Chapter 7

‘Where do all these people come from?’ Simon wanted to know. ‘Everywhere; seems like,’ said the farmer. ‘A wool-buyer was telling me, last week, that he saw whole families he knew from as far away as Ramah and Shunem and Nain. Brought their tents along, and a couple of milch-goats.’

‘Plenty of people from Nazareth too, I suppose,’ said Simon, ‘if that’s where he lives.’

‘No; funny thing about that,’ replied the farmer. ‘Very few from Nazareth, they say. If he’s such a great one, you’d think—’

‘Maybe his own folks got used to seeing him do strange things,’ suggested the youngest boy.

‘Home folks never give much heed when their neighbours do something extra good, like fine wood-carving, or rug-weaving, or beautiful singing,’ said the mother. ‘They think that because they know a person and grew up with him, he can’t be very much.’

‘That’s a fact,’ declared her husband. ‘Lots of country folks sneer at what’s going on around them and praise what’s going on in Bethsaida; and the people in Bethsaida laugh at their own town, and envy the people in Cana, and—’

Simon laughed a little and said he supposed the people in Cana thought everything was livelier in Jericho—and that Jericho wanted to see the more interesting sights in Jerusalem.

‘I’d like to see Jerusalem myself,’ murmured the tall boy.

‘Now you take our girl Judith here.’ Her mother laid a brown hand on her elder daughter’s arm.

Judith, apparently suspecting what was coming, lowered her eyes, smiled shyly, and shook her head a little, as her mother went on:

‘She plays the harp better than you’ll hear it anywhere! And a poor old harp it is, too, that’s been in my family for three generations. But do you suppose the people around here think anything of her playing? Not at all; you have to go to the city to hear a harp played.’

‘I should like to hear you play, Judith,’ said Simon, at which the girl’s cheeks flushed prettily.

‘No time for that today,’ said her father, turning about toward the threshing-floor.

‘I told her to take her old harp along—and play for the people when the Carpenter isn’t speaking,’ said her mother.

Simon politely approved of this as a good idea. They reluctantly ambled back to their tasks. He waved a farewell and resumed his westward journey. So—the people of Nazareth hadn’t been very much impressed. This wasn’t a good sign. There must be something shaky about this business, reflected Simon. The family he had just met was not of one mind in respect to these strange occurrences. It was still a matter of debate with them whether the Carpenter of Nazareth was a healer or a fraud. Maybe some light would be shed on that problem today. Simon hoped so. He hoped the Nazarene would turn out to be merely a glib talker with a talent for making sick people feel encouraged; for surely the world was a much more reliable institution if nobody was playing tricks with it, not even for the benefit of a few. And—as he trudged along, moodily intent on the road—Simon wondered whether the girl Judith, with the big, solemn eyes and the wistful smile, was really a harpist. Not very likely, he thought.

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