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the morning. The dragonflies were bustling about their business: what it
was not easy to discover, but they went by in companies of small flies,
with now and then a great one that rustled past on gauzy wings. And the
bees were coming and going from their hive in the rocks, incited by the
fragrance of the flowers, and Joseph watched them crawling over the
anemones and leaving them hastily to bury their blunt noses in the
pistils of the white squills that abounded everywhere in the corners, in
the inlets and bays and crevices of the rocks. Butterflies, especially
the white, pursued love untiringly in the air, fluttering and hovering,
uniting and then separating--aerial wooings that Joseph followed with
strained eyes, till at last the white bloom passed out of sight; and he
turned to the dragonflies, hoping to capture one of the fearful kind,
often nearly succeeding, but failing at the last moment and returning
disappointed to Azariah who, seated on a comfortable stone, waited till
Joseph's ardour should abate a little. These stones will be too hot in
another hour, he said. But it will be cool enough under the boughs,
Joseph answered. Perhaps too cool, Azariah muttered, and Joseph wondered
if it were reasonable to be so discontented with the world, especially
on a morning like this, he said to himself; and to hearten Azariah he
mentioned again that the path up the hillside zigzagged. You'll not feel
the ascent, Sir. To which encouragement Azariah made no answer but drew
Joseph's attention to the industry of the people of Arimathea. The eager
boy could spare only a few moments for the beauty of the fig and
mulberry leaves showing against the dark rocks, but he snuffed the scent
the breeze bore and said it was the same that had followed them
yesterday. The scent of the vine-flower, Azariah rejoined. The hillsides
were covered with the pale yellow clusters. But I thought, Joseph, that
you were too tired yesterday to notice anything. Only towards the end of
the journey, Joseph muttered. But what are you going to do, Sir? he
asked. I am going to run up the hill. You may run if you please, the
preceptor answered, and as he followed the boy at a more leisurely pace
he wondered at Joseph's spindle shanks struggling manfully against the
ascent. He will stop before the road turns, he said, but Joseph ran on.
He is anxious to reach the top, Azariah pondered. There is some pleasant
turf up there full of flowers: he'll like to roll