Catching sight of the two hesitating upon the threshold, the woman hastened to welcome them, then turned to the girl she had first addressed: “Wipe away thy tears and take thy water jar. See, Rachel, here is Miriam and her young kinswoman from the Plain of Sharon, a maiden of thine own age. Go with them and be diligent in thy task, but this time next year thy feet will take no such journeys nor thy hands be so employed, for thou shalt have servants to do thy bidding.”
The woman turned to her work and the three girls proceeded on their way, Miriam walking between the grief-stricken Rachel and the envious Judith, seeking to atone for the silence which had fallen upon each. Thus she began to speak in joyous enthusiasm:
“Now that the rains are over for the season, dost thou notice how sweet is the air? Every breeze bringeth the mingled scent of wild flowers which the hand of the Lord hath planted to delight the bees and us. Even from here we can tell what their faces will be like when we see them closer: anemones and poppies and wild tulips and arbutus and hosts of others. Even at night it is interesting here, for thou canst not tell whether thou wilt be awakened by the song of a nightingale or the howling of a wolf, and in the daytime, see!”
With a sweep of her arm she indicated the light-green garden patches and wheat-fields in the valley below them and the darker green of the olive groves and patches of oaks and pines nestling among the rugged gray hills on every side.
Neither of the girls commented and Miriam became silent.
At the foot of the path they were descending Judith paused to take breath. “To one who hath but lately come from the level plain along the seacoast, the mountains are wearying,” she remarked. “Why are thy cities perched upon the hilltops when thou must grow thy food in the valleys?”
As Rachel seemed disinclined to talk, Miriam took it upon herself to answer: “To be cool in summer and relieved from danger of flood in winter and safe from our enemies all the time. Knowest thou not how often the Syrians have swooped down upon us, like birds of prey, seeking that wherewith to enrich themselves?” Then, in tones of sympathy: “The path will not seem so steep when thou art used to it. For to-day do thou rest here and I will make two journeys to the spring, one for thee and one for me. Thou knowest we are commanded by our Law to be mindful of strangers because our people were strangers in the Land of Egypt, and I must remember how lonely I should feel to have to live where nobody knew or loved me even as thou.”
Judith, deeply touched, was affectionately declining Miriam’s offer of rest when a whoop startled alike the echoes and the girls and the mischievous face of a boy, somewhat older than Miriam, peeped from behind a rock.
“Nathan!” The exclamation was full of distress, and Miriam gazed at a shattered water jar at her feet. “Knowest thou not that jars cost wheat and sometimes olives? But,” soothingly, “never mind, the jar is not wasted, for these pieces will make drinking cups and these will do to carry coals in. They are splendid sherds. Hast thou noticed, Eli,” as a still older lad came hurrying toward them, “that no matter what is broken there is always something left?”
The entire party was busy picking up bits of pottery from the path, when a youngish man joined them, at sight of whom Rachel immediately called to mind an errand elsewhere and, with a whispered explanation to Miriam, promptly disappeared. While the newcomer was apparently known to the younger girl, her face did not light up with pleasure, although he addressed her gently.