THE NEW HOME.
"On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend,
The almost sacred joys of Home depend."
--_Hannah More._
In the quiet valley in Palestine life had been dealing gently with
Nathan and his family. The long, long absence of Manasseh was the one
thing lacking for their perfect contentment.
"It is well," Nathan would say, yet his eyes would turn wistfully
towards the South, as though he half-hoped to see the beloved face of
his son appearing over the hill. The mother grew weary with waiting, yet
she did not murmur, but whispered to her lonely heart, "Living or dead,
it must be well." Only once she said, "Husband, he is surely dead," and
Nathan replied:
"Let us still hope, wife, that we may yet see the goodness of the Lord
in permitting us to behold his face."
So they hoped on, and worked on, amid their orange trees, their corn and
vegetables, and their sheep browsing peacefully on the hills. And Mary
tended the jasmine flowers and rose-bushes at the door, carrying water
to them night and morning, that they might look at their prettiest when
Manasseh came. Only one letter had reached them--a cheery, hopeful
letter,--but it had been a long time on the way, and the events of which
it told had taken place many weeks before it reached the Jordan valley.
It had told them of Yusuf and Amzi, of the little church, of the
sender's strange meeting with Kedar, and the news he had gathered of
Lois. Then it had told of the war, and had closed with an affectionate
farewell, in which the writer expressed his wish, rather than his
expectation, of being able to make his way to the new home soon.
How long it seemed to Mary since that last word had come! And he was not
home yet! She kept the precious manuscript in her bosom, and twenty
times a day she looked down the long valley for the well-known form. One
morning she sat by the river, idly plashing her bare feet in its golden
ripples, and looking at the shadows on the little stones near the shore.
About her gamboled a pet lamb, and above, a soft blue sky was flecked
with fleecy white clouds. She twirled a sprig of blossoms in her hand,
but her thoughts were far away in dear, hot, dusty, dreary Mecca.
"It is not so pleasant as this, though," she thought, "if Manasseh were
only here."
Just then the tinkle of a camel-bell was heard,--a strange sound in that
secluded spot. Mary looked up, and saw what seemed to be a great many
people coming over the hill, camels bearing shugdufs, too, and
pack-mules, heavily laden.
Trembling, she rushed into the house.
"Oh, mother, what means this? See the people! Manasseh would not bring
all of those with him?"
The mother shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked forth, anxiously.
Nearer and nearer came the train. Who were they? Not Manasseh; Manasseh
would not come so slowly. Can it be? Not Yusuf! Not Amzi! Yes, yes! O
joy! It is they!--and many other familiar faces smile also from the
train!
"Is Manasseh well?"
"Yes, Manasseh is well, and happy."
So questions were asked and answered in joyful confusion; and Nathan
came in from the hills to bid the travelers welcome. Then the dusty,
travel-stained tents were pitched once more, this time on a grassy slope
by the rippling Jordan. A simple repast was spread, and the company
dined in royal state.
With what surprise did Nathan and his household greet the wife of Asru
and her sweet-faced daughter as sisters in Christ, and with what
sympathy did they hear of Asru's sad death!
Then plans for the immediate settlement of the little party were made.
Pasture-land in abundance was to be had; hence the majority of the
new-comers would be speedily and comfortably provided with new homes.
Amzi would take up his abode in some comfortable town-house not far
distant, and Yusuf would remain with him for the present.
Mary and Sherah were friends at once, and ere evening fell, they sat, as
girls will, in a cozy nook by the river-side forming plans for walks and
talks during the long, bright, summer days.
Every cloud had drifted, for the time being, from the happy company;
and, ere they retired to rest, all united with fervor in the words of
the grand song:
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who
forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who
redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving
kindness and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good things;
so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's. The Lord executeth
righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed.... Bless the
Lord, all his works, in all places of his dominion! Bless the Lord, O my
soul!"
And later in that same evening, another group came to Nathan's house.
The door was closed, for the evening was chill without. A knock was
heard. Mary opened the door, and there was Manasseh himself, radiantly
happy; and close behind him was another Manasseh with Bedouin eyes.
Mother, sister, and father pressed round the youth until he could
scarcely move.
"There, there!" he said, shaking them off playfully, "my cousin Kedar
will be jealous. Mother, this is Lois' son, and there is someone in the
darkness here still."
The youth went out. Who was this that he assisted from the shugduf?--the
living image of Lois in her girlhood days! Not Lois, but her daughter, a
Bedouin maid, fresh as the breeze from her native hills. And can this be
Lois--this sad-faced yet stately woman? It is, indeed, and the
long-separated sisters are once more united. Kedar's brothers are there
too, and one more family is added to the little community.