“Good morning and a blessing, comrade.” It was the greeting of the Jew to the knight who lay asleep under a palm the day after the flight. The sleeper slowly rising, murmured:
“I’m half vexed at thee, Ichabod; thou hast dissolved a dream filled with sights of home and mother.”
“I’ve brought lentils, barley, and grape-clusters; they are better than dreams when the sun is up.”
“To those sad when awake, joyful dreams are welcome.”
“There are real joys just before us.”
“Real joys, just before us? Grim sarcasm; a sorry jest, Jew!”
“No; oh, no. I’m telling thee the smiling, clean-faced truth. We’ll be safe at Jabbock’s city by sun set!”
“Safe? safe? I’m unused to that word; almost afraid of it. What does it mean in this country?”
“Oh, these cavalrymen! always on the charge; now here, now there. Thy thoughts go by habit, sometimes racing forward, sometimes retreating. A while ago thou wert as full of faith as Gideon, now thou art as timorous as Canaan’s spies.”
“My habits have grown fat by feeding on piebald experiences.”