Christmas Light Part 5

So Samuel the weaver purposed to take Naomi thither, and, even while the little girl lay thinking long, long thoughts and wishing for daybreak, the moments slipped by, the Fourth Watch or Morning came, and Naomi's mother rose to prepare the meal so the travelers might have an early start.

A stout little donkey, borrowed from the khan stable, carried Naomi and her father briskly over the familiar Jerusalem highway. The little girl remembered how happy she had been on her journey with Aunt Miriam and how all the world had seemed gay that morning. Then she recalled the "tap, tap, tap" of the blind men on the road, and she hid her face in her father's cloak and trembled.

"O that the Angel of the Pool may open my eyes!" prayed Naomi. "O that the Angel of the Pool may open my eyes!"

The Pool of Bethesda was a pretty spot. About it had been built five porches, and in their shelter lay the sick and the withered, the lame and the blind, waiting for a chance to push their way in the moment the waters began to move.

When Naomi and her father arrived, the pool lay still in the sunlight, so Samuel established himself close to the edge with his arm about Naomi, and fell into conversation with a professional letter-writer who sat, bearded and grave, with ink-horn fastened at his side.

"Thy little maid has felt the hand of the Lord?" queried the letter-writer, looking compa.s.sionately at Naomi who stood picking with nervous fingers at her father's sleeve.

Samuel nodded sadly. In a few words he told the story of Naomi's trouble.

"She is indeed grievously afflicted," observed the letter-writer, shaking his gray head and uttering a sigh. "And my friend here, whom I come to lift into the pool, has lain helpless upon his bed for eight and twenty years. O that the Messiah would come! 'Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart and the tongue of the dumb shall sing.'"

"Think you the Messiah will come shortly?" inquired Samuel.

This was a burning question of the day. The desire for the coming of the Kingdom of G.o.d was a flame that was consuming the Jewish nation.

The letter-writer tapped his forehead thoughtfully with a brown forefinger.

"Thou knowest the saying of the Pharisees, that if all Israel could keep the Law perfectly for a single day, Messiah would come. As for me, I long with a mighty longing to see Israel restored, to be delivered from our enemies, and to have our sins forgiven."

Naomi stirred restlessly. What did all this talk of a Messiah mean to her? Well enough for the grown folk to look forward to the coming of a Saviour. As for her, all she asked of all the world was that the Angel of the Bethesda Pool might come with healing in his wings and lay his cool fingers upon her closed eyes and open them again.

"Perhaps I shall see Mother's face to-night," she thought. "And Ezra will be at the village gate waiting for me. He promised. And I am to wave my girdle at the first turn in the road if my eyes are opened. O Angel of the Pool, remember me, Naomi! Remember me here in the dark!"

Naomi's father, who had never taken his eyes from the pool, leaned forward.

"It moves, Naomi," he whispered. "The Angel comes, although we see him not. Be ready, for I must act quickly."

The surface of the pool began to heave and swell, and at the precise moment that the water boiled up, Samuel bent over with Naomi in his arms and dipped her head under the water once, twice, three times!

Dripping, sputtering, and crying, Naomi was placed upon her feet, while her father endeavored to wipe away the water that ran down into her neck and stained her little robe.

"Dost thou see, Naomi?" asked Samuel with a tremble in his voice. "Open thine eyes and look! Dost thou see, my little pomegranate?"

If the Angel of the Pool failed them, where should he turn for help?

Naomi obediently opened her brown eyes and stared, sightless as ever, into her father's face.

The Angel of the Pool had failed them!

CHAPTER V

ALL THE WORLD COMES VISITING

It was the winter season in Palestine.

In the darkness and despair that followed her trip to the Pool of Bethesda, Naomi had not cared what the weather might be. She had listened with indifference to the whistling, roaring wind-storm that had come suddenly one night in October telling the weather-wise that summer was over and the rainy season at hand.

