moral courage and began to tell the story of his grandfather "Gibran." He said: — My grandfather never left his house without carrying his sword. And he would not close an eyelid unless the sword was at his side. It happened once that a certain bishop presented to the church of our town the pictures of the "Way of the Cross." Here one of the com-pany interrupted him, asking the meaning of "the Way of the Cross," so I hastened to the rescue and explained the meaning to him briefly, and Gibran went on with the story: — The priest hung the pictures in the church and rang the bell, calling the people to gather and view them. And my grand-father came with the crowd of people — and of course his sword was with him! — and the priest began to explain, pointing to the first picture: — This is Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Garden of Olives... and these soldiers are trying to seize him... My grandfather drew the sword half out of its sheath, his eyes bulging with the violence of his anger. Then he mastered his feeling and returned the sword to its scabbard, listening to the rest of the explanation: — And this picture, my children, shows Our Lord Jesus Christ with the crown of thorns upon his head... and this soldier striking him.. — "Din! Din!" cried my grandfather Gibran — nay, he roared, in a voice like thunder: "Here, in Bsharri, you strike Christ??" And this time he drew the sword to its full length and struck the soldier, breaking the glass, the frame, and the picture! The whole company burst into laughter and applause, and Leah shouted, over and over: — The prize to Gibran! The prize to Gibran! Kalimi remarked: — Give thanks, brothers of Judah, that Gibran's grandfa-

ther was not living in the time of Christ — he might well have defended him and saved him from the crucifixion! And Leah added: — And then everything would have been thrown into confusion! Gibran carried off the velvet box — his lawful winnings — and we left shortly before midnight. The sky was clear, sown with glittering stars, and there was a moon peeping at us from behind the trees on the two sides of the street; and each of us walked gazing upward,

chest lifted, heart beating with a merriment near to intoxication. We could bear it no longer, and opened the box: within it were pieces of choco-late of Swiss make and pieces of fine sugared almonds, and in the middle of the box two pho-tographs, of Susan and Leah, each within a little frame. It was natural that Gibran should give me Susan's picture and keep Leah's for himself. He gave me the chocolates as well, and kept the sugared almonds for himself...