But Phineas had little to tell when he came back. He had met his friend twice in Jerusalem,—the same gentle quiet man he had always known, making no claims, working no wonders. Phineas had heard of His driving the moneychangers out of the Temple one day, and those who sold doves in its sacred courts, although he had not witnessed the scene.
The carpenter was rather surprised that He should have made such a public disturbance.
"Rabbi Phineas," said Joel, with a trembling voice, "don't you think your friend is the prophet we are expecting?"
Phineas shook his head. "No, my lad, I am sure of it now."
"But the herald angels and the star," insisted the boy.
"They must have proclaimed some one else. He is the best man I ever knew; but there is no more of the king in His nature, than there is in mine."
The man's positive answer seemed to shatter Joel's last hope. Downcast and disappointed, he went back to his work. Only with money could he accomplish his life's object, and only by incessant work could he earn the shining shekels that he needed.
Phineas wondered sometimes at the dogged persistence with which the child stuck to his task, in spite of his tired, aching body.
He had learned to make sandal-wood jewel-boxes, and fancifully wrought cups to hold the various dyes and cosmetics used by the ladies of the court.
Several times, during the following months, he begged a sail in some of the fishing-boats that landed at the town of Tiberias. Having gained the favor of the keeper of the gates, by various little gifts of his own manufacture, he always found a ready admittance to the palace.