‘Did you see the boy with the crutches; the one with the limber leg?’
‘The little boy your grandfather stopped to speak to?’
Jonathan nodded.
‘Well—you can make it all up to Thomas,’ cooed Marcellus, maternally. ‘He’ll have plenty of chances to ride. See here—if you feel so upset about this, why don't you run over to Thomas’ house now and tell him he may ride Jasper, first thing in the morning.’
‘They’re going away tomorrow,’ croaked Jonathan, dismally. ‘Thomas and his mother. They don’t live here. They live in Capernaum. They came here because his grandmother was sick. And she died. And now they’re going back to Capernaum.’
‘That’s too bad,’ said Marcellus. 'But it isn’t your fault. If you’re troubled about it, perhaps you’d better talk it over with your grandfather. Did you ever sleep in a tent, Jonathan?’
Jonathan shook his head, the gloom lifting a little.
‘There’s another cot we can set up,’ said Marcellus. ‘You go and talk to your grandfather about Thomas, and ask your mother if you may sleep in the tent.’
Jonathan grinned appreciatively and disappeared.
It was impossible not to overhear the conversation, for Justus was seated near the open window within an arm’s reach of the tent. After a while, Marcellus became conscious of the deep, gentle voice of Justus and the rather plaintive treble of his troubled grandson. Immensely curious to learn how all this was coming out, he put down his stylus and listened.
‘When Jesus told people to give their things away, he said that just to rich people; didn’t he, Grandfather?’
‘Yes—just to people who had things they could divide with others.’
‘Is Marcellus rich?’
‘Yes—and he is very kind.’
‘Did Jesus tell him to give his things away?’
There was a long pause here that made Marcellus hold his breath.
I do not know, Jonathan. It is possible.’
There was another long silence, broken at length by the little boy.
‘Grandfather—why didn’t Jesus heal Thomas’ leg?’
‘I don’t know, son. Perhaps Jesus wasn’t told about it.’
‘That was too bad,’ lamented Jonathan. ‘I wish he had.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Justus. ‘That would make things much easier for you; wouldn’t it?’
‘I’m glad he straightened my foot,’ murmured Jonathan.
‘Yes—that was wonderful!’ rumbled Justus. ‘Jesus was very good to you! I know that if you could do anything for Jesus, you would be glad to; wouldn’t you?’
‘I couldn’t do anything for Jesus, Grandfather,’ protested Jonathan. ‘How could I?’
‘Well—if you should find that there was something Jesus hadn’t done, because they hadn’t told him about it; something he would have wanted to do, if he had known; something he would want to do now, if he were still here—’
‘You mean—something for Thomas?’ Jonathan’s voice was thin.
‘Had you thought there was something you might do for Thomas?’
Little Jonathan was crying now; and from the sound of shifting positions within the room, Marcellus surmised that Justus had taken his unhappy grandson in his arms. There was no more talk. After a half-hour or more, Jonathan appeared, red-eyed and fagged, at the door of the tent.
‘I’m going to sleep with Grandfather,’ he gulped. ‘He wants me to.’
‘That’s right, Jonathan,’ approved Marcellus. ‘Your grandfather hasn’t seen you for a long time. You may play in the tent tomorrow, if you like.’
Jonathan lingered, scowling thoughtfully and batting his eyes.
‘Would it be all right with you if I gave Jasper away?’ he asked, with an effort.
‘To Thomas, maybe?’ wondered Marcellus.
Jonathan nodded, without looking up.
‘Are you sure you want to?’
‘No—I don’t want to.’
‘Well—you’re a pretty brave little boy, Jonathan! I’ll say that for you!” declared Marcellus. This fervent praise, being altogether too much for Jonathan, led to his sudden disappearance. Marcellus untied his sandalstraps and lounged on his cot as the twilight deepened. This Jesus must have been a man of gigantic moral power. He had been dead and in his grave for a year now, but he had stamped himself so indelibly onto the house of Justus that even this child had been marked! The simile intrigued him for a moment. It was as if this Jesus had taken a die and a hammer—and had pounded the image of his spirit into this Galilean gold, converting it into the coins of his kingdom! The man should have lived! He should have been given a chance to impress more people! A spirit like that—if it contrived to get itself going—could make the world over into a fit habitation for men of good will! But Jesus was dead! A little handful of untutored country people in Galilee would remember for a few years—and the great light would be extinguished. It would be a pity! Little Jonathan would give up his donkey to a crippled boy, but only Sepphoris would ever know about it. Miriam would sing her inspired songs—but only for sequestered little Cana. Jesus' kingdom belonged to the world! But its coinage was good only in the shabby villages of Galilee. He would write that, tomorrow, to Demetrius.
