Chapter 5

‘That was John’s doing,’ chuckled Simon, apparently anxious to set himself right with his offended favourite, who sat demurely reflecting on the ridicule he had suffered. ‘Johnny attends to the feeding of visitors…So—you’re lost, maybe. Well—don’t worry too much. You look as if you needed a rest. Where have you been sleeping lately—in haystacks?’

‘No, sir; under the hedges along the roadside. They don’t want you sleeping in their haystacks.’

‘They can’t be much blamed for that,’ commented Simon. ‘Tramps are always breaking down their berry-bushes and grapevines—and frightening the cattle…What’s your name, boy?’

‘Joseph.’

‘I suppose they call you Joe.’

‘Y-yes, sir. That—and a lot of other things lately.’

Simon acknowledged this grim little pleasantry with an appreciative grin. Evidently the ragged waif was not stupid.

‘Where are you from, Joe?’ he asked, kindly.

‘Far south, sir; near the Dead Sea.’

‘Idumea, maybe?’

The boy nodded tardily, his reluctance being quite understandable; for no one had ever been heard to boast that he was a native of Idumea. Simon’s lips tightened involuntarily and he regarded the youngster with a frown, but instantly relented as he looked into the drooping eyes.

‘I suppose you know, son, that we Jews don’t have much to do with Idumeans.’

‘But Idumeans are Jews, sir,’ meekly protested the boy.

Simon sniffed and shrugged. ‘Several centuries ago,’ he remarked crisply. ‘Your people haven’t been very good Jews—not for a long time.’

‘King Herod came from Idumea, sir,’ ventured the boy softly.

‘Well,’ drawled Simon, ‘that doesn’t improve Idumea’s reputation very much.’

The sailors laughed a bit nervously. Old Zebedee cackled loudly.