ight-eyed boys, who stand and stare but do not bother us
for coppers, as the Jerusalem children did. We pass in among the houses
and come to the well where both men and women are standing, for it is
just the time that they come to draw water in the evening. This well is
one of the most interesting things in Nazareth, for it is the only one,
and has been known for generations. It is almost certain that it must
have been here when Jesus lived in the village. Now it has a stone arch
over it, and as the water gushes out the women fill hand-made
earthenware jars with narrow necks and curving sides, and having filled
them they put them on their heads and walk gracefully away. Just so must
Mary, the mother of Jesus, have filled her jar in the ages long ago, and
the child Jesus may have clung to her skirts as that tiny brown boy is
doing, shyly hiding at the sight of us. The women are very good looking,
and dress in a great variety of colours, many wearing striped clothes.
One or two have chains or bands of silver coins across their foreheads,
very many have bright red head coverings falling down over blue dresses.
There are some swarthy-looking men too, in sheepskins, and one is
waiting to water his camel. On one side is a very handsome lad of
sixteen with a flock of black goats. They all look at us with interest,
but they are quite accustomed to strangers and are not at all
embarrassed.

We go on between the houses by the widest road, which is now slippery
with mud, and after our guide has asked permission of a man standing in
a doorway, we dismount and get a chance of seeing inside one of these
little dark houses. The only light comes from the doorway, for there is
no window; it shines into one room with a mud floor, beaten hard by
many feet. There are a few mats laid about, a few stools, and on one
side a kind of shelf with more mats and some cushions--this is where the
family sleep at night. In a corner are some of the earthenware jars and
some pots and pans. That is all. There is no reason to think that the
house Jesus lived in was at all more luxurious than this.

As we turn to go out we hear a flutter of wings, and a flock of white
doves rise from the ground and alight on the roof, cooing softly.

In this village are a good many shops, but they are not the sort we are
accustomed to. Picture the village shop at home with its small glass
panes and the post-office on one side. The window crammed with marbles
and liquoric