Miriam," she thought, "I might
wander about here for days and days and never find her again."

And she took such a firm hold upon her aunt's cloak that she, feeling
the tug, thought the little girl was impatient to move on.

"Yes, child, yes," said she. "We go down now into the Court of the
Gentiles. Do thou and little Martha walk on ahead. Pick thy way
carefully, for this flight of steps is steep."

The Court of the Gentiles was open to the men of all nations, since it
was not strictly a part of the Temple. It was a sort of sacred
market-place, and Naomi and little Martha, as they walked about, held
tight to one another when they passed the pens of sheep and oxen
destined to be burnt offerings, and which were restlessly shouldering
one another and lowing and bleating as if in some way they sensed their
approaching doom. Here the seller of doves and pigeons kept his cotes,
for many a worshiper could not afford to buy a kid or a lamb. Here, too,
were the booths and stalls of the moneychangers who did a brisk trade,
since no coin might be offered in the Temple save the sacred shekel.

"Art thou ready at last to leave the Temple, child?" asked Aunt Miriam,
coming up behind Naomi as she stood gazing in at a penful of young
lambs. "Wilt thou be able to tell all this to Ezra, think you?"

Naomi nodded slowly. She was not listening to what her aunt said. She
was wondering why at times the sheep looked so strangely blurred, and
why little black specks seemed to dance before her eyes.

"Over there is a little lamb that looks like my Three Legs, Aunt
Miriam," said she. "I am glad he is not here, shut up in one of these
great pens, and to die, perhaps, before another day."

She moved listlessly along, and when her aunt took her hand she clung to
her so heavily that good Aunt Miriam stopped short on the side of the
hill.

"What ails thee, child?" said she, bending over Naomi. "Thou art not
like thyself. Thine eyes look strangely heavy, even like those of
little Three Legs. Art thou ill?"

"Nay," said Naomi crossly. Surely to have sudden pains shoot through
one's eyes was not to be ill. "I would see the gardens of King Herod.
That is what I want."

"The child is weary," said little Martha's mother kindly. "She has had a
long journey to-day besides this visit to the Temple. The gardens of
King Herod will wait for thee, Naomi, until another time when thou art
rested. They will not run away."

But Naomi would not smile at