IT was the winter season in Palestine.

In the darkness and despair that followed her trip to the Pool of Bethesda, Naomi had not cared what the weather might be. She had listened with indifference to the whistling, roaring wind-storm that had come suddenly one night in October telling the weather-wise that summer was over and the rainy season at hand.

Huddled over the brazier of charcoal that smouldered under a rug in a shallow hole in the middle of the floor, Naomi had not heeded the wild dash of rain against the house nor its melancholy dripping in the deserted garden. Even the excitement of Ezra and Jonas over a slight fall of snow, the first either one had ever seen, had failed to rouse her.

Samuel and his wife were troubled beyond words at this calamity that had come upon their child. Aunt Miriam and Simon were sympathetic, but could offer no advice. Ezra was at his wits' ends, for all his schemes and devices to amuse failed, and the hollow words of encouragement died upon his honest lips.

Samuel, too, had a fresh worry of which Naomi knew nothing, and which, slight though it was in comparison with the little girl's misfortune, did not tend to make the daily life of the family more pleasant.

"Aye, Samuel the weaver's child is blind," said the neighbors, wagging their heads in knowing fashion. "What sin hath he committed, think you, that this calamity befalls him? Truly the way of the transgressor is hard."

"It may be that his wife is the sinner," was whispered about. "Or perhaps both."

And little by little the village people turned aside when they saw Samuel coming, and fewer and fewer were the friendly words said to Naomi's mother when she went patiently down to the fountain for her supply of water.

Ezra felt himself more fortunate than the grown people, for at the first unkind word from his former friend, fat Solomon across the road, he had flown at him in a fury, and had shortly enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his blubbering enemy lick the dust.

"Mole, indeed!" shouted Ezra, doubling up his fists. "Thou wilt call my sister a blind mole, wilt thou? Thou serpent, feeding upon the dust! Thou snake! Rise not up or I will rub thy nose in the dirt again."

So cautious Solomon, having learned his lesson well, was forced to content himself with calling names from behind the wall, which Ezra was prompt to answer with sticks and stones.

No one was happy in the little household, and faces were sober and voices hushed as they went about their tasks, until one day Aunt Miriam called Ezra and whispered in his ear. His eyes opened wide and his face brightened, and for more than a week he neglected his friends, the shepherds, and spent all his spare time at the khan.

Then, one afternoon, when the rain had ceased and the little olive leaves glistened in the cold bright light, Naomi's mother approached the forlorn little figure crouched in a corner and raised her to her feet.

"Here is thy warm cloak, beloved," said she, coaxingly, laying her hand on the soft brown curls that seemed to hang limply now that Naomi never tossed them back with a proud little shake of the head. "Before the door stand thy aunt, thy father, and thy brother. They wait for thee. And, little Naomi, there waits a surprise for thee also. Come and listen by the doorway."

From behind the door Naomi heard an unfamiliar stamping, a running about, and Ezra's excited voice.

"Be careful, Jonas," called Ezra sharply. "Wilt thou be stepped on? Stand from under. Naomi, where art thou? Mother! Oh, she comes! Aunt Miriam, Father, she comes!"

Naomi's mother led out the white-faced little girl and Samuel took her gently by the hand.

"A gift for thee, little Naomi," said he, smiling more happily than in many a long day, "from thy good Aunt Miriam. Put out thy hand and guess."

Naomi stretched out a timid hand and touched a soft furry nose.

"A donkey!" said Naomi. "To take me for a ride!"

"Aye," burst out Ezra, his face shining with unselfish joy; "to take thee for a ride every day and everywhere. Up and down the hills and roundabout. We shall go everywhere together, thou and I."

"Speak more plainly, Ezra," said Aunt Miriam, seeing the puzzled look upon his sister's face. "The donkey is thine, Naomi. Thy Uncle Simon and I have given it to thee. Ezra means that he will take thee riding upon it whenever and wherever thou wilt. No longer shalt thou lurk in the house with white cheeks from sunrise to sunrise. We shall have thee as rosy as a poppy again ere long."

And her tender-hearted aunt first wiped her brimming eyes upon the corner of her veil, and then caught back Jonas by his leather pinafore from under the donkey's heels, where he seemed determined to meet with a speedy death.

"Now the trick!" cried Ezra, who had been hopping from foot to foot during his aunt's long speech. "Have I not been teaching him for more than a week? Say thy lesson well, little donkey! Stand here before him, Naomi!"

Samuel placed Naomi in position.

"Thy donkey's name, Naomi," went on Ezra, "is Michmash, because he comes from the town of that name. Now place thy hands upon the tips of his ears. Do not pinch or he will kick. I know."

Samuel guided the little girl's hands until they rested upon the tips of the long gray ears.

"Now say his name slowly," instructed Ezra, his face aglow.

"Mich," said Naomi, and down came a furry ear, "mash," and down came the other.

Then the little donkey winked both ears violently, and turned a patient eye upon his young teacher as if asking praise.

"He did it! He did it!" cried the teacher. "He did not forget his lesson and he will do it every time. Michmash!" And as the long ears fell again, Ezra threw his arms about Naomi and hugged her close.

"Wilt thou come for a ride with me now?" he whispered. "The sun shines and the wind blows and it will be pleasant out upon the hills."

So seated upon the back of Michmash, Naomi rode off, with such a bright look upon her wan face that her father and mother could not help thinking that better days were in store for them all.

