Thereupon the acquaintances grasped right hands, as if to carry them to their lips; at the last moment, however, the clasp was let go, and each kissed his own hand, then put its palm upon his forehead.
"There is so little dust upon your garments," the Rabbi said, familiarly, "that I infer you passed the night in this city of our fathers." "No," Joseph replied, "as we could only make Bethany before the night came, we stayed in the khan there, and took the road again at daybreak." "The journey before you is long, then--not to Joppa, I hope." "Only to Bethlehem." The countenance of the Rabbi, theretofore open and friendly, became lowering and sinister, and he cleared his throat with a growl instead of a cough.
"Yes, yes--I see," he said.

"You were born in Bethlehem, and wend thither now, with your daughter, to be counted for taxation, as ordered by Caesar.

The children of Jacob are as the tribes in Egypt were--only they have neither a Moses nor a Joshua.

How are the mighty fallen!" Joseph answered, without change of posture or countenance, "The woman is not my daughter." But the Rabbi clung to the political idea; and he went on, without noticing the explanation, "What are the Zealots doing down in Galilee ?" "I am a carpenter, and Nazareth is a village," said Joseph, cautiously.

"The street on which my bench stands is not a road leading to any city.