had said "a good little maid," and Naomi remembered with a pang of regret how she and Ezra had quarreled yesterday, and had not ceased their bickering until at sunset the three blasts of the silver trumpet, blown by the priest on the synagogue roof, had reminded them that Sabbath eve had come.

She longed to ask outright: "Dost thou mean to take me to Jerusalem with thee, Aunt Miriam?"

But they had reached the flat-roofed little synagogue, and once inside the gate the children silently followed their mother and aunt into the women's court and seated themselves on the mats that covered the stone floor.

Naomi's mind was so occupied by the thought of a possible trip to Jerusalem that she forgot to peep, according to her wont, through the lattice that separated the men's court from that of the women, in the hope of seeing her father. She usually watched with interest while the sacred Rolls were taken from their curtained shrine, before which burned the holy lamp, and their outer cover of gold-embroidered silk and inner cover of linen removed.

But this morning she scarcely heard the voice of the visiting rabbi who read the lesson for the day, and her mother was obliged to twitch her vigorously when, during the prayers, the congregation rose to their feet and turned toward the Holy City.

The Sabbath day seemed endless to the eager little girl. All work and play were forbidden. No fire might be lighted, no bed made. Naomi had been well taught in the Law. She knew that it would be sinful for her even to carry a handkerchief tucked in her belt. And so surely not until Sabbath was over would the trip to Jerusalem be discussed.

She sat alone in the shade of the fig-tree that grew beside their door, and wished that she might see her friends Rachel and Rebekah to tell them the good news. She watched the great sun flame through the bright Syrian sky until her eyes burned and ached, but still it was not sundown. At last she curled herself up on the floor of the house with heavy-eyed Three Legs at her side and fell asleep.

When she woke it was the First Watch of the Evening, six o'clock, and the crimson sun was sinking out of sight behind the Judean hills. Naomi sprang up and ran into the garden. There on the bench under the orange-tree sat her father and mother and Aunt Miriam.

Aunt Miriam was talking.

"And so, since Simon is still sick with a heavy summer cold, nothing will do but I must ride to Jerusalem to-morrow with the load of grapes," she was saying. Simon had large vineyards and owned many olive-trees, beside being host at the inn. "To be sure, Jacob is a good serving-lad and manages well without his master. But there is no one, after himself, who makes a better bargain than I, Simon says, and so I must ride with the fruit to see that justice is done my lord Simon in the trade."

Here Aunt Miriam laughed so heartily that Samuel and his wife were forced to smile in sympathy. But Samuel was not altogether pleased with Aunt Miriam's little joke about her husband, who was in truth her lord and master and worthy of her deepest respect. He changed the subject by asking:

"And what does the physician say of Simon?"

"He recommended that he kiss the nose of a mule," Aunt Miriam answered gravely.

To her and to her audience there was nothing amusing about this prescription. Stranger remedies than that had been ordered by the wise doctors of the day: a broth of beetle's legs, crab's eyes, the heads of mice, bruised flies to cure the sting of a hornet!

"But in spite of this," she continued, "he is still flat on his back, groaning with aches and pains. So, to-morrow, Jacob and I start at sunrise with the bullock cart, and no doubt there will be room among the baskets of grapes for Naomi, if thou wilt permit her to go."

Naomi, at her father's elbow, glanced imploringly into his face, but she did not speak a word. Her mother, from the end of the bench, smiled hopefully at the little girl, but she, too, waited in deferent silence until, to Naomi's great relief, her father gave a nod of consent.

"It is kind of thee, sister Miriam," said he, putting his arm about Naomi and drawing her to his side, "to think of giving our little daughter this pleasure."

"Naomi must be good and obedient and not make herself troublesome in any way," said her mother warningly, leaning forward to pull Naomi's little robe straight. "Thy aunt will be occupied with her business, Naomi, and thou must be as quiet as a mouse so that she will not regret that thou art with her."

"Never fear that," said Aunt Miriam heartily, "Naomi is as dear to me as my own. I shall not be so busy that she will have to play mouse all day. She shall see something of the city, and eat a good dinner at the house of Simon's sister Anna, and make friends, perhaps, with Anna's little Martha who is just her age."

"I will be quiet," promised Naomi, her face bright with smiles. "I will be good. I will not speak a word nor stir all day long."

"Great are thy promises, Naomi," answered Aunt Miriam, rising to go and laying a kindly hand upon the curly head of her niece. "I will give thee a hot breakfast at the khan to stay thee on thy journey, so be not late. We start at sunrise!"

"Oh, Father," cried Naomi, throwing her arms about her father's neck, "how good I mean to be always after this! Dost think I shall see the Temple? And, Mother, which am I to wear—my new blue robe or my yellow and red striped one? I am really to go to Jerusalem! Oh, what will Ezra say when he hears the good news I have to tell!"

The next morning at daybreak, when the purple shadows lay heavily in the east and the sky was still gray overhead, Naomi, wearing a gay little cloak of scarlet over her best blue robe, ran hastily down the stony road that led to the Bethlehem khan.

The drowsy gate-keeper had already unlocked the heavy town gates, for day begins early in hot countries, and at sight of Naomi, whom he knew well, he uttered a sleepy "Peace be with thee!" as a morning greeting.

"With thee be peace!" piped Naomi in return. "Oh, Nathan, I go to-day to Jerusalem with my Aunt Miriam. This very day I go!"

Old Nathan nodded his head solemnly and muttered in his beard.

"Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth is Mount Zion," responded the pious old Jew. But Naomi was half-way down the hill and did not hear one word.

There before her at the crossroads stood the old khan, with its great wall of stone and its stout gate behind which all night long sat a watchman on the alert. Below the inn lay the very fields among which Ruth, long, long ago, had gleaned the golden corn, and where later King David as a shepherd lad had tended his flock.

Naomi slipped through the open gate into the courtyard of the khan and stood for a moment watching the bustle and confusion of the scene before her. In the center of the court was the fountain, and round it now crowded the pilgrims and travelers, drawing water for the morning meal or in which to wash before eating. The archways which lined the wall formed the rooms of the ancient inn, for the building at the end of the court in which Simon the host and Aunt Miriam lived was not open to strangers. Shelter and food were not provided within. Each man in his little archway must spread his own carpet, light his own brazier, cook his own food, and eat from his own dish. A Syrian khan of that period was not at all like the inns of our day. It was expected to