It was a laughable thought to us, what had become of our cheerful, wandering Hebrews.  We could not suppose they had reached a destination.  The meanest boy could lead them miles out of their way to see a gopher-hole.  Boys, we felt to be their special danger; none others were of that exact pitch of cheerful irrelevancy to exercise a kindred sway upon their minds:  but before the attractions of a boy their most settled resolutions would be war.  We thought we could follow in fancy these three aged Hebrew truants wandering in and out on hilltop and in thicket, a demon boy trotting far ahead, their will-o’-the-wisp conductor; and at last about midnight, the wind still roaring in the darkness, we had a vision of all three on their knees upon a mountain-top around a glow-worm.

CHAPTER III.  THE RETURN

Next morning we were up by half-past five, according to agreement, and it was ten by the clock before our Jew boys returned to pick us up.  Kelmar, Mrs. Kelmar, and Abramina, all smiling from ear to ear, and full of tales of the hospitality they had found on the other side.  It had not gone unrewarded; for I observed with interest that the ship’s kettles, all but one, had been “placed.”  Three Lake County families, at least, endowed for life with a ship’s kettle.  Come, this was no misspent Sunday.  The absence of the kettles told its own story:  our Jews said nothing about them; but, on the other hand, they said many kind and comely things about the people they had met.  The two women, in particular, had been charmed out of themselves by the sight of a young girl surrounded by her admirers; all evening, it appeared, they had been triumphing together in the girl’s innocent successes, and to this natural and unselfish joy they gave expression in language that was beautiful by its simplicity and truth.

Take them for all in all, few people have done my heart more good; they seemed so thoroughly entitled to happiness, and to enjoy it in so large a measure and so free from after-thought; almost they persuaded me to be a Jew.  There was, indeed, a chink of money in their talk.  They particularly commanded people who were well to do.  “He don’t care—­ain’t it?” was their highest word of commendation to an individual fate; and here I seem to grasp the root of their philosophy—­it was to be free from care, to be free to make these Sunday wanderings, that they so eagerly pursued after wealth; and all this carefulness was to be careless.  The fine, good humour of all three seemed to declare they had attained their end.  Yet there was the other side to it; and the recipients of kettles perhaps cared greatly.