Then Simon said:  “I rely on Him Who has so often fed His people in the desert.”

“Words won’t cure our hunger to-day,” remarked Andrew, and was frightened at his own temerity.  Then Bartholomew put his hand on Matthew’s arm and said:  “Brother, give that bread to the Master.”

“Do you think I’m knave enough to eat it myself?” blazed up Matthew.  He got up, went to the Master, and gave Him the bread.

“Have you already eaten?” He asked.

“Master, we are all satisfied.”

Jesus looked at him searchingly, and took the bread.

Just at that moment a cry of delight broke from the men.  The mist had suddenly lifted; they could see far out into the sunny world.  And beneath them lay the blue, still plains, stretching away until they cut the sky.  Far off in the sky were clouds shining like the golden pinnacles of temples.  Along the shore lay a chain of villages, and then the sea, studded with sails.  The view was so extensive and so bright that they could not but rejoice.

“From over there beyond the water came the heathens,” said Matthew.

“And over there will the Christians go,” added Simon.

“Who are the Christians?” asked Bartholomew.

“The adherents of the Anointed.”

“They will go forth and destroy the Romans,” said James.

“Ssh!” they whispered, and laid their fingers on their lips.  “He does not like such talk.”

He did not seem to have heard them.  He had risen and was looking out in silence.  Then He turned to one and another to read in their faces how their spirits stood, whether they had lost heart or whether their courage was strengthened by the sight of the splendours of God by which they saw themselves surrounded.  Simon had become very thoughtful.  He pondered on the Master’s words and on the miracle they had wrought in him.  Of all the wisdom that he had ever heard, none was so lofty and clear as this divine teaching.  It created a heaven which had not existed formerly.  And yet! why was one still so weak?  He had turned sidewards and thoughtfully nodded his head.

“What trouble one has with his own people!” he murmured.  James laughed and said:  “With your own people?  Who are they?  I see only one of your own people, and that is you yourself.”

“That’s just the one who troubles me,” said Simon.  “For, you know, the rascal is timid.  I can’t forget that.  The suddenness overwhelms him.  ’Twas so for weeks down in Capernaum whenever the soldiers came near us, and in Sidon when that weaver suddenly appeared.  Oh, my friend and brother!  If it is a question of always sharing want and disgrace with Him, I am ready, I have courage for that.  But when I’ve to stand in absolute danger, my heart fails me.  Can such a one be fit to go with the Master?”

“We are fishermen, not heroes,” assented James.  “I do not know which needs more courage, a life of hardship or a swift death.”