“Yea, thus saith the Saviour,” said the old man approvingly, “and he surely then was thinking of us.  I said just now our load is not light, but how much heavier was the burden he took upon him of his own free will to release us from woe.  Every one must work, nay even Caesar himself, but he who could dwell in the glory of his Father let himself be mocked and scorned and spit in the face, let the crown of thorns be pressed on his suffering head, bore his heavy cross, sinking under its weight, and endured a death of torment, and all for our sakes, without a murmur.  But he suffered not in vain, for God accepted the sacrifice of his Son, and did his will and said, ’All that believe on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’  And though a new and weary day is now beginning, and though it should be followed by a thousand wearier still, though death is the end of life—­still we believe in our Redeemer, we have God’s word bidding us out of sorrows and sufferings into his Heaven, promising us for a brief time of misery in this world, endless ages of joy.—­Now go to work.  Our sturdy friend Krates will work for you dear Knakias until your finger is healed.  When the bread is distributed remember, each of you, the children of our poor deceased brother Philammon.  You, poor Gibbus, will find your labors bitter to-day.  This man’s master, my dear brethren, sold both his daughters yesterday to a dealer from Smyrna; but if you never see them again in Egypt, or in any other country, my friend, you will meet them in the home of your Heavenly Father—­of that you may rest assured.  Our life on earth is but a pilgrimage, and Heaven is the goal, and the Guide who teaches us never to miss the way, is our Saviour.  Weariness and toil, sorrow and suffering are easy to bear, to him who knows that when the solemn hour is near, the King of Kings shall throw open his dwelling-place, and invite him to enter as a favored guest to inhabit there, where all we have loved have found joy and rest.”

“Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you,” said a man’s loud voice again from the circle that sat round the old man.  The old man stood up, signed to a boy who distributed the bread in equal shares to the workmen, and took up a jar with handles, out of which he filled a large wooden cup with wine.

Not a word of this discourse had escaped Mastor, and the often repeated verse, “Come unto me all ye that labor,” dwelt in his mind like the invitation of a hospitable friend bidding him to happy days of freedom and enjoyment.  A distant gleam shone through the weight of his troubles, seeming to promise the dawn of a new day, and he reverently went up to the old man, in the first place to ask him if he was the overseer of the workmen who stood round him.

“I am,” replied the old man, and as soon as he learnt what Mastor required as a commission from the controlling architect, he pointed out some young slaves who quickly brought the water that he needed.