eral trend of the
landscape and the line of the distant hills were the same. The
differences I noted aloud and pointed out with my finger.

"The houses was about right here, and there was more trees, lots of
trees, and lots of grass, and lots of goats. I can see 'em now, an' two
boys drivin' 'em. An' right here is a lot of men walkin' behind one man.
An' over there"--I pointed to where I had placed my village--"is a lot of
tramps. They ain't got nothin' on exceptin' rags. An' they're sick.
Their faces, an' hands, an' legs is all sores."

"He's heard the story in church or somewhere--you remember, the healing
of the lepers in Luke," the missionary said with a smile of satisfaction.
"How many sick tramps are there, my boy?"

I had learned to count to a hundred when I was five years old, so I went
over the group carefully and announced:

"Ten of 'em. They're all wavin' their arms an' yellin' at the other
men."

"But they don't come near them?" was the query.

I shook my head. "They just stand right there an' keep a-yellin' like
they was in trouble."

"Go on," urged the missionary. "What next? What's the man doing in the
front of the other crowd you said was walking along?"

"They've all stopped, an' he's sayin' something to the sick men. An' the
boys with the goats 's stopped to look. Everybody's lookin'."

"And then?"

"That's all. The sick men are headin' for the houses. They ain't
yellin' any more, an' they don't look sick any more. An' I just keep
settin' on my horse a-lookin' on."

At this all three of my listeners broke into laughter.

"An' I'm a big man!" I cried out angrily. "An' I got a big sword!"

"The ten lepers Christ healed before he passed through Jericho on his way
to Jerusalem," the missionary explained to my parents. "The boy has seen
slides of famous paintings in some magic lantern exhibition."

But neither father nor mother could remember that I had ever seen a magic
lantern.

"Try him with another picture," father suggested.

"It's all different," I complained as I studied the photograph the
missionary handed me. "Ain't nothin' here except that hill and them
other hills. This ought to be a country road along here. An' over there
ought to be gardens, an' trees, an' houses behind big stone walls. An'
over there, on the other side, in holes in the rocks ought to be where
they buried dead folks. You see this place?--they used to throw stones
at people there until th