"Oh, papa," said I, stopping, "I like it. Look - look yonder - do you see that glimmer? do you know what that is, papa?"
"It is water -"
"It is the Dead Sea."
"Thirty-six hundred feet below. We have a sharp ride before us, Daisy."
"Not quite so much below us - we have come down some way.
Papa, don't you enjoy it?"
"I enjoy you," he said, smiling. "Yes, child, I enjoy it; only
I don't enjoy such villainous roads."
"But then, papa, you know it is the only possible way the road can go, and always has been; and so we are sure that Christ was here many a time. Here, papa, where our feet are treading."
Papa looked at me and said nothing.
The way was so pleasant, that we walked on ahead of our mules, till we came to the spring about a mile from Bethany. It was strange to look at the water pouring out its never failing stream, and to remember it had been doing just so ever since nineteen hundred years ago.
"How often travellers have rested here and drunk of the water, papa; how often Christ was here."