There was, however, no place for Him in the house.  A strange apprentice from Jericho was established in the workshop.  He worked at the wood with the hatchet and saw that Jesus had once handled; sat by the hearth and at the table where Jesus had once sat; slept in the bed on which Jesus had once reposed.  But it did not seem that he enjoyed the same pleasant dreams for he groaned and tossed about, and when he awakened was ill-pleased at having to continue the same work which he had ill-humouredly laid aside the evening before.  How often did Mary look at him in silence, and think of the difference between him and her Jesus.  And she saw how the man carelessly ate his meals, and went to his bed each day, while her son was perhaps perishing in a strange land, and had no stone whereon to lay His head.

And now Jesus was once again with her.  “Mother,” He said to Mary, “don’t speak impatiently to Aaron.  He is poor, discontented, and sullen; he has found little kindness in men and without exactly knowing it, thirsts for kindness.  When you would bring Me water in the morning to wash with, take it to him.  When you would prepare dinner for Me, prepare it for him.  When you would bless Me in the evening, bless him.  Love may perhaps do what words cannot.  Everything that you think to do for Me in My absence, do for him.”

“And you—­you will have nothing more from me?”

“Mother, I want everything from you.  I am always with you.  You can be good to Me in showing kindness to every poor creature.  I must lead men by stern measures, be you gentle.  I must burn the ulcers from out the dead flesh, you shall heal the wounds.  I must be the salt, be you the oil.”

How happy she was when He spoke to her like that.  For that was her life—­to be kind, to help, wherever she could.  And here was her son consecrating such deeds of kindness till they became a covenant between her and Him, a bond of memory for mother and child when parted from each other.  Now that He had appealed to her love, she did not feel so lonely; she felt once more at one with Him, and had a sort of presentiment that in future times her bleeding mother’s heart would be satisfied beyond measure.

Once again Jesus went through His native land to see if the seed of His teaching had sprung up anywhere.  But the earth was barren.  He was not so much troubled by the passionate enmity with which many regarded Him, or the angry murmurings against Him and His word, as by indolence of mind, by obstinate, stupid adherence to commonplace inanities, by entire lack of perception, by indifference towards spiritual life.  At first the novelty and strangeness of His appearance had compelled attention, but that was over.  Whether the Prophet was old or new, it was all one to them.  One was just like another, they declared, and they remained indifferent.  “The hot and the cold,” Jesus exclaimed one day, “I can accept, but those who are lukewarm I cast from Me.  Had I