tattered silk sat by the sinking fire of thorns and told his tale with
a voice that had no room for hope or fear-a cool, dead voice that spoke
only of things ended.




II.

NIGHTFIRE


"In my father's house I was the second son. My brother was honored and
trusted in all things. He was a prudent man and profitable to the
household. All that he counselled was done, all that he wished he had.
My place was a narrow one. There was neither honor nor joy in it, for
it was filled with daily tasks and rebukes. No one cared for me. My
mother sometimes wept when I was rebuked. Perhaps she was disappointed
in me. But she had no power to make things better. I felt that I was a
beast of burden, fed only in order that I might be useful; and the dull
life irked me like an ill-fitting harness. There was nothing in it.

"I went to my father and claimed my share of the inheritance. He was
rich. He gave it to me. It did not impoverish him and it made me free.
I said to him 'Corban,' and shook the dust of Bethsaida from my feet.

"I went out to look for mirth and love and joy and all that is pleasant
to the eyes and sweet to the taste. If a god made me, thought I, he
made me to live, and the pride of life was strong in my heart and in my
flesh. My vow was offered to that well-known god. I served him in