Persia, this was the first definite opportunity he had had
of listening to Bible truth.

"Kedar knows more of this than his father," explained Musa. "'Tis his
mother who teaches him. She was a Jewess, of the people of Jesus of
Nazareth, but I fear this roving life has caused my poor Lois to forget
much of the teaching of her people."

"You speak of Jesus of Nazareth. I have heard something of him. Tell me
more."

Musa shook his head slowly. "I know nothing," he said. "But I shall call
Lois. The men have all gone from the tent, and mayhap she can tell what
you want."

So saying, he entered the women's apartment, and sent his wife to Yusuf.

"You wish to know of Jesus of Nazareth?" she said. "Alas, I am but a
poor teacher. I am unworthy even to speak his name. I married when but a
child, and since then I have wandered far from him, for there have been
few to teach me. Yet I know that he was in very truth the Son of God. He
was all-good. He healed the sick on this earth, and forgave sin. Then,
woe, woe to me!--he was crucified,--crucified by my people! And he went
up to heaven; his disciples saw him go up in the white clouds of a
bright day."

"Where dwells he now? Is he one of the spirits of the stars?"

"I know not. He is in heaven."

"And does he stoop to take notice of us, the children of earth?"

"Alas, I know not! There was once a time when Jesus was more than a name
to me. When I knelt, a child, beside my mother on the grassy hills of
Hebron, it seemed that Jesus was, in some vague way, a reality to me;
but long years of forgetfulness have passed since then. Stranger, I wish
you well. Your words have brought back to me the desire to know more of
him. If you learn aught of him, and it ever lies in your way to do so,
come and tell us,--my Musa and me,--that we too may learn of him."

Rising to her feet, the woman saluted the Persian and left him. Musa
entered to conduct him to the rugs set apart for his couch, and soon
all was silent about the encampment.

But ere he fell asleep, Yusuf went out into the moonlight. The night was
filled with the peculiar lightness of an Oriental night. The moon blazed
down like a globe of molten silver, and a few large stars glowed with
scarcely secondary brilliance. In the silvery brightness he could easily
read the manuscript given him by the Jew. It was the story of the man
with the withered hand, whose infirmity was healed by Jesus in the
synagogue. And there, in the s