d his desert library. He wanted a poem which would
completely transfer his thoughts from the throbbing present, which
would change the arid desert and limitless space into green England,
with its enclosing hedges and leafy woods. His nerves were jaded; they
needed the relaxation of moderation. Knowing almost every poem in the
volume, he quickly found Bliss Carman's "Ode to the Daisies." His mind
recited it even before his eyes saw the words:

"Over the shoulders and slopes to the dune
I saw the white daisies go down to the sea,
A host in the sunshine, an army in June,
The people God sends us to set our hearts free."

He read the next verse and then turned to Wordsworth's immortal lines:

"I wandered lonely as a cloud . . ."

He read the poem through, although he knew each dear, familiar word of
it. Reading it helped his powers of concentration. It was amazing how
quickly the suggestion of the words soothed him. As clearly as he had
seen all the events of the day repeating themselves, he now saw the
host of golden daffodils,

"Beside the lake, beneath the trees."

They obliterated the desert, with its immortal voices, its passionate
appeals. He was no longer wandering lonely as a cloud. He was happy,
he was one with the dancing daffodils, as he watched them

"Tossing their heads in sprightly dance."

To how many weary minds has the poem brought the same solace, the same
spiritual refreshment?

"Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze."

His fingers relaxed their hold on the book. It dropped from his hand.
Margaret stood among the daffodils, Margaret, with her steadfast eyes
and dark-brown head, Margaret calling to him in the breeze.

* * * * * *

At dawn, when Abdul came to wake his master, he found the candle still
burning. It was a little bit of wick floating in melted grease, like a
light in a saint's tomb. The book which the Effendi had been reading
had fallen to the floor.

Abdul looked at his master anxiously. He must have been reading very
late. Why had he not been asleep? He ought to have refreshed himself
for his long journey. For many days past he had looked tired and
anxious.

Abdul folded his hands while he looked at the sleeping Michael.

"_Al hamdu lillah_ (thank God)," he said. "The Effendi has been in
pleasant company."

CHAPTER VIII

The camp had moved on. Two day