Trouble there always is in this world, Peter answered, so long as I’ve known it, and will be till God sets up his kingdom.  The sooner he does it the better, so say I. But I don’t know about the saints we heard of yesterday, what they have to do with it.  The Master’s mood is stranger than I ever can recollect it, he said, standing up straight and looking Joseph in the eyes.  It was yourself that said it yesterday, Peter, Joseph rejoined.  I’m thinking it may have been the Samaritans that vexed him.  Peter lifted his heavy shoulders and muttered:  the Samaritans?  We give no heed to them:  and he began to speak, at first with diffidence; Joseph had to woo him into speaking, which he did; but after the first few minutes Peter was glib enough, telling Joseph that last night there had been stirs and quarrels among the disciples regarding his boats, and John’s and James’ boats too, he said, and by the jealous and envious, he muttered, who would like to come between us and the Master.  Joseph asked who had raised the vexatious question, but Peter avoided it, and went about the wharf grunting that none could answer it:  was it to Matthew, the publican, he was to give his boats? one, he said, who never was on the water in his life till I took him out for a sail a week come Tuesday.  A fine use they’d be to him but to drown himself.  A puff of wind, and not knowing how to take in a reef, the boat would be over in a jiffy and the nets lost.  Now who would be the better for the loss of my nets? answer me that.  And I’d like to be told when my boats and nets were at the bottom of the lake to whom would the Son of Man turn for a corner in which to lay his head, or for a bite or a sup of wine.  John and James would give their boats to Judas belike, and he’d bring home about as much fish as would——­ But I’m thinking of your father.  What will he be saying to all this, and his business dwindling all the while, and we beggars?—­the words with which my wife roused me this morning.  Of course, says she, if the stone that never was cut out of the mountain with hands is going to be slung and send the Romans toppling, I’ve naught to say against sharing, but the Kingdom had better come quickly, Simon Peter, if thou’lt fish no more; and the woman is right, say I, though I hold with every word that falls from the Master’s lips, only this way it is, he looks to my fishing for his support, and Miriam is quick to remind me of that.  A good woman, one that has been always yielding to my will and never had a word against our lodger, but sets the best before him out of thankfulness for his saving of her mother’s life, though one more mouth in a house is always a drain, if the Master is as easily fed as a sparrow.  But restive she is now about the delay:  as I was saying just now she wakes me up with a loud question in my ear:  now, Simon Peter, answer me, art thou going into Syria to bid the blind to see, the lame to walk, and the palsied to shake no more, or art thou going to thy trade?