But what caught my eye was the
figure that stood before the tent. It was a long fellow, who held his
arms to heaven, and sang in a great throaty voice the wild dirge I had
been listening to. He held a book in one hand, from which he would
pluck leaves and cast them on the fire, and at every burnt-offering a
wail of ecstasy would go up from the hooded women and kneeling men.
Then with a final howl he hurled what remained of his book into the
flames, and with upraised hands began some sort of prayer.
I would have fled if I could; but Providence willed it otherwise. The
edge of the bank on which I stood had been rotted by the rain, and the
whole thing gave under my feet. I slithered down into the sheepfold,
and pitched headforemost among the worshipping women. And at that, with
a yell, the long man leaped over the fire and had me by the throat.
My bones were too sore and weary to make resistance. He dragged me to
the ground before the tent, while the rest set up a skirling that
deafened my wits. There he plumped me down, and stood glowering at me
like a cat with a sparrow.
"Who are ye, and what do ye here, disturbing the remnant of Israel?"
says he.
I had no breath in me to speak, so one of the men answered.
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