Part 1 (2/2)

”Come, Mother, come,” she called. ”My poppies are all out, every one.

Four of them in a row! See--even the smallest one that I feared would not bloom at all. There is one for each of thee: Father, Mother, Ezra, Jonas. The smallest one is for Jonas, and verily it is the prettiest one of all.”

Naomi's mother came smiling down the path. She carried a water-pitcher or urn, and astride her left shoulder sat baby Jonas, steadying himself by clutching his mother's thick dark hair.

”The flowers are beautiful, Naomi,” said she pleasantly. ”They well repay thee for all thy patience and care. I go now to the fountain for water. It lacks but half an hour to sundown. Watch thy little brother Jonas well and keep him happy until I return.”

And slipping Jonas from her shoulder to the gra.s.s, and pulling her white linen veil into place, she stepped quickly out into the village street, her urn securely balanced upon her head.

Jonas had already crept over to the bench, and, dragging himself up upon his unsteady legs, he looked into his sister's face with a smile.

”The smallest poppy is thine, Jonas,” Naomi told him, ”but thou must touch it not. Come now with me and see the pigeons.”

Behind the house, a step out of the garden, stood a dove-cote made of mud. Inside were two wide-mouthed earthen jars that served as nesting-boxes. The pigeons were stepping majestically about on the ground, the sun touching their soft gray feathers with blue and green and rose. Jonas made several lunges at them in the hope of capturing a new plaything, but he succeeded only in stubbing his toe and sitting down hard upon the ground.

”No, neither must thou touch them,” said Naomi, helping him tenderly to his feet and brus.h.i.+ng off the dirt. ”It seems to me that there are a great many things that thou must not touch. But I know something that thou canst do. It is my secret, but I do not mind telling thee because thou canst not talk. Thou mayst help me dig a well!”

Naomi's voice sank mysteriously as she guided the tottering Jonas back into the garden and over to a bare spot of ground behind the largest of the myrtle bushes.

”Sit ye down, Jonas,” said Naomi, sinking cross-legged to the ground.

”I mean to dig the well here, it will be so handy for Mother. Then never will she have to walk down to the fountain unless she likes. You take that stick and I will use this one.”

For a few moments the little girl worked industriously, loosening the dry sun-baked soil, while Jonas scratched vigorously with his sharp-pointed stick.

”It is hard work, Jonas,” sighed Naomi, pausing to shake back her curls.

”But it will be worth it when once the well is made. It will be called 'Naomi's well' for me, and years and years from now my great-great-grandchildren will be proud of me because I made it. And when I am an old woman, all thin and brown and dried-up like lame Enoch's grandmother, I will say to my grandchildren, all standing round and listening to every word I say--I will say, 'Grandchildren, I well remember the day thy dear uncle--that is thou, Jonas--and I dug this'--Oh! Oh!” And Naomi screamed aloud and jumped to her feet.

Something cold and wet had been placed against the back of her neck, and little s.h.i.+vers were running over her as she turned and saw her brother Ezra behind her, smiling at her fright. In his arms he held a small white lamb, and it was this little animal's nose that had been pressed to Naomi's neck, and that had brought her day-dreaming to such an abrupt close.

”Wilt thou not tell the grandchildren anything about their dear Uncle Ezra?” inquired Ezra with a comical look. ”Who sharpened those sticks for thee, I would fain know, and thou didst not even tell me what use they were for. How dost thou think the grandchildren would like to hear that?”

”How unkind thou art to listen and then laugh at me,” said Naomi, putting out her under lip. ”I would have told thee, Ezra, about the well only it was a secret. Do not tell Mother, wilt thou? I would fain surprise her. Promise thou wilt not tell, Ezra! Promise!” And Naomi laid an imploring hand upon her brother's arm.

Ezra's only answer was to laugh and shake his head. Though he had no intention of telling, he wanted to tease Naomi a little before making any promises. He was fond of his little sister, and was far more gentle and kindly than many another brother would have been in those days in old Palestine.

For in the Jewish family, girls were not valued so highly as boys, and were made to feel their unimportance in many ways that would be highly displeasing to little sisters of to-day. Girls were taught to wait upon their brothers and to treat them with respect. It was impressed upon them that the duty of a girl was to be useful and modest and quiet, and that her chief pleasure should lie in making home happy and comfortable for her father and brothers.

But in the household of Samuel the weaver, Naomi's lot had not been quite that of the ordinary Jewish girl. Her father was proud of his bright, lovable little daughter and had made her his special pet. Her mother, who had been well taught by her own mother, a ”wise woman” of her day, was careful that Naomi seldom missed the daily lesson that kept the little girl, to her great delight, only a short way behind Ezra on the hard road of knowledge.

So Ezra, though he felt his superiority as a boy and the first-born of his family, could not long resist Naomi's pleading glance nor the pressure of her little brown hand.

”What wilt thou give me if I do not tell?” asked Ezra, not wis.h.i.+ng to seem to relent too quickly.

”The first bright shekel I find in the highway,” answered Naomi saucily.

She was smiling now, and her hand was gently stroking the little lamb's nose.

”What lamb is this, Ezra?” she asked. ”And why hast thou brought it home? It seems sleepy, poor little creature. Look, its eyes are half shut.”

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