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# PETER WALKING ON THE WATER  ONCE spent a day in an open boat on the Sea of Galilee. For a while the water lay as smooth and as blue as if it had been a patch of the sky that had fallen. The high hills stretched themselves along the shore like sleeping giants guarding some sacred fountain. But suddenly the wind rose; perhaps I should say that it fell, for it seemed to tumble over the tops of the hills, and roll down the slopes, and dig the water into gullies, and pound it into spray, so that we were glad to get into a little cove and land. Our boatmen shrugged their shoulders and said that this was only “a little breeze.” As we watched the water, ravelled into shreds, I thought what a turmoil there must have been here when old fishermen like Peter called it, as the

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