***
Marcellus ate his breakfast alone, Rebecca attentive but uncommunicative. He had ventured upon several commonplace remarks to which she had replied, amiably enough, in listless monosyllables. Yes—Jonathan and his grandfather had had their breakfast early. No—she didn’t think they would be gone long.
After he had eaten, Marcellus returned to the tent and continued writing the letter he had begun to Demetrius; writing it in Greek; with no plans for its delivery. Everybody who was likely to be journeying to Jerusalem at this season had already gone.
Presently Justus appeared at the tent-door. Marcellus signed to him to come in, and he eased himself onto a camp-chair.
‘Well,’ began Marcellus, breaking a lengthy silence, ‘I suppose little Jonathan has done a generous deed—and broken his heart. I am sorry to have caused him so much distress.’
‘Do not reproach yourself, Marcellus. It may turn out well. True—the child is a bit young to be put to such a severe test. We can only wait and see how he behaves. This is a great day for Jonathan—if he can see it through.’ Justus was proud—but troubled.
‘See it through!’ echoed Marcellus. ‘But he has seen it through! Hasn’t he given his donkey to the crippled lad? You don’t think he may repent of his gallantry, and ask Thomas to give the donkey back; do you?’
‘No, no—not that! But they’re all down there on the corner telling Jonathan what a fine little fellow he is. You should have heard them—when Thomas and his mother set off—Thomas riding the donkey and his mother walking alongside, so happy she was crying. And all the women caressing Jonathan, and saying, “How sweet! How kind! How brave!”’ Justus sighed deeply, it was too bad! But—of course—I couldn’t rebuke them. I came away.’
‘But—Justus!’ exclaimed Marcellus. ‘Surely it is only natural that the neighbors should praise Jonathan for what he did! It was no small sacrifice for a little boy! Isn’t it right that the child should be commended?’
‘Commended—yes,’ agreed Justus, ‘but not praised overmuch. As you have said, this thing has cost Jonathan a high price. He has a right to be rewarded for it—in his heart. It would be a great pity if all he gets out of it is smugness! There is no vanity so damaging to a man’s character as pride over his good deeds! Let him be proud of his muscles, his fleetness, his strength, his face, his marksmanship, his craftsmanship, his endurance—these are the common frailties that beset us all. But when a man becomes vain of his goodness, it is a great tragedy! My boy is very young and inexperienced. He could be so easily ruined by self-righteousness, almost without realizing what ailed him.’
‘I see what you mean!’ declared Marcellus. ‘I agree with you! This thing will either make Jonathan strong—beyond his years—or it will make a littl
e prig of him! Justus—let’s get out of here before the neighbors have had a chance to ruin him. We’ll take him along with us! What do you say?’
Justus’ eyes lighted. He nodded an enthusiastic approval.
‘I shall speak with his mother,’ he said. ‘We will pack up and leave—at once!’
‘That’s sensible,’ said Marcellus. ‘I was afraid you might insist on Jonathan’s remaining here—just to see how much of this punishment he could take.’
‘No!’ said Justus, it wouldn’t be fair to overload the little fellow. He has done very well indeed. It is time now that we gave him a helping hand. We too have some obligations in this case, my friend!’
‘You’re right!’ Marcellus began rolling up the letter he had just finished. ‘I got Jonathan into this mess, and I’ll do my best to help him through it without being damaged.’
Justus had no more than had time to enter the house until Jonathan put in an appearance at the door of the tent, wearing the wan, tremulous smile of a patient burden-bearer.
‘Hi!—Jonathan,’ greeted Marcellus, noisily. ‘I hear you got young Thomas started on his way. That’s good. What do you want with a donkey, anyhow? You have two of the best legs in town.’ Busily preoccupied with the blankets he was folding up and stuffing into a pack-saddle, he absently chattered on, half to himself, ‘A boy who was once a cripple—and then was cured—should be so glad he could walk that he would never want to ride!’
