Simon looked at the tired strangers with sympathy, and vigorously plied his oars.  The waves rippled and the rocking skiff glided over the broad expanse of waters which, on the south side, appeared endless.  From the way in which the two men spoke to the Master, Simon thought to himself:  “A rabbi, and they are his pupils.”  To the Master’s questions regarding his life and trade, the fisherman gave respectful answers, taking care to remark that he had not to complain of overmuch good fortune, for often he fished all day and all night without catching anything, a success he could equally well obtain if he lay all day idle in his boat and let himself be rocked.

The Master asked him with a smile what he would say to fishing for men.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve already three in your net,” said James gaily.

“And God help me!” exclaimed the fisherman, “for we must pray to Him for help to-day.  Look over there at the mountains of Hium.  Just now it looks so beautifully blue that you would take it for a sunny sky.  But the white edges!  In an hour there’ll be more of them.”

“Hoist the sail, fisherman, and bale out,” advised James.  “I understand something of the business.”

“Then you wouldn’t say hoist the sail to-day,” returned Simon.

“Listen,” said James; “you know the river which brings the black sand and the little red fishes with the sharp heads down to this lake from the mountains of Golan.  My cottage was by that river—­you surely know it?”

“Isn’t it there still?” asked Simon.

“It is there, but it is no longer mine,” said James.  “I have left it in order to follow the Master.  Do you know Him, Simon?”

He had whispered the last words behind the back of the Master, who sat silent on the bench, and looked out over the calm waters.  He seemed to be enjoying the rest; the breeze played softly with His hair, As a protection from the sun’s rays John had fashioned a piece of cloth into a sort of turban and wound it round his head.  He looked with amusement at the reflection of the head-dress in the water.

“For whom do you take Him?” asked James, pointing to Jesus.

And the fisherman answered, “For whom do you take that?” He pointed to the distance; he saw the storm.  The mountains were enveloped in a grey mist which, pierced by the lightning, moved slowly downwards.  Before them surged the foaming waters, the waves white-crested.  A gust of wind struck the boat; the water began to beat heavily against it, so that it was tossed about like a piece of cork.  Since Simon had not put up the sail there was now no need to reef it.  Flakes of foam flew over the spars, the beams groaned.  The clouds rushed on, driving the heaving, thundering waves before them.  Soon the little boat was overtaken by darkness, which was only relieved by flashes of lightning.  Long ago Simon had let go the rudder, and exclaimed, “Jehovah!” Thunder claps were the only answer.  Then the fisherman fell on his face and groaned; “He gives no help; I thought as much.”