That evening, before sunset, some women were washing clothes on the upper step of the flight that led down into the basin of the Pool of Siloam.

They knelt each before a broad bowl of earthenware.
A girl at the foot of the steps kept them supplied with water, and sang while she filled the jar.

The song was cheerful, and no doubt lightened their labor.

Occasionally they would sit upon their heels, and look up the slope of Ophel, and round to the summit of what is now the Mount of Offence, then faintly glorified by the dying sun.
While they plied their hands, rubbing and wringing the clothes in the bowls, two other women came to them, each with an empty jar upon her shoulder.
"Peace to you," one of the new-comers said.
The laborers paused, sat up, wrung the water from their hands, and returned the salutation.
"It is nearly night--time to quit." "There is no end to work," was the reply.
"But there is a time to rest, and--" "To hear what may be passing," interposed another.
"What news have you ?" "Then you have not heard ?" "No." "They say the Christ is born," said the newsmonger, plunging into her story.
It was curious to see the faces of the laborers brighten with interest; on the other side down came the jars, which, in a moment, were turned into seats for their owners.
"The Christ!" the listeners cried.
"So they say." "Who ?" "Everybody; it is common talk." "Does anybody believe it ?" "This afternoon three men came across Brook Cedron on the road from Shechem," the speaker replied, circumstantially, intending to smother doubt.

"Each one of them rode a camel spotless white, and larger than any ever before seen in Jerusalem." The eyes and mouths of the auditors opened wide.
"To prove how great and rich the men were," the narrator continued, "they sat under awnings of silk; the buckles of their saddles were of gold, as was the fringe of their bridles; the bells were of silver, and made real music.