and cocks that fight better with short.  And how many days does it take to train a cock?  Joseph asked, and they began to tell him that a fighting cock must be fed with bread and spring water, and have his exercise—­running and sparring—­every day.  It was the woman that kept Joseph in chat, for the men were busy carrying the baskets over the stile and placing them in mule cars that were waiting in the lane.  But, young Master, she said, if you’ve never seen a cock-fight come with us, for a better one you’ll never live to see.  The best birds in Western Asia will be in Tiberias to-day.  Joseph did not answer this invitation at once, for he did not altogether like this woman nor her manner of standing near to him, her black shining eyes fixed upon him.  But he was like one infected, and could not escape from his desire to see a cock-fight.  He knew that Azariah would never forgive him for keeping him waiting ... waiting for how long? he asked himself.  Till he cares to wait no longer, his conscience answered him.  He was going to get into great trouble, but he could not say no to the cockers, and he followed them, asking himself when he should escape from the evil spirit which—­at their instigation, perhaps—­had taken possession of him.  A moment after he was assuring himself that the folk he had fallen in with were ignorant of everything but cockering, without knowledge of witchcraft, star-mongering or sortilege—­the servants of some great Roman, without doubt, which was sufficient assurance that though they might be cock stealers on occasion they were not kidnappers.  Besides, in frequented lanes and in Tiberias the stealing of a boy was out of the question, and after seeing one or two cocks killed he could return home, for he need not wait till the end.  He could not help himself, he must see the great red and yellow bird strike his spur through the head of his adversary, as the Heeler told him he had never failed to do in many combats.  And he would not fail now, though he was two years old, which is old for a fighting cock.  You see, little Master, the woman said, they be not as quick on their legs as they get older, nor are they as eager to fight.  To-day’s battle will be his last—­win or lose—­and if he conies out alive at the end he’ll go to the hens, which will be more frolicsome than having spurs driven into his neck as happened three months gone by, but it didn’t check his spirit, she continued, he killed his bird and let off one great crowing before he toppled over:  we thought he was gone, but I sucked his wound, bathed it with salt and water, and you see he’s none the worse to-day.