Part 5 (2/2)

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 fas.h.i.+on. ”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 s.h.i.+ning 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.

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