ere is nothing sad in the story, only that it is a
long time ago. Our speech next day still rings in my ear--my telling
thee of the Pharisees that merely minded the letter of the law, and of
the Sadducees that said there was no life outside this world except for
angels. It is well indeed that I remember our two selves sitting by the
door on two stools set under a vine, and it throwing pretty patterns of
shadow on the pavement whilst we talked--whilst I talked to thee of the
brethren, who lived down by the Bitter Lake, no one owning anything more
than his fellow, so that none might be distracted from God by the
pleasures of this world. I can see clearly through the years thy face
expectant, and Nazareth--the deeply rutted streets and the hills above.

The days that we walked in Nazareth are pleasant memories, for I could
never tell thee enough about the Essenes: their contempt of riches, and
that if there were one among them who had more than another, on entering
the order he willingly shared it. We were among the hills the day that I
told thee about the baker; how he put a platter with a loaf on it before
each of the brethren, how they broke bread, deeming the meal sacred, and
it was the next day that we bade farewell to thy father and thy mother
and started on our journey; a long way, but one that did not seem long
to us, so engaged were we with our hopes. It was with me thou sawest
Jerusalem for the first time; and I remember telling thee as we
journeyed by the Jordan seeking a ford that the Essenes looked upon oil
as a defilement, and if any one of them be anointed without his
approbation it is wiped off, for we think to be sweaty is a good thing,
and to be clothed in white garments, and never to change these till they
be torn to pieces or worn out by time.

And of the little band that came with us that day from Galilee there
remain Saddoc, Manahem and thyself. All of you learnt from me on the
journey that we laboured till the fifth hour and then assembled together
again clothed in white veils, after having bathed our bodies in cold
water. But, Jesus, why this grief? Because I am going from thee? But,
dear friend, to come and to go is the law of life, and it may be that I
shall be with thee longer than thou thinkest for; eighty odd years may
be lengthened into ninety: the patriarchs lived till a hundred and more
years, and we believe that the soul outlives the body. Out of the
chrysalis we escape from our corruptible