He answered; “So far as I know them—­he is different.”

One day, when Jesus was a little older, something happened.  Joseph had gone with the boy to the place where the boats land, in order to offer his baskets for sale.  There was a stir among the people:  soldiers in brilliant uniforms and carrying long spears marched along; then came two heralds blowing their horns as if they would split the air with their sharp tones; and behind came six black slaves drawing a golden chariot in which sat Pharaoh.  He was a pale man with piercing eyes, dressed in costly robes, a sparkling coronet on his black, twisted hair.  The people shouted joyfully, but he heeded them not; he leaned back wearily on his cushions.  But all at once he lifted his head a little; a boy in the crowd, the stranger basket-maker’s little son, attracted his attention.  Whether it was his beauty or something unusual about the boy that struck him, we cannot say, but he ordered the carriage to be stopped, and the child to be brought to him.

Joseph humbly came forward with the boy, crossed his hands on his breast, and made a deep obeisance.

“That is your son?” said the king in his own language.

Joseph bowed affirmatively.

“You are a Jew!  Will you sell me the boy?” asked Pharaoh.

And then Joseph:  “Pharaoh! although I am a descendant of Jacob, whose sons sold their brother Joseph into Egypt, I do not deserve your irony.  We are poor people, but the child is our most cherished possession.”

“I only spoke in kindness about the selling,” said the king.  “You are my subjects, and the boy is my property.  Take him, Hamar.”

The servant was ready to put his hand on the little boy, who stood by quietly and looked resolutely at the king.  Joseph fell on his knees and respectfully represented that he and his family were not Egyptian subjects, but lived there as strangers, and implored the almighty Pharaoh to allow him the rights of hospitality.

“I know nothing about all that, my good man,” said the king.  Then, catching sight of the boy’s angry face, he laughed.  “Meseems, my young Jew, that you would crush me to powder.  Let me live a little longer in this pleasant land of Egypt.  I shall not harm you.  You are much too beautiful a child for that.”  He stopped, and then continued in a different tone:  “Wait, and look more closely at Pharaoh, and see if he is really so terribly wicked, and whether it would be so dreadful to live in his palace and hand him the goblet when he is thirsty.  Well?  Be assured, old man, I shall do you no violence.  Boy, you shall come to my court of your own free will, you shall share the education and instruction of the children of my nobles; only sometimes I shall have you with me, you fine young gazelle.  Now go home with your father.  To-morrow I will send and ask, mark you—­only ask, not command.  He who is tired of plundered booty knows how to value a free gift.  You hear what I say?”