First, the father, a fine old Arab, ffaunt, miserable, grey-
headed, ragged, hollow-cheeked, without a turban,
shoes, or waist-belt, and carrying a child which
looked over his shoulder, with enormous black and
starving eyes; the mother on foot, in rags and shoe-
less, and still holding between her teeth a ragged
haik to veil her misery from the passer by, a baby at
her back, and in her hand a branch torn from an
olive-tree to switch off flies; then three ophthalmic
children, with flies buzzing about their eyehds; lastly,
the eldest son stolidly sitting in despair beside a
fallen donkey carrying salt, and rubbed by girth,
by crupper, and by pack ropes, and an epitome of
the last stage of famine and of overwork. And as we
came upon them, from a saint's tomb near by, a
quavering call to prayers rang out, and the whole
family fell to givmg praise to him who sendeth
hunger, famine, witUicnds the rain, and shows his
power upon the sons of men, infidel or believer,
Turk, Christian, Moor, and Jew, with such impar-



MOGREB-EL-ACKSA 127

tiality that at times one thinks indeed that he is God.
As for the donkey; Bible, Koran, and all the rest of
sacred books were writ for man, and the galled jade
may wince until the end of time for aU Jehovah,
Allah, Obi, and the rest of the Olympians seem to
care. All our bread, dates, and tea went to the
owners of the donkey, and had I been in European
clothes I should have bought the starveling beast and
put a bullet through his head.
