; our people did not know him, and--they lost him. I
know now that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah."

A scream of startled rage from Judy broke in upon the closing
utterances of this speech. She prevented everybody else.

"You do not mean to say that, David Bartholomew!" she exclaimed,
jumping out of her chair and standing before him. "You don't mean it."

"Do I ever say what I do not mean, Judy?" he answered gravely.

"Say it again. Say you have left us and gone over to the Christians."

"Judy! are you not ashamed!" cried Mrs. Bartholomew. "What do you think
of your mother?"

"Nothing," said Judy. "I'm not talking of you, mamma. You are neither
one thing nor the other. You are nothing. _Have_ you gone over, David?"

"You know what I said," her brother answered. "I believe that Jesus of
Nazareth is the Messiah."

"The Christians' Messiah," said Judy scornfully.

"Theirs and ours," said David sorrowfully. "Messiah ben David, the King
of Israel."

"Take that!" said Judy, administering a slap on the cheek which was
heartily delivered. "You are a mean good-for-nothing, David
Bartholomew! and I wish your name was something else."

All the voices in the room cried out upon Judy except her brother's.
His colour changed, back and forth, but he was silent She stood in the
centre of the room like a little fury.

"Judy, Judy! Sit down!" said Mrs. Bartholomew. But it was doubtful if
Judy heard.

"What do you think your uncle Solomon and Rabbi Nathan will say to you,
you mean boy!" she cried. "I am going straight to tell them."

"I will tell them myself, Judy," said David.

"And what do you think they will say to you, hey? You deserve all
you'll get. Ugh! What is a Jew who isn't a Jew any longer?"

"I was going to tell you what I am," said David. "Grandmamma, I had not
finished what I had to say to you."

"Let him speak, Judy," said Mrs. Lloyd.

"If the rest is like the beginning, I don't want to hear it," said Judy.

"You need not hear it," said her mother. "Leave the room, then."

"I won't!" said Judy. "There is nobody here but me to make him ashamed."

"I wish something would make you ashamed," said her mother. "Judy
Bartholomew, hold your tongue. Go on, David."

"Mamma, you don't like all this stuff any better than I do."

"I choose to hear it out, though," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "Sit down and
be silent."

"I will--till I get something else to talk about," said Judy, sitting
down as requested. And a