The Days of Mohammed Part 31

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE NEW HOME.

"On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend, The almost sacred joys of Home depend."

--_Hannah More._

In the quiet valley in Palestine life had been dealing gently with Nathan and his family. The long, long absence of Mana.s.seh was the one thing lacking for their perfect contentment.

"It is well," Nathan would say, yet his eyes would turn wistfully towards the South, as though he half-hoped to see the beloved face of his son appearing over the hill. The mother grew weary with waiting, yet she did not murmur, but whispered to her lonely heart, "Living or dead, it must be well." Only once she said, "Husband, he is surely dead," and Nathan replied:

"Let us still hope, wife, that we may yet see the goodness of the Lord in permitting us to behold his face."

So they hoped on, and worked on, amid their orange trees, their corn and vegetables, and their sheep browsing peacefully on the hills. And Mary tended the jasmine flowers and rose-bushes at the door, carrying water to them night and morning, that they might look at their prettiest when Mana.s.seh came. Only one letter had reached them--a cheery, hopeful letter,--but it had been a long time on the way, and the events of which it told had taken place many weeks before it reached the Jordan valley.

It had told them of Yusuf and Amzi, of the little church, of the sender's strange meeting with Kedar, and the news he had gathered of Lois. Then it had told of the war, and had closed with an affectionate farewell, in which the writer expressed his wish, rather than his expectation, of being able to make his way to the new home soon.

How long it seemed to Mary since that last word had come! And he was not home yet! She kept the precious ma.n.u.script in her bosom, and twenty times a day she looked down the long valley for the well-known form. One morning she sat by the river, idly plas.h.i.+ng her bare feet in its golden ripples, and looking at the shadows on the little stones near the sh.o.r.e.

About her gamboled a pet lamb, and above, a soft blue sky was flecked with fleecy white clouds. She twirled a sprig of blossoms in her hand, but her thoughts were far away in dear, hot, dusty, dreary Mecca.

"It is not so pleasant as this, though," she thought, "if Mana.s.seh were only here."

Just then the tinkle of a camel-bell was heard,--a strange sound in that secluded spot. Mary looked up, and saw what seemed to be a great many people coming over the hill, camels bearing shugdufs, too, and pack-mules, heavily laden.

Trembling, she rushed into the house.

"Oh, mother, what means this? See the people! Mana.s.seh would not bring all of those with him?"

The mother shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked forth, anxiously.

Nearer and nearer came the train. Who were they? Not Mana.s.seh; Mana.s.seh would not come so slowly. Can it be? Not Yusuf! Not Amzi! Yes, yes! O joy! It is they!--and many other familiar faces smile also from the train!

"Is Mana.s.seh well?"

"Yes, Mana.s.seh is well, and happy."

So questions were asked and answered in joyful confusion; and Nathan came in from the hills to bid the travelers welcome. Then the dusty, travel-stained tents were pitched once more, this time on a gra.s.sy slope by the rippling Jordan. A simple repast was spread, and the company dined in royal state.

With what surprise did Nathan and his household greet the wife of Asru and her sweet-faced daughter as sisters in Christ, and with what sympathy did they hear of Asru's sad death!

Then plans for the immediate settlement of the little party were made.

Pasture-land in abundance was to be had; hence the majority of the new-comers would be speedily and comfortably provided with new homes.

Amzi would take up his abode in some comfortable town-house not far distant, and Yusuf would remain with him for the present.

Mary and Sherah were friends at once, and ere evening fell, they sat, as girls will, in a cozy nook by the river-side forming plans for walks and talks during the long, bright, summer days.

Every cloud had drifted, for the time being, from the happy company; and, ere they retired to rest, all united with fervor in the words of the grand song:

"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's. The Lord executeth righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed.... Bless the Lord, all his works, in all places of his dominion! Bless the Lord, O my soul!"

And later in that same evening, another group came to Nathan's house.

The door was closed, for the evening was chill without. A knock was heard. Mary opened the door, and there was Mana.s.seh himself, radiantly happy; and close behind him was another Mana.s.seh with Bedouin eyes.

Mother, sister, and father pressed round the youth until he could scarcely move.

"There, there!" he said, shaking them off playfully, "my cousin Kedar will be jealous. Mother, this is Lois' son, and there is someone in the darkness here still."

