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.