chief, and a dainty red
slipper. On the ragged grass in the court within there were some little
stones built up into tiny squares, and bits of stick stuck into the
ground in lines. A young girl had lived in that house; children had
played there; the gaunt and silent place breathed of their spirits
still. "Poor souls!" thought Israel, but the troubles of others could
not really touch him. At that very moment his heart was joyful.

The day was warm, but not too hot for walking. Israel did not feel
weary, and so he went on without resting. He reckoned how far it was
from Shawan to his home near Semsa. It was nearly seventy miles. That
distance would take two days and two nights to cover on foot. He had
left the prison on Wednesday night, and it would be Friday at sunset
before he reached Naomi. It was now Thursday morning. He must lose
no time. "You see, the poor little thing will be waiting, waiting,
waiting," he told himself. "These sweet creatures are all so impatient;
yes, yes, so foolishly impatient. God bless them!"

He met people on the road, and hailed them with good cheer. They
answered his greetings sadly, and a few of them told him of their
trouble. Something they said of Ben Aboo, that he demanded a hundred
dollars which they could not pay, and something of the Sultan, that he
had ransacked their houses and then gone on with his great army, his
twenty wives, and fifteen tents to keep the feast at Tetuan. But Israel
hardly knew what they told him, though he tried to lend an ear to their
story. He was thinking out a wonderful scheme for the future. With Naomi
he was to leave Morocco. They were to sail for England. Free, mighty,
noble, beautiful England! Ah, how it shone in his memory, the little
white island of the sea! His mother's home! England! Yes, he would go
back to it. True, he had no friends there now; but what matter of that?
Ah, yes, he was old, and the roll-call of his kindred showed him pitiful
gaps. His mother! Ruth! But he had Naomi still. Naomi! He spoke her name
aloud, softly, tenderly, caressingly, as if his wrinkled hand were on
her hair. Then recovering himself, he laughed to think that he could be
so childish.

Near to sunset he came upon a dooar, a tent village, in a waste place.
It was pitched in a wide circle, and opened inwards. The animals were
picketed in the centre, where children and dogs were playing, and the
voices of men and women came from inside the tents. Fires were burning
un