Every pleasant day Ezra, leading Michmash, took Naomi, wrapped in her little scarlet cloak, out riding, and as they moved along in the crisp, bracing air they talked—long, long talks of what they were passing, of Ezra's day at school, or of the thoughts and fancies that filled Naomi's active little mind.

"Ezra," said she one day, as Michmash felt his way securely up the side of one of the stony little Judean hills, "Ezra, dost thou remember what was told thee that the letter-writer said that day by the Pool of Bethesda?"

Her lip trembled as she spoke, but Ezra answered her instantly.

"Yea," said he, "I do, indeed. He spoke of the Messiah."

"And what think you of the Messiah?" asked Naomi timidly. "What think you he will do when he cometh, Ezra? Dost think that he will open the eyes of the blind?"

Ezra, in order to speak more earnestly, halted Michmash, who gladly fell to cropping the coarse grass.

"The Messiah, Naomi," said Ezra slowly, "will do what the prophet Isaiah promised of him. Never fear. He will open the eyes of the blind and unstop the ears of the deaf. He will make the lame man leap and the dumb man sing for joy. When he cometh, we shall all see the salvation of the Lord and our sins shall be forgiven us. All Israel shall rejoice. Aye, even stout Solomon also," added Ezra grimly. "The Kingdom of God will come, and the Messiah will rule in righteousness, and he shall put our enemies to flight. No longer then will we pay tribute to the Emperor CÆsar Augustus at Rome. No longer will we tolerate the wicked King Herod in our city of Jerusalem. And the Roman eagle that hangs above our Temple gates will be torn down and trampled under foot."

Ezra spoke warmly. He had been well taught in school and synagogue, and had listened carefully to his father and his friends as they talked in the market-place and elsewhere.

"Oh, I would that the Messiah would come quickly," said Naomi wistfully. "And if he can make me see, he can make lame Enoch straight. I would that Enoch's old grandmother had not died and that he had not gone so far away to live as Jericho. I miss him."

"Think now of this new numbering of all the world," went on Ezra, whose heart burned within him at the wrongs of his nation. "Every man must travel to the town whence his family sprang, whether he live near or far and whether or no he be rich enough to stand a journey. And why? Because the Emperor at Rome has ordered so. I stood in the market-place when the Roman heralds with their trumpets summoned all Bethlehem thither, and told of this new enrollment and of the taxing to follow. I saw the black looks and heard the muttering, but did any man speak out? Nay—afeard of the short sword the Roman soldier carries. Oh, aye, I am afeard of it myself," admitted Ezra indulgently; "but when the Messiah cometh things will not be so."

"Mother says that many have already traveled to Bethlehem to be enrolled," said Naomi, "and that we shall have a houseful when the caravan from Nazareth comes in. I would fain be a help to her just now and not a trouble, but I can do nothing at all, nothing, only keep out of the way." And the tears rolled down poor Naomi's cheeks.

"Do not cry," said Ezra pitifully, and with a patience wonderful in a boy of his years. "We all love thee, Naomi, better than if thou hadst the sharp sight of an eagle. Come, greedy one," he went on, pulling at Michmash's bridle. "Wilt thou eat all night? Come!"

They stood upon a hill that looked toward the north, and as Ezra waited for lazy little Michmash to finish his mouthful, his eye caught a line of tiny black figures perhaps a mile away from Bethlehem village.

"The caravan from Nazareth, I verily believe!" he exclaimed. "Hold fast, Naomi, and I will take thee down to the gate. There I will tell thee all the sights as they come in."

Rattling over the stones and down the steep paths in reckless fashion, the little brother and sister were soon established in a spot where Ezra could see all that was needful, and whisper what he saw in Naomi's ear.

"It is the caravan from Nazareth," he announced, "and they ride on horses, camels, mules, but some walk. There are great numbers of them and more are still to come. Some have fallen behind, they say, and are far back upon the road. They are very weary and they smile but little. Who would want to take the long journey in winter only to part with money in the end?"

When Ezra and Naomi reached home, they found that, as their mother had said, their house was full to overflowing with company from the Nazareth caravan.

Abner and Joel, merchants of Nazareth, were there with Joel's son Amos and his wife Elisabeth. Samuel's cousin, Daniel, who owned a large farm in fruitful Galilee, had come, bringing with him as a matter of course his friends, David and Phineas, neighboring farmers. All these people had originally sprung from this city of David, and now back they came to it, some in good, some in ill humor, but to a man obeying the command of the Emperor at Rome.

Every inch of floor space in Samuel's little house was occupied that night when the soft quilts were spread out, and the family and their guests lay down to rest. Naomi and Jonas were cuddled in a corner next their mother. But when Ezra came in late from feeding Michmash, the dim light of the little oil lamp, that burned each night in all but the poorest of Jewish homes, showed him a floor so crowded with soundly sleeping guests that he knew not how to reach his own bed spread at his father's right hand.

"Father!" whispered Ezra.

"My son," answered Samuel in a cautious voice.

"Father, it is so crowded here I would fain spend the night with old Eli in the fields with the sheep. They are encamped below the khan in the Fields of David. May I go? Old Eli said but yesterday that I had neglected him of late."

"Go, my son. Give greetings to old Eli, and God's peace attend thee."

So Ezra slipped out under the dark starry sky to join the shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.