And in an embarrassed manner he took his leave of Jonah, and went off to join his companions, whose voices could be heard raised in youthful laughter among the shadows. Jonah stood leaning upon his staff in the darkness. A few lights gleamed among the trees, whose branches bent above him as though to envelope him in their quiet embrace. The odors of night crept around him; he remembered his youth, spent in this village, and he felt in his heart a longing for that lonely boy whose only friends had been an old man and his own dreams. So much of life had gone by, yet here he was again, wearier, wiser, still led by hopes, of what he did not know, hurt by memories, but why he could not tell. He heard the voices of Aaron and his friends fading in the distance; he knew that in the shadows young lovers whispered together, although he could not see them. All about him trembled the happy laughter of youth, the peace of age, the quietness of rest after labor. The sky of heaven, shining with stars, bent upon his home a regard of kindness; and the wind, moving through the sycamores, spoke to him in the accents of the past. Bowing his head upon his breast, he thought, “Jonah, Jonah, what have you done with your youth?” Slowly, and with halting steps, he approached the house of Naaman, at the village edge. III He found his old teacher seated beneath an acacia tree whose branches perfumed the air. A beam of light from the house, falling among the leaves, touched Naaman’s white hair and his long, snowy beard with a gentle gleam. That was how his pupil had remembered him, the picture of wisdom and peace. He greeted Jonah with affection, but without surprise. “It is you, my son,” he said. “I am glad to see you again. Your fame has spread, for I heard of you, no later than to-day, as the young prophet who had inspired the king at Bethel.” And he added gayly, “Come, sit here beside me, and tell me about yourself. As you see, my tree is blossoming again. Thus, at the end of my life, it is vouchsafed me to behold each year the return of spring and the marriage of earth with the Eternal One.” “I do not know what you mean by the Eternal One,” said Jonah; “for all the gods are immortal and eternal. It is only you and I, Naaman, who grow older each year. But I am glad to see that you are well, and to know that your tree is blossoming.” Naaman replied gently, “My son, you have traveled, and you have learned something. Have you not learned that there is only one God? Did you not learn that in the desert, Jonah?” “No, Naaman,” said Jonah gravely, “I have not learned it. I have been in the desert, where God is. And I have also been in Tyre in the month before our Passover, when the quail return in great numbers to mourn the death of a god. I will tell you something about Tyre: there, before they are married, the maidens sacrifice their hair to Astarte. You should travel, Naaman, and hear of other gods.”