I had learned to count to a hundred when I was five years old, so I went over the group carefully and announced: 

“Ten of ’em.  They’re all wavin’ their arms an’ yellin’ at the other men.”

“But they don’t come near them?” was the query.

I shook my head.  “They just stand right there an’ keep a-yellin’ like they was in trouble.”

“Go on,” urged the missionary.  “What next?  What’s the man doing in the front of the other crowd you said was walking along?”

“They’ve all stopped, an’ he’s sayin’ something to the sick men.  An’ the boys with the goats ’s stopped to look.  Everybody’s lookin’.”

“And then?”

“That’s all.  The sick men are headin’ for the houses.  They ain’t yellin’ any more, an’ they don’t look sick any more.  An’ I just keep settin’ on my horse a-lookin’ on.”

At this all three of my listeners broke into laughter.

“An’ I’m a big man!” I cried out angrily.  “An’ I got a big sword!”

“The ten lepers Christ healed before he passed through Jericho on his way to Jerusalem,” the missionary explained to my parents.  “The boy has seen slides of famous paintings in some magic lantern exhibition.”

But neither father nor mother could remember that I had ever seen a magic lantern.

“Try him with another picture,” father suggested.

“It’s all different,” I complained as I studied the photograph the missionary handed me.  “Ain’t nothin’ here except that hill and them other hills.  This ought to be a country road along here.  An’ over there ought to be gardens, an’ trees, an’ houses behind big stone walls.  An’ over there, on the other side, in holes in the rocks ought to be where they buried dead folks.  You see this place?—­they used to throw stones at people there until they killed ’m.  I never seen ’m do it.  They just told me about it.”

“And the hill?” the missionary asked, pointing to the central part of the print, for which the photograph seemed to have been taken.  “Can you tell us the name of the hill?”

I shook my head.

“Never had no name.  They killed folks there.  I’ve seem ’m more ’n once.”

“This time he agrees with the majority of the authorities,” announced the missionary with huge satisfaction.  “The hill is Golgotha, the Place of Skulls, or, as you please, so named because it resembles a skull.  Notice the resemblance.  That is where they crucified—­” He broke off and turned to me.  “Whom did they crucify there, young scholar?  Tell us what else you see.”

Oh, I saw—­my father reported that my eyes were bulging; but I shook my head stubbornly and said: 

“I ain’t a-goin’ to tell you because you’re laughin’ at me.  I seen lots an’ lots of men killed there.  They nailed ’em up, an’ it took a long time.  I seen—­but I ain’t a-goin’ to tell.  I don’t tell lies.  You ask dad an’ ma if I tell lies.  He’d whale the stuffin’ out of me if I did.  Ask ’m.”