Next morning a goodly train set out from the gates of Nathan ben Obed.
It was near the time of the feast of the Passover, and he, with many of
his household, was going down to Jerusalem.
The family and guests went first on mules and asses. Behind them
followed a train of servants, driving the lambs, goats, and oxen to be
offered as sacrifices in the temple, or sold in Jerusalem to other
pilgrims.
All along the highway, workmen were busy repairing the bridges, and
cleaning the springs and wells, soon to be used by the throngs of
travellers.
All the tombs near the great thoroughfares were being freshly
white-washed; they gleamed with a dazzling purity through the green
trees, only to warn passers-by of the defilement within. For had those
on their way to the feast approached too near these homes of the dead,
even unconsciously, they would have been accounted unclean, and unfit
to partake of the Passover. Nothing escaped Joel's quick sight, from the
tulips and marigolds flaming in the fields, to the bright-eyed little
viper crawling along the stone-wall.
But while he looked, he never lost a word that passed between his friend
Phineas and their host. The pride of an ancient nation took possession
of him as he listened to the prophecies they quoted.
Every one they met along the way coming from Capernaum had something to
say about this new prophet who had arisen in Galilee. When they reached
the gate of the city, a great disappointment awaited them. _He had been
there, and gone again._
Nathan ben Obed and his train tarried only one night in the place, and
then pressed on again towards Jerusalem. Phineas went with them.
"You shall go with us next year," he said to Joel; "then you will be
over twelve. I shall take my own little ones too, and their mother."
"Only one more year," exclaimed Joel, joyfully. "If that passes as
quickly as the one just gone, it will soon be here."
"Look after my little family," said the carpenter, at parting. "Come
every day to the work, if you wish, just as when I am here; and
remember, my lad, you are almost a man."
Almost a man! The words rang in the boy's thoughts all day as he pounded
and cut, keeping time to the swinging motion of hammer and saw. Almost a
man! But what kind of one? Crippled and maimed, shorn of the strength
that should have been his pride, beggared of his priestly birthright.
Almost, it might be, but never in its fulness, could he hope to attain
the proud stature of a perfect man.
A fiercer hate sprang up for the enemy who had made him what he was; and
the wild burning for revenge filled him so he could not work. He put
away his tools, and went up the narrow outside stairway that led to the
flat roof of the carpenter's house. It was called the "upper chamber."
Here a latticed pavilion, thickly overgrown with vines, made a cool
green retreat where he might rest and think undisturbed.
Sitting there, he could see the flash of white sails on the blue lake,
and slow-moving masses of fleecy clouds in the blue of the sky above.
They brought before him the picture of the flocks feeding on the
pastures of Nathan ben Obed.
Then, naturally enough, there flashed through his mind a thought of Buz.
He seemed to see him squinting his little eyes to take aim at a leaf
overhead. He heard the stone whirr through it, as Buz said: "I'd blind
him!"
Some very impossible plans crept into Joel's day-dreams just then. He
imagined himself sitting in a high seat, wrapped in robes of state;
soldiers stood around him to carry out his slightest wish. The door
would open and Rehum would be brought forth in fetters.
"What is your will concerning the prisoner, O most gracious sovereign,"
the jailer would ask.
Joel closed his eyes, and waved his hand before an imaginary audience.
"Away with him,--to the torture! Wrench his limbs on the rack! Brand his
eyelids with hot irons! Let him suffer all that man can suffer and live!
Thus shall it be done unto the man on whom the king delighteth to take
vengeance!"
Joel was childish enough to take a real satisfaction in this scene he
conjured up. But as it faded away, he was man enough to realize it could
never come to pass, save in his imagination; he could never be in such a
position for revenge, unless,--
That moment a possible way seemed to open for him. Phineas would
probably see his friend of Nazareth at the Passover. What could be more
natural than that the old friendship should be renewed. He whose hand
had changed the water into wine should finally cast out the alien king
who usurped the throne of Israel, for one in whose veins the blood of
David ran royal red,--what was more to be expected than that?
The Messiah would come to His kingdom, and then--and then--the thought
leaped to its last daring limit.
Phineas, who had been His earliest friend and playfellow, would he not
be lifted to the right hand of power? Through him, then, lay the royal
road to revenge.
The thought lifted him unconsciously to his feet. He stood with his arms
out-stretched in the direction of the far-away Temple, like some young
prophet. David's cry of triumph rose to his lips: "Thou hast girded me
with strength unto the battle," he murmured. "Thou hast also given me
the necks of mine enemies, that I might destroy them that hate me!"
A sweet baby voice at the foot of the steps brought him suddenly down
from the height of his intense feeling.
"Joel! Joel!" called little Ruth, "where is you?"
Then Jesse's voice added, "We're all a-coming up for you to tell us a
story."
Up the stairs they swarmed to the roof, the carpenter's children and
half-a-dozen of their little playmates.
Joel, with his head still in the clouds, told them of a mighty king who
was coming to slay all other kings, and change all tears--the waters of
affliction--into the red wine of joy.
"H'm! I don't think much of that story," said Jesse, with out-spoken
candor. "I'd rather hear about Goliath, or the bears that ate up the
forty children."
But Joel was in no mood for such stories, just then. On some slight
pretext he escaped from his exacting audience, and went down to the
sea-shore. Here, skipping stones across the water, or writing idly in
the sand, he was free to go on with his fascinating day-dreams.
For the next two weeks the boy gave up work entirely. He haunted the
toll-gates and public streets, hoping to hear some startling news from
Jerusalem. He was so full of the thought that some great revolution was
about to take place, that he could not understand how people could be
so indifferent. All on fire with the belief that this man of Nazareth
was the one in whom lay the nation's hope, he looked and longed for the
return of Phineas, that he might learn more of Him.
But Phineas had little to tell when he came back. He had met his friend
twice in Jerusalem,--the same gentle quiet man he had always known,
making no claims, working no wonders. Phineas had heard of His driving
the moneychangers out of the Temple one day, and those who sold doves in
its sacred courts, although he had not witnessed the scene.
The carpenter was rather surprised that He should have made such a
public disturbance.
"Rabbi Phineas," said Joel, with a trembling voice, "don't you think
your friend is the prophet we are expecting?"
Phineas shook his head. "No, my lad, I am sure of it now."
"But the herald angels and the star," insisted the boy.
"They must have proclaimed some one else. He is the best man I ever
knew; but there is no more of the king in His nature, than there is in
mine."
The man's positive answer seemed to shatter Joel's last hope. Downcast
and disappointed, he went back to his work. Only with money could he
accomplish his life's object, and only by incessant work could he earn
the shining shekels that he needed.
Phineas wondered sometimes at the dogged persistence with which the
child stuck to his task, in spite of his tired, aching body.
He had learned to make sandal-wood jewel-boxes, and fancifully wrought
cups to hold the various dyes and cosmetics used by the ladies of the
court.
Several times, during the following months, he begged a sail in some of
the fishing-boats that landed at the town of Tiberias. Having gained the
favor of the keeper of the gates, by various little gifts of his own
manufacture, he always found a ready admittance to the palace.
To the ladies of the court, the sums they paid for his pretty wares
seemed trifling; but to Joel the small bag of coins hidden in the folds
of his clothes was a little fortune, daily growing larger.