Huddled over the brazier of charcoal that smouldered under a rug in a shallow hole in the middle of the floor, Naomi had not heeded the wild dash of rain against the house nor its melancholy dripping in the deserted garden. Even the excitement of Ezra and Jonas over a slight fall of snow, the first either one had ever seen, had failed to rouse her.

Samuel and his wife were troubled beyond words at this calamity that had come upon their child. Aunt Miriam and Simon were sympathetic, but could offer no advice. Ezra was at his wits' ends, for all his schemes and devices to amuse failed, and the hollow words of encouragement died upon his honest lips.

Samuel, too, had a fresh worry of which Naomi knew nothing, and which, slight though it was in comparison with the little girl's misfortune, did not tend to make the daily life of the family more pleasant.

"Aye, Samuel the weaver's child is blind," said the neighbors, wagging their heads in knowing fashion. "What sin hath he committed, think you, that this calamity befalls him? Truly the way of the transgressor is hard."

"It may be that his wife is the sinner," was whispered about. "Or perhaps both."

And little by little the village people turned aside when they saw Samuel coming, and fewer and fewer were the friendly words said to Naomi's mother when she went patiently down to the fountain for her supply of water.

Ezra felt himself more fortunate than the grown people, for at the first unkind word from his former friend, fat Solomon across the road, he had flown at him in a fury, and had shortly enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his blubbering enemy lick the dust.

"Mole, indeed!" shouted Ezra, doubling up his fists. "Thou wilt call my sister a blind mole, wilt thou? Thou serpent, feeding upon the dust!

Thou snake! Rise not up or I will rub thy nose in the dirt again."

So cautious Solomon, having learned his lesson well, was forced to content himself with calling names from behind the wall, which Ezra was prompt to answer with sticks and stones.

No one was happy in the little household, and faces were sober and voices hushed as they went about their tasks, until one day Aunt Miriam called Ezra and whispered in his ear. His eyes opened wide and his face brightened, and for more than a week he neglected his friends, the shepherds, and spent all his spare time at the khan.

Then, one afternoon, when the rain had ceased and the little olive leaves glistened in the cold bright light, Naomi's mother approached the forlorn little figure crouched in a corner and raised her to her feet.

"Here is thy warm cloak, beloved," said she, coaxingly, laying her hand on the soft brown curls that seemed to hang limply now that Naomi never tossed them back with a proud little shake of the head. "Before the door stand thy aunt, thy father, and thy brother. They wait for thee. And, little Naomi, there waits a surprise for thee also. Come and listen by the doorway."

From behind the door Naomi heard an unfamiliar stamping, a running about, and Ezra's excited voice.

"Be careful, Jonas," called Ezra sharply. "Wilt thou be stepped on?

Stand from under. Naomi, where art thou? Mother! Oh, she comes! Aunt Miriam, Father, she comes!"

Naomi's mother led out the white-faced little girl and Samuel took her gently by the hand.

"A gift for thee, little Naomi," said he, smiling more happily than in many a long day, "from thy good Aunt Miriam. Put out thy hand and guess."

Naomi stretched out a timid hand and touched a soft furry nose.

"A donkey!" said Naomi. "To take me for a ride!"

"Aye," burst out Ezra, his face shining with unselfish joy; "to take thee for a ride every day and everywhere. Up and down the hills and roundabout. We shall go everywhere together, thou and I."

"Speak more plainly, Ezra," said Aunt Miriam, seeing the puzzled look upon his sister's face. "The donkey is thine, Naomi. Thy Uncle Simon and I have given it to thee. Ezra means that he will take thee riding upon it whenever and wherever thou wilt. No longer shalt thou lurk in the house with white cheeks from sunrise to sunrise. We shall have thee as rosy as a poppy again ere long."

And her tender-hearted aunt first wiped her br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes upon the corner of her veil, and then caught back Jonas by his leather pinafore from under the donkey's heels, where he seemed determined to meet with a speedy death.