCE 
 
 JOHN and his mother, Mary, arrived a week later, 
 and they were bursting with their wonderful news. 
 They could not get past our house to go to their 
 own, but came in and sat and poured it all out 
 for a full hour. 
 
 “Jesus is not dead,” said John excitedly, 
 “though we saw him die on the cross; and 
 Longinus is certain he was dead; and old Joseph 
 of Arimathea, who lives near us, buried him in his 
 new tomb in his garden; and they sealed it and 
 set a guard over it. And the soldiers never slept, 
 though Caiaphas has given them money to say 
 they did and that Jesus’s followers stole his body 
 —Roman soldiers and Longinus in charge of 
 them !—Think of it! 
 
 ‘‘Longinus says that while they watched — it 
 was early Sunday morning—the earth shook, and 
 the great stone in front of the tomb rolled heavily 
 back, breaking all the seals; and a flaming white 
 spirit sat on the stone, and they were frightened 
 almost out of their senses. They stood and watched 
 but dared not go near. 
 
 “Then Jesus’s Mother, Joseph’s Mary, and the 
 
 240 
 
OF THE LONG DAYS SINCE 241 
 
 other women came with spices to lay upon his 
 body, and the angel told them he was not there, 
 and that they were to go and tell Peter and the 
 others—that’s Simon, you know. But they call 
 him Peter now. And Peter came running, and 
 he found it was all true, though he hadn't 
 believed it. 
 
 “And afterwards all Jesus’s followers gathered 
 in that upper room in our house, where they supped 
 with him that other night—all except one.” ... 
 And he hesitated a moment as though to say more 
 about that, and then went on, “‘And they locked 
 the door for fear of Caiaphas and his people. 
 But, although the door was locked, Jesus came in 
 among them and talked with them. 
 
 “Peter himself told me all about it. I like 
 Peter. And many others have seen Jesus and 
 talked with Him. It’s almost past believing. What 
 do you make of it, Azor?” 
 
 ‘“FTe has been here too, John.” 
 
 “Tesus—Here ?—How ?—When.” 
 
 We told them, and what Jesus had said to us; 
 and he and his mother were stricken silent and 
 could only stare dumbly at us. 
 
 “But what does it all mean, Azor?” asked 
 John’s mother tremulously, when she found her 
 speech again. 
 
 “Tt means that Jesus, who worked with me at 
 this bench, and was so dear a friend to us all, is 
 in very truth the Son of the Most High — the 
 Eternal—the Son of God.” 
 
 “The Son of God!” and she gazed at me 
 
242 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 dazedly. ““The=—Son—of—God!) sNo=eshak. 
 
 ing her head, “I cannot understand it.” 
 
 “It is too wonderful for any of us to under- 
 stand, Mary. But he told us so himself, and we 
 believe it because we know him and love him.” 
 
 “Do you understand it, Zerah?” Mary asked, 
 turning helplessly to her. 
 
 “I don’t understand, Mary, but I know,” said 
 Zerah earnestly. “My heart and my mind and 
 my spirit all tell me it is true. For I have known 
 and loved him, and he told me so himself, and I 
 can trust him.” 
 
 Long afterwards Peter and John — who was 
 then also known as Marcus, or Mark — made a 
 book about Jesus and all they remembered of what 
 he said and did. 
 
 But long before that, and ever since he left us, 
 we treasured every thought of him and talked 
 often of him as we sat in the evening light. And 
 as far as we could we have lived as he told us to 
 do, thinking as we believe he would have thought, 
 and serving our neighbours as he would have us, 
 and so serving God. 
 
 Zerah was very wonderful. She never mourned 
 —as well she might—over the loss of one who 
 had been so dear to her. She went about her work 
 with a face of calm but joyous expectation, as 
 though she might see him again at any moment. 
 And she gave herself without stint to the necessi- 
 ties of all about her. 
 
 There were few in Nazaret, or in all that dis- 
 
OF THE LONG DAYS SINCE 243 
 
 trict, who did not at one time or another rejoice 
 in her service. 
 
 The women got into the way of coming up 
 continually to ask her advice in all their many 
 troubles, or if they could not come themselves 
 sent one of the children to beg her to come to 
 them. She never denied herself to any, and never 
 a house she entered but was instantly the brighter 
 and happier for her presence. 
 
 For the very look of her sweet, loving face drew 
 their hearts to her as the sun draws the flowers. 
 And she straightened out all their troubles, and 
 tended all their needs, with a gentle grace that 
 almost made them feel as if they were doing her 
 a favour by giving her the opportunity of helping 
 them. The sick, the poor, all little children, and 
 all suffering animals appealed to her especially, 
 and none ever lacked aught that she could give. 
 
 And she never seems to grow any older. For 
 the spirit that is in her, and that Joyous expecta- 
 tion of her soul, seem to keep her as young and 
 fair as when she last set eyes on him she loved 
 above herself and all earthly things. 
 
 After his death on the cross we never, save that 
 once, saw our dearly-loved friend again. But we 
 have never felt him lost to us, nor very far away. 
 
 Very often indeed he seems so close to us that 
 we still at times turn to speak to him, and only 
 then come to ourselves and remember. 
 
 But if he is not there in the body we feel him 
 there in the spirit, and spirit speaks to spirit with- 
 out the need of words. 
 
244 THE HIDDEN YEARS 
 
 So we live in the constant hope of seeing him 
 again sometime; if not here then in the larger 
 life to which he has gone on before us. And that 
 feeling has lifted from us entirely all that fear of 
 death which, we know, lies like a heavy weight on 
 some folks all their lives. 
 
 We are contented and happy here. We have 
 perhaps more than most to be thankful for. For 
 we feel assured that when this life ends what 
 comes after will be infinitely better. For there 
 we shall meet again him whom we so much loved, 
 and who so loved us and all his fellows. 
 
 Now, all these things I have set down here that 
 my children, and their children, and their children’s 
 children may know that as a boy and as a man 
 I knew Jesus and loved him as my dearest friend. 
 And that same Jesus, who played with me on the 
 hills, and worked with me in his father’s work- 
 shop at Nazaret, was in truth The Christ, the Son 
 of the Most High God. 
 

 

 
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