Jonah went home. His feet led him back down the hill to his mother’s house, but he did not notice where he was going. He felt strangely light-headed, almost as if he had been drinking. His set face, with wide amazed eyes, was lifted to the sky. And he kept thinking: “Something has happened, something has happened....” But what was it? Could he tell? Something had happened out of all reason, as though a tree had moved, and stood upright on its head. How could one believe such a thing? But there it was--on its head. What was God about? And what had he, Jonah, done to deserve such a thing? He passed the field where Aaron kept his cows. And suddenly, as he saw his brother in the distance, his shoulders sagged, his face broke into creases, his body seemed to fall together; and he stood weakly wringing his hands, while a wave of physical sickness stormed through his body ... remembering, remembering.... Then he went on again, with clumsy steps, and bent head. If only it were something he could understand. But how could he understand it; how could he ever understand? How could one love, he wondered, and then not love? Love did something to one’s whole being; it made one gentle, and tender.... How could she have hurt him so, if she loved him? And where was God all this time? What did He think about such a thing? “You, up there--God--what have You to say?” Nothing. He came slowly into the house, and sat down with his hands clasped between his knees. One look at him was enough for Deborah; she knew. But then, she had expected it. And keeping her glance busily upon her sewing, she began to sing softly to herself. But her eyes were full of pain. “_Men dead long ago. Have set me like a tree...._ “You are tired, my son.” “Yes, Mother.” “It has been hot. The poor always feel the extremes of weather most. If I had a daughter, I would never let her marry a poor man.” And she glanced swiftly at her son, sunk in despair upon his stool. “_Let the wind blow, What is that to me?_ “Everywhere I go,” she continued calmly, “they speak of you with such admiration. He is a real prophet, they say. Everybody expects great things of you. It makes me so happy.” Still Jonah did not answer. And Deborah said, sighing, “Is it time you were going back to the desert, Jonah?” “Yes, Mother.” “Well, I suppose you are right. It will be a rest for you, after all this. We shall miss you. It will be peaceful in the desert.” “Yes, Mother.” “I will send Aaron to you soon, with news, and some little comforts for you. Even if you have to live with the foxes, you can at least be comfortable.” Slowly, putting her sewing away, she rose, and came over to him. “Jonah,” she said gently, and laid her hand ever so lightly upon his hair, “my boy.... “People are not very kind to one another.” “No ... Mother....” She began to sing again, softly, taking his head in her hands, drawing him gently to her: