The Boy could not see what happened then, for the place was crowded
and busy. But he heard the blowing of trumpets, and the clashing
of cymbals, and the chanting of psalms. Black clouds of smoke went
up from the hidden altar; the floor around was splashed and streaked
with red. After a long while, as it seemed, the priest brought back
the dead body of the lamb, prepared for the Passover supper.
"Is this our little lamb?" asked the Boy as his father took it
again upon his shoulder.
The father nodded.
"It was a very pretty one," said the Boy. "Did it have to die?"
The father looked down at him curiously. "Surely," he said,
"it had to be offered on the altar, so that we can keep our feast
according to the law of Moses to-night."
"But why," persisted the Boy, "must all the lambs be killed in the
Temple? Does God like that? How many do you suppose were brought
to the altar to-day?"
"Tens of thousands," answered the father.
"It is a great many," said the Boy, sighing. "I wish one was enough."
He was silent and thoughtful as they made their way through the
Court of the Women and found the mother and went back to the camp
on the hillside.
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