the care of the house, but the history of the Hebrew people, their
songs, their prayers, and their hopes.

"I know ten hymns without a mistake," Naomi would boast, and by hymns
she meant what we call psalms. "I can recite the Song of Deborah and the
Song of Hannah. I can tell all the story about them, too, and, oh, ever
so many more."

Her favorite story was that of the Naomi for whom she had been named.
But this summer afternoon she was thinking of nothing save of the pretty
blossoms that now swung before her after so many days of patient toil
and care.

She caught sight of her mother in the doorway and eagerly called her to
come and see the sight.

"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 grass, 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 brushing off the dirt. "It seems to me that there are a
great many things that t