When he reached the age of twelve, he was old enough to go up to
the Temple and take part in the national feast of the Passover. So
she clad him in the garments of youth and made him ready for the
four days' pilgrimage.
It was a camping-trip, a wonder-walk, full of variety, with a spice
of danger and a feast of delight.
The Boy was the joy of the journey. His keen interest in all things
seen and heard was like a refreshing spring of water to the older
pilgrims. They had so often travelled the same road that they had
forgotten that it might be new every morning. His unwearying vigor
and gladness as he ran down the hillsides, or scrambled among the
rocks far above the path, or roamed through the fields filling his
hands with flowers, was like a merry song that cheered the long
miles of the way. He was glad to be alive, and it made the others
glad to look at him.
There were sixty or seventy kinsfolk and neighbors, plain rustic
men and women, in the little company that set out from Nazareth.
The men carried arms to protect the caravan from robbers or
marauders.
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