would say that it was the work of one of the
glorious Greeks, and of no modern."

"Sir," said Ithiel reprovingly, "do not make a jest of the maid, who
does the best she can; it pains her and--is not fitting."

"Friend Ithiel," replied Marcus, turning quite crimson, "you must indeed
think that I lack manners who would come to the home of any artist to
mock his work. I say what I mean, neither more nor less. If this bust
were shown in Rome, together with yourself who sat for it, the lady
Miriam would find herself famous within a week. Yes," and he ran his eye
quickly over various statuettes, some of them baked and some in the raw
clay, models, for the most part, of camels or other animals or birds,
"yes, and it is the same with all the rest: these are the works of
genius, no less."

At this praise, to them so exaggerated, Miriam, pleased as she could not
help feeling, broke into clear laugher, which both Ithiel and Nehushta
echoed. Now, so wroth was he, the face of Marcus grew quite pale and
stern.

"It seems," he said severely, "that it is not I who mock. Tell me, lady,
what do you with these things?" and he pointed to the statuettes.

"I, sir? I sell them; or at least my uncles do."

"The money is given to the poor," interposed Ithiel.

"Would it be rude to ask at what price?"

"Sometimes," replied Ithiel with pride, "travellers have given me as
much as a silver shekel.[*] Once indeed, for a group of camels with
their Arabian drivers, I received four shekels; but that took my niece
three months to do."

[*] About 2s. 6d. of English money.

"A shekel! Four shekels!" said Marcus in a voice of despair; "I will buy
them all--no, I will not, it would be robbery. And this bust?"

"That, sir, is not for sale; it is a gift to my uncle, or rather to my
uncles, to be set up in their court-room."

An idea struck Marcus. "I am here for a few weeks," he said. "Tell
me, lady, if your uncle Ithiel will permit it, at what price will you
execute a bust of myself of the same size and quality?"

"It would be dear," said Miriam, smiling at the notion, "for the marble
costs something, and the tools, which wear out. Oh, it would be very
dear!" This she repeated, wondering what she could ask in her charitable
avarice. "It would be----" yes, she would venture it--"fifty shekels!"

"I am poor enough," replied Marcus quietly, "but I will give you two
hundred."

"Two hundred!" gasped Miriam. "It is absurd. I could never accept