"What goeth on?" one soldier shouted, while the other walked across the room and looked into the kitchen.
"I have a guest," James replied. "A kinsman whose father is my father's father. With him we feast."
"Feast?" and the soldier turned his attention to the table. "They do feast! Ha! Ha! Come hither."
The second soldier came, saying, "A banquet they give—Ho! Ho! For a better one would I take me to the stables of Herod."
"A kid have they that shineth with grease."
"Is it a kid? Methought it a sparrow."
"By its size, its bones will but breed a quarrel."
"Let us be keepers of the peace—for this hath Herod not appointed us?" and lifting his sword he brought it down on the roast kid severing it in two halves. "A sharp blade cutteth clean!"
"And a stiff leg maketh a good handle." And with the words each soldier seized with his left hand a half of the kid which he fell greedily upon, while holding his sword aloft in his right hand. With hungry teeth the soldiers tore the flesh from the bones, spewing such as they did not want on to the floor, and devouring the tender, until their cheeks shone like ruddy apples and their beards were drabbled with gravy. Then they dropped the remains on the floor and with their boot toes rubbed them over the mud that had dropped from their heels. When the flesh was well covered with filth, the two halves of the carcass were lifted by the sword point and flung back on the table with the words, "A feast they would have!" The soldiers cast their eyes over the angry but silent company, and broke into roars of laughter.
"A flock of sacred goats!" one said.