So seated upon the back of Michmash, Naomi rode off, with such a bright look upon her wan face that her father and mother could not help thinking that better days were in store for them all.
Every pleasant day Ezra, leading Michmash, took Naomi, wrapped in her little scarlet cloak, out riding, and as they moved along in the crisp, bracing air they talked—long, long talks of what they were passing, of Ezra's day at school, or of the thoughts and fancies that filled Naomi's active little mind.
"Ezra," said she one day, as Michmash felt his way securely up the side of one of the stony little Judean hills, "Ezra, dost thou remember what was told thee that the letter-writer said that day by the Pool of Bethesda?"
Her lip trembled as she spoke, but Ezra answered her instantly.
"Yea," said he, "I do, indeed. He spoke of the Messiah."
"And what think you of the Messiah?" asked Naomi timidly. "What think you he will do when he cometh, Ezra? Dost think that he will open the eyes of the blind?"
Ezra, in order to speak more earnestly, halted Michmash, who gladly fell to cropping the coarse grass.
"The Messiah, Naomi," said Ezra slowly, "will do what the prophet Isaiah promised of him. Never fear. He will open the eyes of the blind and unstop the ears of the deaf. He will make the lame man leap and the dumb man sing for joy. When he cometh, we shall all see the salvation of the Lord and our sins shall be forgiven us. All Israel shall rejoice. Aye, even stout Solomon also," added Ezra grimly. "The Kingdom of God will come, and the Messiah will rule in righteousness, and he shall put our enemies to flight. No longer then will we pay tribute to the Emperor Cæsar Augustus at Rome. No longer will we tolerate the wicked King Herod in our city of Jerusalem. And the Roman eagle that hangs above our Temple gates will be torn down and trampled under foot."
Ezra spoke warmly. He had been well taught in school and synagogue, and had listened carefully to his father and his friends as they talked in the market-place and elsewhere.