Jeroboam had him brought into his presence. The king wanted to see and
speak to the man who, according to Amaziah, had conspired against him
and the God of Israel and was proclaiming the doom of his dynasty.

Amos, who had never seen the king face to face, who had never even
been inside any of the royal palaces, was, nevertheless, calm and cool
as usual. The splendor of the throne room and the crowd of officers
and counselors did not in the least affright him. He made a low
obeisance to his king and waited for the order to rise.

Jeroboam was a much keener man than Amaziah. When he saw Amos, studied
his bearing, the seriousness of his face, the simplicity of his garb,
he recognized at once that before him stood an uncommon man.

Amos neither smiled the smirky smile of him who is anxious to get into
the king's good graces, nor did he tremble like a coward, who, being
caught, feared the king. He waited for Jeroboam to speak.

From the messenger who brought Amaziah's note the king had learned
something about Amos and about the things he was telling the people.
Having supposed the Prophet to be either a traitor or a madman, but
judging him now to be neither one nor the other, Jeroboam now was
puzzled as to the manner in which to speak to him.

Jeroboam looked quizzically at Amos for a few moments and began:

"Thou, then, art the Prophet?"

"I am a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore trees," Amos replied.