to the conclusion that he was a very weak creature, neither sufficiently enamoured of this world nor of the next; so he supposed Jesus was right to discard him, for, as he knew himself, he would be an insufficient apostle, just as he was an insufficient son. But his father did not think him a bad son. He raised his eyes, and, finding his father's eyes upon him, he remembered that he had left him because he wished to see the world, to go to Jerusalem, to live with the Essenes, to go to Egypt; and that he had remained away for nearly two years, and had returned to settle a business matter between himself and his father. Therefore it was not love of his father but a business matter that brought him back from Egypt; and now he was going to leave his father again, though he knew that his father wished him to marry some lusty girl, who would bear healthy children. If he were a good son he would take a maid to bed. But that he couldn't do! I am afraid, he said, speaking suddenly out of his thoughts, I'm not the son you deserve, Father. I'm not a bad son, but I'm not the son God should have given you. Thou shouldst not say that, Joseph, for we have loved each other dearly. It is true that I hoped to see little children about me, and it may be that hope will never be fulfilled, which is sad to think on. I've never seen thee over-busy with one of our serving girls, nor caught thee near her bed, and the family will end with, thee, and the counting-house will end with me, and these things will happen through no fault of mine or thine, Joseph. Our lives are not planned by ourselves, and when life comes sweetly to a man a bitter death awaits him, for death is bitter to those that have lived in ease and health as I have done. I am still obdurate, for I can sit down to a meal with pleasure, but a time will come when I shall not be able to do this, and then the sentence that the Lord pronounced over all flesh will seem easy to bear, and the grandchildren I have not gotten will be desired no longer; only the peace of the grave, where there is no questioning nor dainties. But, Father, this world is but the shadow of a reality beyond the grave, and I beseech you to believe in your eternity and in mine. In the eternity of my body or of my soul--which, Joseph? Thou knowest not, but of this we are sure, that there is little time left for me to love you in this comfortable land of Galilee. And, this being so, I will ask you to promise me that thou wilt not leave Judea in my lifetime. Thou'lt have to go to Jerusalem, for business awaits you there, and to Jericho, perhaps, which is a long way from Galilee, but I'd not have thee leave Judea to preach a strange creed to the Gentiles. I know no reason now, Father, for me to leave Judea, since I am not among the chosen. If thou hadst been, Joseph, thou wouldst not have left me in these last years of my life? Jesus is dear to thee, but he isn't thy father, and every