‘But Jasper was such a nice donkey,’ replied Jonathan, biting his lip. ‘Everybody said they didn’t know how I could give him up.’
‘Well—never mind what everybody said!’ barked Marcellus. ‘Don’t let them spoil it for you now! You’re a stout little fellow—and that’s the end of it! Here!—blow your nose—and give me a hand on this strap!’
Justus showed up in time to hear the last of it. He winced—and grinned.
‘Jonathan,’ he said, ‘we are taking you with us on a few days’ journey. Your mother is packing some things for you.’
‘Me? I’m going along?’ squealed Jonathan. ‘Oh!’ he raced around the corner of the tent, shouting gleefully.
Justus and Marcellus exchanged sober glances.
‘That was a brutal thing I did just now!’ muttered Marcellus.
‘“Faithful are the wounds of a friend,”’ said Justus. ‘Jonathan will recover. He already has something new to think about—now that he is going with us.’
‘By the way, Justus, where are we going?’
‘I had thought of Capernaum next.’
‘That can wait. We might overtake Thomas and Jasper. We don’t want to see any more of them today. Let’s go back to Cana. It will do little Jonathan good to have a look at Miriam.’
Justus tried to conceal a broad grin by tugging at his beard.
‘Perhaps it would do you good too, Marcellus,’ he ventured. ‘But will you not be wasting your time? We have seen everything there is for sale—in Cana.’
Suddenly Marcellus, who had been tossing camp equipment into a wicker box, straightened and looked Justus squarely in the eyes.
‘I think I have bought all the homespun I want,’ he announced, bluntly. ‘What I have been learning about this Jesus has made me curious to hear more. I wonder if you will help me meet a few people who knew him—people who might be willing to talk about him.’
‘That would be difficult,' said Justus, frankly. ‘Our people have no reasons for feeling that they can talk freely with Romans. They would find it hard to understand why a man of your nation should be making inquiries about Jesus. Perhaps you are not aware that the Romans put him to death. Maybe you do not know that the legionaries—especially in Jerusalem—are on the alert for any signs that the friends of Jesus are organized.’
‘Do you suspect me of being a spy, Justus?’ asked Marcellus, bluntly.
‘No—I do not think you are a spy. I do not know what you are, Marcellus; but I am confident that you have no evil intent. I shall be willing to tell you some things about Jesus.’
‘Thank you, Justus.’ Marcellus drew from his tunic the letter he had written. ‘Tell me: how may I send this to Jerusalem?’
Justus frowned, eyeing the scroll suspiciously.
‘There is a Roman fort at Capernaum,' he muttered. ‘Doubtless they have messengers going back and forth, every few days.’
Marcellus handed him the scroll and pointed to the address.
‘I do not want this letter handled through the Capernaum fort,' he said, ‘or the Insula at Jerusalem. It must be delivered by a trusted messenger into the care of the Greek, Stephanos, at Benyosef’s shop.’
‘So you do know that slave Demetrius,' commented Justus. ‘I thought as much.’
‘Yes—he is my slave.’
‘I had wondered about that, too.’
‘Indeed! Well—what else had you wondered about? Let’s clean it all up, while we’re at it.’
‘I have wondered what your purpose was in making this trip into Galilee,' said Justus, brightening a little.
‘Well—now you know; don’t you?’
‘I am not sure that I do.’ Justus laid a hand on Marcellus’ arm. ‘Tell me this: did you ever see Jesus; ever hear him talk?’
‘Yes,' admitted Marcellus, ‘but I could not understand what he said. At that time I did not know the language.’
‘Did you study Aramaic so you could learn something about him?’
‘Yes—I had no other interest in it.’
‘Let me ask one more question.’ Justus lowered his voice. ‘Are you one of us?’
‘That’s what I came up here to find out,' said Marcellus. ‘Will you help me?’
‘As much as I can,’ agreed Justus, ‘as much as you are able to comprehend.’
Marcellus looked puzzled.
‘Do you mean that there are some mysteries here that I am not bright enough to understand?’ he demanded, soberly.