The youth went out. Who was this that he a.s.sisted from the shugduf?--the living image of Lois in her girlhood days! Not Lois, but her daughter, a Bedouin maid, fresh as the breeze from her native hills. And can this be Lois--this sad-faced yet stately woman? It is, indeed, and the long-separated sisters are once more united. Kedar's brothers are there too, and one more family is added to the little community.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

A WEDDING IN PALESTINE.

"G.o.d, the best maker of all marriages."--_Shakespeare._

For a moment let us look more closely at the little district where the Jewish band found a home after all their wanderings.

They settled at a point where the Jordan River, that strange river flowing for its entire length through a depression one thousand feet below the level of the sea, is cut up by many a cataract; and the rus.h.i.+ng noise of the water, carried from its mysterious source at the foot of Mount Hermon, fills the valley with a music not lost upon ears long accustomed to the dry wastes of Arabian deserts. To the north lie plains where cold blasts blow, and mountains whose crests gleam with never-failing snow; yet in the fair vales of Jordan the tempered breeze fans the air with the mildness of a never-ceasing-summer, and the soft alluvial soil is luxuriant with the rich growth of the tropics. To the west the rugged and picturesque mountains of Judea rise, and to the east, at a distance of some ten miles, lie the blue-tinted mountains of Moab, rich in a.s.sociations of sacred history.

In this favored spot, shaded by waving groves and hidden by vines, was the house of Asru's wife; and at a little distance from it was a well, an old-fas.h.i.+oned well such as is seen only in the East, walled about with ancient and worn flag-stones, between which, at one side, the water trickled and ran over mossy stones to the river below.

A large tamarisk tree waved above it, and in its shade, with one knee resting on the flag-stone, her hands clasped behind her head, and her large eyes fixed upon the mountains of Moab beyond, stood Sherah, ere the sun rose, on one beautiful autumn morning.

An earthen water-pitcher, such as is carried by the girls of the Orient, was beside her, yet she moved not to execute her errand.

The sun arose behind the mountain; the amber sky became golden; the rosy pink clouds changed to radiant silver; the birds sang; the dew glittered; and the sun shone through the leaves of the trees with a flush of green-gold.

The beauty of the scene touched the girl. In a low, clear voice, spontaneous as the song of a bird, she sang: "For the Lord shall comfort Zion; he will comfort her waste places: and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving and the voice of melody."

The song brought comfort to her; for was she not soon to leave this fairy spot, this Aidenn, to return to the land of the Mussulman; not the land of--

"Deep myrrh thickets blowing round The stately cedar, tamarisks.

Thick rosaries of scented thorn, Tall Orient shrubs, and obelisks Graven with emblems of the time,"

but to the bleak, treeless plains of Nejd, breezy with the warm breath of desert-swept winds, bounded by rolling mountains, and dotted by the black tents of those roving hordes of whom it has been said that "their hand is against every man, and every man's hand is against them,"--the fierce, cruel yet generous, impulsive, courteous tribes of the desert.

For Mana.s.seh and Kedar were both going back to the desert tribes, braving the dangers of persecution, that they might exert an influence in christianizing the Bedouin tribes over whom the Moslems as yet had little power. Sherah was going back as Mana.s.seh's wife, and this was her wedding-day. She was willing to go, yet she could not help feeling a little lonely on this last morning in her mother's home.

Presently the call "Sherah! Sherah!" came through the olive groves, and the old nurse hobbled out. The woman was a thorough type of an aged Arab, lean, wrinkled, hook-nosed, with skin like shrunken leather, and a voice like a raven. Yet Sherah knew her goodness of heart, and loved her dearly. She was taking the old woman back with her, for, oddly enough, Zama had never felt at home in the new land, and often craved that her bones might be buried in the old soil.

"Why disturb me, Zama?" said the young woman kindly. "See you not that I am bidding farewell to this dear valley?"

"Aye, aye, child," muttered the old nurse, "but we must put the wedding-gown upon you, and twine jasmine in your hair." She stroked the glossy ma.s.ses fondly. "Ah, to-morrow it must be braided in the plaits of the matron, and the coins will be placed about my precious one's neck; yet it seems only yesterday that she was a toddling baby at my feet."

The two women, the one tall and lithe as a willow, the other bent and shrunken, took their way to the house. Mary was already there, and a.s.sisted in adorning the bride.