The Brook Kerith - A Syrian story by George (George Augustus) Moore
page 20 of 471 (04%)
page 20 of 471 (04%)
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After the rest at midday it seemed to him to be his duty to see that his
mule had been properly fed, and he bought some barley from the camel-driver, but while he was giving it to his mule Azariah remarked that he was only depriving other animals of their fair share of provender. It is hard, he said, to do good without doing wrong to another. But the present is no time for philosophy: we must start again. And the cavalcade moved on through the hills, avoiding the steep ascents and descents by circuitous paths, and Joseph, who had not seen a shepherd leading his flock for some years, became all of a sudden delighted by the spectacle, the sheep running forward scenting the fresh herbage with which the hills were covered as with dark velvet. A little later they came into view of a flock of goats browsing near a wood, and Azariah sought to improve the occasion by a little dissertation on the destructive nature of the goat. Of late years a sapling rarely escaped them, and still more regrettable was the carelessness of the shepherd who left the branches they had torn down to become dry like tinder. He spoke of many forest fires, and told all the stories he could remember in the hope of distracting Joseph's thoughts from the length of the journey. We are now about half-way, he said, disguising the truth. We shall see the city upon the evening glow in about another hour. The longest hour that I have ever known, Joseph complained two hours later; and Azariah laid his cloak over Joseph's saddle. Dost feel more comfortable? A little, the child answered. At the sight of the city thy heart will be lifted again and the suffering forgotten. And Joseph believed him, but towards the end of the day the miles seemed to stretch out indefinitely and at five o'clock he was crying: shall we ever get to Arimathea, for I can sit on this mule no longer, nor shall I be able to stand straight upon my legs when I alight. |
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