“Ah!” said the cook handling the basket with satisfaction, “it is a pity, friend, that you did not bring this stuff here a while ago when we wanted it sorely and found it hard to come by in this barren, sword-wasted land.” “Why?” asked Caleb carelessly. “Oh! because of a prisoner we had here, a girl whose sufferings had made her sick in mind and body, and whose appetite I never knew how to tempt, for she turned from meat, and ever asked for fish, of which, of course, we had none, or failing that, for green food and fruits.” “What were her name and story?” asked Caleb. “As for her name I know it not. We called her Pearl-Maiden because of a collar of pearls she wore and because also she was white and beautiful as a pearl. Oh! beautiful indeed, and so gentle and sweet, even in her sickness, that the roughest brute of a legionary with a broken head could not choose but to love her. Much more then, that old bear, Gallus, who watched her as though she were his own cub.” “Indeed? And where is this beautiful lady now? I should like to sell her something.” “Gone, gone, and left us all mourning.” “Not dead?” said Caleb in a new voice of eager dismay, “Oh! not dead?” The fat cook looked at him calmly. “You take a strange interest in our Pearl-Maiden, Cabbage-seller,” he said. “And, now that I come to think of it, you are a strange-looking man for a peasant.” With an effort Caleb recovered his self-command. “Once I was better off than I am now, friend,” he answered. “As you know, in this country the wheel of fortune has turned rather quick of late.” “Yes, yes, and left many crushed flat behind it.” “The reason why I am interested,” went on Caleb, taking no heed, “is that I may have lost a fine market for my goods.” “Well, and so you have, friend. Some days ago the Pearl-Maiden departed to Tyre in charge of the captain, Gallus, on her way to Rome. Perhaps you would wish to follow and sell her your onions there.” “Perhaps I should,” answered Caleb. “When you Romans have gone this seems likely to become a bad country for gardeners, since owls and jackals do not buy fruit, and you will leave no other living thing behind you.” “True,” answered the cook. “Cæsar knows how to handle a broom and he has made a very clean sweep,” and he pointed complacently to the heaped-up ruins of the Temple before them. “But how much for the whole basket full?” “Take them, friend,” said Caleb, “and sell them to your mess for the best price that you can get. You need not mention that you paid nothing.” “Oh! no, I won’t mention it. Good morning, Mr. Cabbage-grower, good morning.”