the desert schools and mosques.

"Where they started, no man knows," he said. "Nevertheless, Effendi,
their headquarters is 'somewhere.'" He smiled the peculiar smile of
the Eastern, so baffling to the Western mind. "The English are without
suspicion, Effendi; they trust everyone."

Michael expressed his ignorance as to what he alluded to. Was he
referring to the Nationalist Party in Egypt?

"They do not know their worst enemies, Effendi. They tolerate the
presence of mischief-makers, who seduce the ignorant. And these
strangers are clever, Effendi, they spare no trouble. In the mosques
and the schools they are teaching, or causing to be taught, strange and
new ideas. No village is too far off for this propaganda to reach. It
is well to believe in others as we would be believed in ourselves,
Effendi, but England is like the ostrich which buries its head in the
sand. I grieve to tell the Effendi these truths."

To Michael the man's words rang with the truth of conviction. They
suggested a new danger to British rule in Egypt. And yet he had heard
nothing of the unrest to which he alluded while he was in Luxor or in
Cairo; it seemed to flourish in the desert. When he questioned the old
man, he became as secret as an oyster; what he definitely knew he did
not mean to present to every passing stranger.

While they had been talking, Michael had enjoyed countless small cups
of tea. It was so good and fragrant that he realized that for the
first time he had drunk tea as it was meant to be drunk. He understood
how greatly it deteriorates by crossing the ocean; this tea had
journeyed all the way to the _Omdeh's_ house by caravan; it had been
brought overland by the old trade-route.

When Michael had rested he began the lengthy preliminaries of saying
good-bye. The _Omdeh_ would not hear of his going; he invited him to
visit his orchard, a beautiful Eden of fruits and exotic flowers,
abundantly irrigated by rivulets of clear water. The contrast between
this emerald patch, where golden globes of fruit were still hanging
from some of the orange-trees, struck Michael as flagrantly cruel. The
_Omdeh_, because of his wealth and social position, was living in a
cool, well-built house, surrounded by all that was fresh and fair, an
ideal home; yet, not a stone's throw from his secluded orchard and cool
_selamlik_, were the narrow streets, littered over with filthy
children, encrusted with scabs and black with flies