It was David’s great-heartedness that bound others to him.  At the time of this story he was a sort of outlaw, driven without any good reason from the court of Saul.  But he was a man of too much spirit to allow himself to be tamely killed, and he loved Saul and his family too well to actually make war upon him, and he was too good a patriot to give trouble to his country—­a pretty hard place he had to fill, I can assure you.  But he was equal to it, and simply bided his time, drawing off into the wild and rocky regions where he could hide and also protect himself.  But he was not a man whom people would leave alone.  The magnetic power that was in him drew kindred spirits, and some that were not kindred who found it pleasanter to follow a chief in the wilds than to live in the dull quiet of their homes.  But the greater part of them were brave, generous, devoted souls, who had come to the conclusion that to live with David and fight his battles and share his fortunes was more enjoyable than to plod along under Saul and his petty tyrannies.  There were, in particular, eleven men of the tribe of Gad—­mountaineers—­fierce as lions and swift as roes, terrible men in battle, and full of devotion to David.  In this way he got together quite a little army, which he used to defend the borders from the Philistines, who were a thieving set, and also to defend himself in case Saul troubled him.  It was not exactly the best sort of a life for a man to live; and had not David been a person of very high principles, his followers would have been a band of robbers living on the country.  But David prevented that, and made them as useful as was possible.  His headquarters were at the cave of Adullam, or what is now called Engedi.  While here, the Philistines came on a foraging expedition as far as Bethlehem, and with so large a force that David and his few followers were shut up in their fortress—­for how long we do not know—­probably for some days.  It was very dull and wearisome business, imprisoned in a rocky defile and unable to do anything, while the Philistines were stealing the harvests that grew on the very spot where he had spent his boyhood.

It was then that what has always seemed to me a very touching and beautiful trait of David’s character showed itself, and that is—­a feeling of homesickness.  Now, there is very little respect to be had for a person who is not capable of homesickness.  To give up to it may be weak, but to be incapable of it is a bad sign.  But in David it took a very poetic form.  Close by was the home where he was born.  There, in Bethlehem, he had passed the dreamy years of his childhood and youth amid the love of his parents and brothers, whom he now had with him; there he fed his sheep and sang to his harp; and there, morning and evening, he gathered with others about the well—­the meeting-place of his companions—­loved with all the passionate energy of his nature, and still loved in spite of the troublous times that had come upon him.  As