"Well, we shall see, when we go to Jerusalem," my father said.
In the meantime we went out and took a great walk about the
environs of Joppa. Through the miles of gardens; the grand
orange groves, and pomegranate, lemon, fig, apricot and palm
orchards. The oranges and lemons getting their great harvests
ready; cultivation going on beneath the trees; the water-
wheels working; the curious hedges of prickly pear, four and
six feet high, reminding us all the while, if nothing else
did, that we were in a very strange land. What endless delight
it was! The weather had just cleared the day before; and to-
day, the fifteenth of January, the sun shone still and fair
and warm. I saw that papa was getting good with every step,
and growing interested with every hour. We went down to the
beach, and strolled along as far as the tanneries; every wave
that broke at my side seeming to sing in my ears the reminder
that it broke on the shores of Palestine. Papa wished the
oranges were ripe; I wished for nothing.
Then we entered the city again, and examined the bazars;
lingering first a good while to watch the motley, picturesque,
strange and wild crowd without the city gate. It was my first
taste of Oriental life; papa knew it before, but he relished
it all afresh in my enjoyment of it. Of course we were taken
to see Simon's house and the house where Tabitha died.
"Do you realise anything here, Daisy?" papa asked, as we stood
on the flat roof of the first of these two.
"Yes, papa."
"Pray, what? St. Peter never saw this building, my dear."
"No, papa, I don't think it. But he saw the Mediterranean -
just so, - and he had the same sky over him, and the same
shores before him."
"The same sky, Daisy? What is the sky?"
"Yes papa, I know; but there is a difference. This Syrian sky
is not like the sky over Florence nor like the sky over
Melbourne. And this is what Peter saw."
"You are a delicious travelling companion, Daisy," said papa.
"Your mother is good, but you are better. Well, take me with
you now in your journey into the past."
We sat down there on the roof of the so-called house of Simon,
papa and I; he gave the guide a bonus to keep him contented;
and we read together chapters in the Old Testament and
chapters in the New. It was drinking water from wells of
delight. Bible words never seemed so real, nor so full. And
then when I thought that I was going on to Jerusalem - to
Jericho - to Mount Tabor, and the Sea of Galilee, and Lebanon,
- that Joppa was only the beginning, - I could hardly contain
my joy. I could only give thanks for it all the time. True, I
did remember, as I looked over that bright sea of the Levant,
I did remember that far away there was a region of conflict
where the interests nearest to me were involved; a strife
going on, in which the best blood in the world, the dearest in
my account, might be shed or shedding. I remembered it all.
But the burden of that care was too heavy for me to carry; I
was fain to lay it down where so many a load has been laid
before now; and it was easier for me to do it in Syria than
anywhere else; God's own land, where His people had had so
many tokens to trust Him. Where Peter's doubts of conscience
were resolved by a vision, where the poor worker of kindness
was raised from the sleep of death, it was not there the place
for me to doubt whether the Lord looked upon my trouble, or
whether he cared about it, or whether he could manage it. I
laid care and doubt to sleep; and while I was in the Lord's
land I walked with the Lord's presence always before me. There
is no want to them that fear him.