A-down the street there rang a clatter loud Of horses dashing in a maddened run, And sounds of wheels swift rolling on the pave. The women shrank affrighted to the wall, And cowered there in trembling, mortal fear. In view the charging horses passed along Straight to the well, no driver grasped the reins, For he had fallen to the stony street. Yet never moved the Boy, nor turned His eyes From off the hills that held them so intent. But from a doorway rushed a stranger lad Who grasped the bit of one, and held him fast. The others, panting, stopped so near the Boy That, on His face He must have felt the heat Which steaming rose from their perspiring flanks, As now they stood, foam-flecked and trembling by. The driver came and meekly murmured thanks, Before he led his charges back again To where his master waited for the steeds. “He gave me naught but words, and I did save The steeds. The chariot, too, would have been dashed All broken on the stones, had I not come.” The lad was angered, but the Boy moved not, Though from the distant hills His gaze was drawn. “Dost thou not know,” the lad said, wonderingly, “How near was Death to thee a moment since?” The Boy, now fully aroused, smiled at the lad All kindly, as a loving father smiles Upon his child that waked him unaware, Whose sleep nor storm nor clatter could affect, Yet at the touch of little baby hands Opens wide his eyes, that twinkle joyfully. “No nearer to grim Death,” the Boy replied, “Was I than thou, my friend, art near it now. Thou seekest Joseph and hast wandered far From distant Jaffa, where thy father died. Thou’rt Fidus named. From Joseph thou wouldst learn The craftsman’s art, and how to handle tools To work with wood, that thou thyself may’st be Like him, a craftsman skilled in his own trade.” “A prophet Thou!” the lad in wonder cried. “Come with me,” made He answer. “I am known As Joseph’s Son; so I will speak for thee.”