f Eden, and each
time it was for the death of the master. David tore the green away and
struck the bell. The brazen voice crowded the patio and pealed far away,
and presently the men came. They came in wild-eyed haste, and when they
saw David alive before them they stared at him as if at a ghost.

"As it was in the beginning," said David when the circle had been formed
and hushed, "death follows sin. Sin has come into the Garden of Eden and
the voice of God has died out of it. Therefore the thing for which you
have lived here so long is gone. If for love of David, you wish to stay,
remain; but if your hearts go back to your old homes, return to them.
The wagons and the oxen are yours. All the furnishing of the houses are
yours. There is also a large store of money in my chest which Elijah
shall divide justly among you. And on your journey Elijah shall lead
you, if you go forth, for he is a just man and fit to lead others. Do
not answer now, but return to your house and speak to one another.
Afterward, send one man. If you stay in the Garden he shall tell me. If
you depart I shall bid you farewell through him. Begone!"

They went out soft-footed, as though the master of the Garden had turned
into an animal liable to spring on them from behind.

He began to pace up and down the patio, after a time, rather
impatiently. No doubt the foolish old men were holding forth at great
length. They were appointing the spokesman, and they were framing the
speech which he would make to David telling of their devotion to him,
whether the spirit was gone or remained. They would remain; and
Benjamin's prophecy had been that of a spiteful fool. Yet even if they
stayed, how empty the valley would be--how hollow of all pleasure!

It was at this point in his thoughts that he heard a sound of singing
down the hillside from the house of the servants--first a single, thin,
trembling voice to which others were added until the song was heartened
and grew full and strong. It was a song which David had never heard
before. It rang and swung with a peculiarly happy rhythm, growing
shriller as the old men seemed to gather their enthusiasm. The words,
sung in a thick dialect, were stranger to David than the tune, but as
nearly as he could make out the song ran as follows:

"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars
For the cows they has come to the pasture bars,
And the little game chicken's beginning to crow:
Come back to u