"Look, Jerusha! Look!" he cried, tugging at her skirts. "What's that?"
Farther down the line, came several men carrying litters. On each one was a man badly wounded, judging by the many bandages that wrapped him.
Jerusha pushed ahead to hear what had happened. One of the drivers was telling a tax-gatherer.
"In that last rocky gorge after leaving Samaria," said the man, "we were set upon by robbers. They swarmed down the cliffs, and fought as fiercely as eagles. These men, who were going on ahead, had much gold with them. They lost it all, and might have been killed, if we had not come up behind in such numbers. That poor fellow there can hardly live, I think, he was beaten so badly."
The children edged up closer to the motionless form on the litter. It was badly bruised and blood-stained, and looked already lifeless.
"Let's go, Jerusha," whispered the boy, whimpering and pulling at her hand. "I don't like to look at him."
With the heavy baby still in her arms, and the other child tagging after, she started slowly back towards the market-place.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," she exclaimed. "Let's go up and get the other children, and play robbers. We never did do that before. It will be lots of fun."
There was a cry of welcome as Jerusha appeared again in the market-place, where a crowd of children were playing tag, regardless of the men and beasts they bumped against. They were all younger than herself, and did not resent her important air when she called, "Come here! I know a better game than that!"
She told them what she had just seen and heard down at the beach, and drew such a vivid picture of the attack, that the children were ready for anything she might propose.