"Oh, Father," cried Naomi, throwing her arms about her father's neck, "how good I mean to be always after this! Dost think I shall see the Temple? And, Mother, which am I to wear--my new blue robe or my yellow and red striped one? I am really to go to Jerusalem! Oh, what will Ezra say when he hears the good news I have to tell!"
The next morning at daybreak, when the purple shadows lay heavily in the east and the sky was still gray overhead, Naomi, wearing a gay little cloak of scarlet over her best blue robe, ran hastily down the stony road that led to the Bethlehem khan.
The drowsy gate-keeper had already unlocked the heavy town gates, for day begins early in hot countries, and at sight of Naomi, whom he knew well, he uttered a sleepy "Peace be with thee!" as a morning greeting.
"With thee be peace!" piped Naomi in return. "Oh, Nathan, I go to-day to Jerusalem with my Aunt Miriam. This very day I go!"
Old Nathan nodded his head solemnly and muttered in his beard.
"Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth is Mount Zion," responded the pious old Jew. But Naomi was half-way down the hill and did not hear one word.
There before her at the crossroads stood the old khan, with its great wall of stone and its stout gate behind which all night long sat a watchman on the alert. Below the inn lay the very fields among which Ruth, long, long ago, had gleaned the golden corn, and where later King David as a shepherd lad had tended his flock.
Naomi slipped through the open gate into the courtyard of the khan and stood for a moment watching the bustle and confusion of the scene before her. In the center of the court was the fountain, and round it now crowded the pilgrims and travelers, drawing water for the morning meal or in which to wash before eating. The archways which lined the wall formed the rooms of the ancient inn, for the building at the end of the court in which Simon the host and Aunt Miriam lived was not open to strangers. Shelter and food were not provided within. Each man in his little archway must spread his own carpet, light his own brazier, cook his own food, and eat from his own dish. A Syrian khan of that period was not at all like the inns of our day. It was expected to supply nothing but water and straw for a bed. It was a refuge from thieves and wild animals, a shelter from heat and dust, a spot where a trader might sell his wares.