Mary had hoped in her heart that they would enter Jerusalem and spend the night there.  Joseph said it could not be, for he had no relatives in the town who could give them lodging, and he had not money enough to pay strangers for a lodging.  Also he did not like the strange ways of the place; he yearned for his beloved Bethlehem.  It wasn’t very far off now; could she manage it?

Mary signed “Yes” with her head, and gathered together all her remaining strength.  But just beyond the city walls she sank down exhausted, and Joseph said:  “We will stay here so that you may rest, and to-morrow I can show you the Temple.”

There was a man on a stony hillock nailing two beams of wood together.  Joseph understood something of that sort of work, but he was not quite clear over this particular thing.  So he asked what it might be.

“He for whose use it is, doesn’t want it,” replied the workman.  It then flashed into Joseph’s mind that it was a gallows.

Mary grasped his arm:  “Joseph, let us go on to Bethlehem.”  For she began to be frightened.

They staggered along the road.  A draught of the spring of the Valley of Jehoshaphat refreshed them.  Farther on in the fertile plain of Judaea lambs and kids were feeding, and Joseph began to speak of his childhood.  His whole being was fresh and joyful.  Home!  And by evening time Bethlehem, lighted by the setting sun, lay before them on the hill-top.

They stood still for a space and looked at it.  Then Joseph went into the town to inquire about the place and the time of the enrolment, and to seek lodging for the night.  The young woman sat down before the gate under the fan-shaped leaves of a palm-tree and looked about her.  The western land seemed very strange to her and yet sweet, for it was her Joseph’s childish home.  How noisy it was in Jerusalem, and how peaceful it was here—­almost as still and solemn as a Sabbath evening at Nazareth!  Beloved Nazareth!  How far away, how far away!  Sometimes the sound of a shepherd’s pipe was heard from the green hills.  A youth leaned up against an olive tree and made a wreath of twigs and sang:  “Behold, thou art fair, my love.  Thine eyes are as doves in thy fragrant locks, thy lips are rosebuds, and thy two breasts are like roes which feed among the lilies.  Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse.”  Then he was silent, and the leaves rustled softly in the evening breeze.

Mary looked out for Joseph, but he came not.  And the singer continued:  “Who art thou that shinest like the day-dawn, fair as the moon, and clear as the sun, divine daughter of Eve?” And Mary still waited under the palm-tree and listened, and she began to feel strange pangs.  She drew her cloak more closely round her, and saw that the stars already stood in the sky.  But still Joseph came not.  And from the hill the singer:  “And from the root of Jesse a twig shall spring.”  And a second voice:  “And all nations shall rise up and sing her praises.”  So did the shepherds sing the songs of their old kings and prophets.