“There is not enough grain and olive oil in the whole city to satisfy Abner’s claim and save Eli and Nathan from bondage, nor will he wait for the next barley and wheat to be harvested. As for grapes and olives, they will not be ripe for months. Father hath tried to shame Abner, but he saith he is grieved to be so misunderstood; that Hannah should be grateful to him for taking upon himself the burden of her sons’ support.”
Apparently, Rachel was not in a mood for conversation. The younger girl gazed at her in great dejection for a few minutes and a tear splashed down on her hand. “It would be easier to bear other people’s troubles, Rachel, if one could help. I am going to bathe thy feverish face and hands and take down thy hair. Thou shalt hold the little mirror of polished bronze that Ezekiel, thy kinsman in Damascus, sent thee.” Suiting the action to the word she went on talking: “Damascus must be a very great city, peradventure almost twice as large as ours. Father hath told me about the war between Israel and Syria and the treaty of peace, so that Syrian merchants may come to Israel and a street hath been set aside in Damascus in which our people may dwell.”
Rachel seemed to take no more interest in foreign affairs than in those at home, but the little maid was not discouraged. “Thou art more comfortable now. Thou hast been sick ever since that day the heat overcame thee in the gorge when thou wert feeding the pigeons, but thou dost not have to go on being miserable. Thou knowest, the Lord is thy strength and song. I am going to see how Hannah doeth and remind her of this. She abode with us through the night, but now she is in her own house. First, though, I shall sing thee to sleep. Thou seest I have brought my timbrel. Then will I steal softly away.”
Having made good her word, Miriam was about to depart when the kindly voice of Rachel’s mother detained her: “Stay, Miriam, yet a moment and take to Hannah this little pot of oil. The gift is not much to her that dwelleth in the house of sorrow, but it carrieth a message of sympathy.”
Halfway to her destination Miriam met Judith. “I have been seeking for thee,” said the older girl. “Knowest thou that we have a guest, a man? He hath come from a distance in the heat and dust, and I have been to draw cool, fresh water wherewith to bathe his hands and feet and so refresh him while thy mother prepareth a meal to set before him.”
Miriam hazarded a few guesses as to the identity of their visitor, but Judith shook her head. “It is none whom thou hast mentioned, but who it is I know not. He weareth a mantle.”
“Then he is one of the prophets.”
“Nay, for he is bald and the prophets wear long hair. Neither hath he the appearance of a fanatic, as do they. Rather, he seemeth like some well-to-do man of the cities, peradventure a merchant. His speech is gracious and gentle and he carrieth a walking stick like any serious-minded, elderly gentleman. He is attended by a younger man and thy father did him great obeisance. Also—”
But Judith was alone. Miriam was running like some wild thing straight to Hannah’s house. Out of breath she stumbled over the threshold and thrust the pot of oil into the woman’s hands.
“Hannah—Hannah—the Man of God hath come, my lord Elisha, and even now sitteth at meat in our house. Do thou go quickly. Thy husband was of his young men. Do thou tell him about Abner taking Eli and Nathan as bondmen for debt. Jehovah hath sent him that as God hath been thy strength, he shall now be thy song. Hasten, Hannah,” but Hannah was already gone.