something that Joseph did not hear, and in answer to his question why she did not rouse Matred from her bed she said that the young require more sleep than the old; an answer that surprised Joseph, for he had never been able to rid himself of his first impression of Esora.  He remembered when he was a child how he hated her long nose, her long yellow neck and her doleful voice always crying out against somebody, her son, her kitchen-maid, or Joseph himself.  She used to turn him out of her kitchen and larder and dairy, saying that his place was upstairs, and once raised her hand to him; later she had complained to his father of his thefts; for he brought his dogs with him and stole the larder key and cut off pieces of meat for them, and very often dipped jars into the pans of milk that were standing for cream.  His father reproved him, and from that day he hated Esora, casting names at her, and playing many pranks upon her until the day he tipped a kettle of boiling water over his foot while running to scald the wasps in their nest—­one of the apes was stung; it was to avenge the sting he was running, and no one had known how to relieve his suffering; his father had gone away for the doctor, but Esora, as soon as she heard what had happened, came with her balsam, and it subdued the pain almost miraculously.

After his scalding Joseph brought all his troubles to her to be cured, confiding to her care coughs, colds, and cut fingers; and, as she never failed to relieve his pain, whatever it was, he began to look upon her with respect and admiration.  All the same something of his original dislike remained.  He disliked her while he admired her, and his suspicion was that she loved him more for his father’s sake than for his own——­ It was his father who sent her from Galilee to look after him.  There was no fault to find with her management, but he could not rid his mind of the belief that she was a hard task-mistress, and often fell to pitying the servants under her supervision, yet here she was up at five while Matred lay drowsing.  This testimony of her kind heart was agreeable to him, for he had need of all her kindness and sympathy that morning—­only with her help could Jesus be cured of his wounds and the story of his escape from the cross he kept a secret.  He was in her hands, and, confident of her loyalty to him, he told her that he had left his door open because he wished to speak to her before the others were out of bed.

She lifted her face till he saw her dim eyes, perhaps for the first time:  but ye haven’t been in bed, and there be dust on thy garments, and blood upon thy hands and sleeves.  Yes, Esora, my cloak is full of dust, and the blood on my sleeve is that of a man who lies wounded in the gardener’s cottage belike to death.  But thou canst cure him and wilt keep the secret of his burial if we have to bury him in the garden.  It may be that some day I’ll tell thee his story, but think now only how thou mayst relieve his suffering.  Another