ave for the sighing of the camels and the singing of the shifting
sands.

THE MAN WHO KEEPS GOATS

I

The next morning broke as all mornings break in the desert, first
yellow, then white, and always silent. The air bore the scent of sage.
The hobbled camels had broken every shrub within their reach, and
stunted herbage is, almost always, aromatic.

Abdullah gave no heed to the sun. He who for ten years had been the
most energetic man of the desert had overnight become the most
nonchalant. Like Achilles, he sulked in his tent.

At five o'clock Ali ventured to bring his master's coffee. He found
Abdullah fully dressed and reading a paper, which he hurriedly thrust
into his burnoose when he was interrupted.

"Your coffee, master," said Ali. "We have twelve leagues to make
to-day."

"Ali," said Abdullah, "the night before we started I asked you who
lived in the house with the green lattices--the next house beyond the
mosque--and you promised to tell me in the morning."

"Yes, master," said Ali, "but in the morning you did not ask me."

"I ask you now," said Abdullah.

Ali bowed. "Master," he answered, "the house is occupied by Ilderhim,
chief of the tribe of Ouled Nail. He hires it for five years, and he
occupies it for the three months, Chaban, Ramadan, and Chaoual, of each
year. He has also the gardens and four water-rights. He deals in ivory,
gold-dust, and dancing-girls. He formerly lived in Biskra, but the
French banished him. They have also banished him from Algiers, and he
has been warned from Cairo and Medina. He has a divorced wife in each
of those cities. They are the mothers of the dancing-girls. The one in
Biskra is Mirza. Every one in Biskra knows Mirza. Doubtless you,
master--"

"Yes," said Abdullah, "but the damsel. Who is she?"

"His daughter," replied Ali.

"How know you this?" demanded Abdullah, fiercely.

"Master," said Ali, "last night, when you were looking at the stars
with the mistress, I had a word with the maid. She came to me, while I
was asleep by the dun leader, and shook me as if I had been an old
friend.

"'Save her,' she whispered, as I rubbed my eyes.

"'Willingly,' I replied. 'Who is she?'

"'My mistress,' said the maid. 'They are taking her to Biskra. She has
been sold to Mirza. She will dance in the cafes. This sweet flower will
be cast into the mire of the market-place. Save her.'

"'How know you this?' I asked.

"'Ah,' she answered, 'this is not the firs