said, "This is the house of my fathers,"
was to say the truth most simply and literally; for it was the very
house Ruth ruled as the wife of Boaz, the very house in which Jesse
and his ten sons, David the youngest, were born, the very house in
which Samuel came seeking a king, and found him; the very house
which David gave to the son of Barzillai, the friendly Gileadite;
the very house in which Jeremiah, by prayer, rescued the remnant
of his race flying before the Babylonians.
The appeal was not without effect. The keeper of the gate slid
down from the cedar block, and, laying his hand upon his beard,
said, respectfully, "Rabbi, I cannot tell you when this door first
opened in welcome to the traveller, but it was more than a thousand
years ago; and in all that time there is no known instance of a good
man turned away, save when there was no room to rest him in. If it
has been so with the stranger, just cause must the steward have who
says no to one of the line of David. Wherefore, I salute you again;
and, if you care to go with me, I will show you that there is not
a lodging-place left in the house; neither in the chambers, nor in
the lewens, nor in the court—not even on the roof. May I ask when
you came?"
"But now."
The keeper smiled.
"'The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be as one born among
you, and thou shalt love him as thyself.' Is not that the law,
Rabbi?"
Joseph was silent.
"If it be the law, can I say to one a long time come, 'Go thy way;
another is here to take thy place?'"
Yet Joseph held his peace.
"And, if I said so, to whom would the place belong? See the many
that have been waiting, some of them since noon."
"Who are all these people?" asked Joseph, turning to the crowd.
"And why are they here at this time?"
"That which doubtless brought you, Rabbi—the decree of the
Caesar"—the keeper threw an interrogative glance at the Nazarene,
then continued—"brought most of those who have lodging in the house.
And yesterday the caravan passing from Damascus to Arabia and Lower
Egypt arrived. These you see here belong to it— men and camels."
Still Joseph persisted.
"The court is large," he said.
"Yes, but it is heaped with cargoes—with bales of silk, and pockets
of spices, and goods of every kind."
Then for a moment the face of the applicant lost its stolidity;
the lustreless, staring eyes dropped. With some warmth he next said,
"I do not care for myself, but I have with me my wife, and the night
is cold—colder on these heights than in Nazareth. She cannot live
in the open air. Is there not room in the town?"
"These people"—the keeper waved his hand to the throng before the
door—"have all besought the town, and they report its accommodations
all engaged."
Again Joseph studied the ground, saying, half to himself, "She is
so young! if I make her bed on the hill, the frosts will kill her."
Then he spoke to the keeper again.
"It may be you knew her parents, Joachim and Anna, once of Bethlehem,
and, like myself, of the line of David."
"Yes, I knew them. They were good people. That was in my youth."
This time the keeper's eyes sought the ground in thought. Suddenly he
raised his head.
"If I cannot make room for you," he said, "I cannot turn you away.
Rabbi, I will do the best I can for you. How many are of your party?"
Joseph reflected, then replied, "My wife and a friend with his
family, from Beth-Dagon, a little town over by Joppa; in all,
six of us."
"Very well. You shall not lie out on the ridge. Bring your people,
and hasten; for, when the sun goes down behind the mountain, you know
the night comes quickly, and it is nearly there now."
"I give you the blessing of the houseless traveller; that of the
sojourner will follow."
So saying, the Nazarene went back joyfully to Mary and the
Beth-Dagonite. In a little while the latter brought up his
family, the women mounted on donkeys. The wife was matronly,
the daughters were images of what she must have been in youth;
and as they drew
was to say the truth most simply and literally; for it was the very
house Ruth ruled as the wife of Boaz, the very house in which Jesse
and his ten sons, David the youngest, were born, the very house in
which Samuel came seeking a king, and found him; the very house
which David gave to the son of Barzillai, the friendly Gileadite;
the very house in which Jeremiah, by prayer, rescued the remnant
of his race flying before the Babylonians.
The appeal was not without effect. The keeper of the gate slid
down from the cedar block, and, laying his hand upon his beard,
said, respectfully, "Rabbi, I cannot tell you when this door first
opened in welcome to the traveller, but it was more than a thousand
years ago; and in all that time there is no known instance of a good
man turned away, save when there was no room to rest him in. If it
has been so with the stranger, just cause must the steward have who
says no to one of the line of David. Wherefore, I salute you again;
and, if you care to go with me, I will show you that there is not
a lodging-place left in the house; neither in the chambers, nor in
the lewens, nor in the court—not even on the roof. May I ask when
you came?"
"But now."
The keeper smiled.
"'The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be as one born among
you, and thou shalt love him as thyself.' Is not that the law,
Rabbi?"
Joseph was silent.
"If it be the law, can I say to one a long time come, 'Go thy way;
another is here to take thy place?'"
Yet Joseph held his peace.
"And, if I said so, to whom would the place belong? See the many
that have been waiting, some of them since noon."
"Who are all these people?" asked Joseph, turning to the crowd.
"And why are they here at this time?"
"That which doubtless brought you, Rabbi—the decree of the
Caesar"—the keeper threw an interrogative glance at the Nazarene,
then continued—"brought most of those who have lodging in the house.
And yesterday the caravan passing from Damascus to Arabia and Lower
Egypt arrived. These you see here belong to it— men and camels."
Still Joseph persisted.
"The court is large," he said.
"Yes, but it is heaped with cargoes—with bales of silk, and pockets
of spices, and goods of every kind."
Then for a moment the face of the applicant lost its stolidity;
the lustreless, staring eyes dropped. With some warmth he next said,
"I do not care for myself, but I have with me my wife, and the night
is cold—colder on these heights than in Nazareth. She cannot live
in the open air. Is there not room in the town?"
"These people"—the keeper waved his hand to the throng before the
door—"have all besought the town, and they report its accommodations
all engaged."
Again Joseph studied the ground, saying, half to himself, "She is
so young! if I make her bed on the hill, the frosts will kill her."
Then he spoke to the keeper again.
"It may be you knew her parents, Joachim and Anna, once of Bethlehem,
and, like myself, of the line of David."
"Yes, I knew them. They were good people. That was in my youth."
This time the keeper's eyes sought the ground in thought. Suddenly he
raised his head.
"If I cannot make room for you," he said, "I cannot turn you away.
Rabbi, I will do the best I can for you. How many are of your party?"
Joseph reflected, then replied, "My wife and a friend with his
family, from Beth-Dagon, a little town over by Joppa; in all,
six of us."
"Very well. You shall not lie out on the ridge. Bring your people,
and hasten; for, when the sun goes down behind the mountain, you know
the night comes quickly, and it is nearly there now."
"I give you the blessing of the houseless traveller; that of the
sojourner will follow."
So saying, the Nazarene went back joyfully to Mary and the
Beth-Dagonite. In a little while the latter brought up his
family, the women mounted on donkeys. The wife was matronly,
the daughters were images of what she must have been in youth;
and as they drew
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