"Magdalene, why are you so restless, and why gazing so intently at the stormy sea; has anything crossed your path, dear?"

"Oh, Aunt Susanna, I was just watching the tumbling waves of Old Galilee and I envy them the peace they enjoy, for soon they will lie down to sleep, but there is no rest for your poor, wayward Magdalene."

"You are not bad, Mary, your beauty has made you gay and your vanity presses hard upon your virtue, but you have never stooped. All you require is time and patience."

"Time, why I am twenty-two gone and I doubt if twenty-two million of years would mellow me down to your soft nature. Often I try to be mild and keep my promise so often made to Jesus, and first I know I am facing all kinds of difficulties with a rebuff and then I am too proud to own up that I am sorry."

"Did you hear Jesus talk in the synagogue today?"

"Yes, I was there this morning and that is why I am so upset. You know I was ever with him and his sisters, especially Ruth, until I came to you, but since he began to preach I have avoided him. Well, he caught me this morning and spoke so kindly that I felt the old child-love coming back. Seeing so many of my Nazareth friends and Jesus talking so strangely I began to cry and might have joined them had not Simon, our old fish peddler, approached me and began hinting at my waywardness and talking about miracles. Then I flared up and said, 'Really, Peter (that is what they call him now), you do not say you have repented—if you have, and it goes deep enough to make you give honest weight on fish, I should say Jesus has performed a miracle, indeed.' Then he broke in by saying, 'Maggie,' but I checked him on the spot and said, 'Call me Magdalene. I am no little girl, I am a lady.' Then he kind of twisted his jaw as he used to when he cried, 'Fish—fish,' and asked if I was sure, and I told him he had better keep on seeking shelter against the day of wrath to come. Then as Jesus came near the anger seemed to leave me and I could have knelt and kissed his feet."

"Whose feet, Mary?"

"Whose do you suppose?" Then the proud girl bit her lip in scorn.

A moment silence, and Aunty continued, "What do you think of Jesus?"

"Why, really, I do not know what to think; probably I am not as good a judge as one who has not known him for he was always ready to help Ruth and me out of our embarrassing predicaments, of which there were many, for you know Ruth and I were hand in hand in mischief. One day she and I—say Aunty, there comes John, what do you suppose he wants?"