‘Bright enough—yes,’ rejoined Justus. ‘But an understanding of Jesus is not a mere matter of intelligence. Some of this story has to be accepted by faith.’
‘Faith comes hard with me,' frowned Marcellus. ‘I am not superstitious.’
‘So much the better,’ declared Justus. ‘The higher the price you have to pay, the more you will cherish what you get.’ Impulsively throwing aside his coat, he began pulling up tentstakes. ‘We will talk more about this later,’ he said. ‘It is time we were on our way if we hope to reach Cana by sunset.’ Suddenly he straightened with a new idea. ‘I have it!’ he exclaimed. ‘We will go to Nazareth! It is much nearer than Cana. Nazareth was Jesus’ home town. His mother lives there still. She will not hesitate to talk freely with you. When she learns that you—a Roman—saw her son, and were so impressed that you wanted to know more about him, she will tell you everything!’
‘No—no!’ exclaimed Marcellus, wincing. ‘I have no wish to see her.’ Noting the sudden perplexity on Justus’ face, he added, ‘I feel sure she would not want to talk about her son—to a Roman.’
***
For the first three miles, Jonathan frolicked about the little caravan with all the aimless extravagance of a frisky pup, dashing on ahead, inexpertly throwing stones at the crows, and making many brief excursions into the fields. But as the sun rose higher, his wild enthusiasm came under better control. Now he was content to walk sedately beside his grandfather, taking long strides and feeling very manly. After a while he took his grandfather’s hand and shortened his steps at the request of his aching legs.
Preoccupied with their conversation, which was weighty, Justus had been only vaguely aware of the little boy’s weariness; but when he stumbled and nearly fell, they all drew up in the shade, unloaded the pack-train, and reapportioned their burdens so that the smallest donkey might be free for a rider. Jonathan made no protest when they lifted him up.
‘I wish I had kept that nice saddle,’ he repined.
‘No, you don’t,’ drawled Marcellus. ‘When you give anything away, make a good job
of it. Don’t skimp!’
‘Our friend speaks truly, my boy,’ said Justus. The donkey will carry you safely without a saddle. Let us move on, and when the sun is directly overhead, we will have something to eat.’
‘I’m hungry now!’ murmured Jonathan.
‘The bread will taste better at noon,’ advised Justus.
‘I’m hungry, too,’ intervened Marcellus, mercifully. As he unstrapped the hamper, he added, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘He’s only a baby, Justus. Don’t be too hard on him.’
Justus grumbled a little over the delay and the breakdown of discipline, but it was easy to see that he had been mellowed by Marcellus’ gentle defense of the child. A token lunch was passed about, and presently they were on the highway again.
‘You would have been delighted with the mind of Jesus,’ said Justus, companionably. ‘You have a generous heart, Marcellus. How often he talked about generosity! In his opinion there was nothing meaner than a mean gift. About the worst thing a man could do to himself or a fellow creature was to bestow a grudged gift. It was very hard on a man’s character to give away something that should have been thrown away! That much of Jesus’ teachings you could accept, my friend, without any difficulty.’
‘That is a friendly comment, Justus, but you do me too much credit,’ protested Marcellus. ‘The fact is—I have never in my life given anything away that impoverished me in the least. I have never given anything away that I needed or wanted to keep. I suppose Jesus parted with everything he had.’
‘Everything!’ said Justus. ‘He had nothing but the garments he wore. He held that if a man had two coats, he should give one away. During his last year with us he wore a good robe. Perhaps he would have given that away, too, if it hadn’t been given to him in peculiar circumstances.’
‘Would you like to tell me about it?’ asked Marcellus.
There was an ill-favored woman in Nazareth who was suspected of practicing witchcraft. She was a dwarfish person with an ugly countenance, and walked alone, friendless and bitter. The children cried after her on the road. And so a legend spread that Tamar had an evil eye. One Sabbath day the neighbors heard her loom banging, and warned her against this breaking of the law; for many of our people have more respect for the Sabbath than they have for one another. Tamar did not heed the warning and she was reported to the authorities who came in upon her, on a Sabbath morning, and destroyed her loom which was her living. Perhaps you can guess the rest of the story,’ said Justus.
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