_cold_ water. But
just pour the water in one of these earthen pots and hang it in the wind
and then in a few minutes the water gets cold. We missionaries always have
such water-jars hanging or standing in our windows to catch the breeze.
Perhaps this kind of water-cooler is very old, and Solomon himself looked
at one when he wrote the words: "As cold waters to a thirsty soul so is
good news from a far country."

VI

BLIND FATIMAH

It was on a Sunday afternoon that I first met Blind Fatimah and greeted
her with _Salaam aleikum_ and she answered _aleikum es salaam!_ "Peace be
to you and on you be peace." I asked if she could read. She said she could
"read by heart," but could not see anything. She at that time could repeat
twenty-six chapters of the Koran, the sacred book of the Mohammedans. Now
I think she can repeat it nearly all; it contains one hundred and fourteen
chapters. Some are very short and others are very long; some parts of the
book are very good, but most of it is a jumble of events and of things
that never happened--all mixed up topsy-turvy.

A slave woman was Fatimah's teacher and now she is helper in the school of
this teacher. She is the prompter, and always begins each sentence of the
recitation, and the other children follow on. If any mistakes are made,
she will instantly correct them.

She is a peculiar looking girl and she is not pretty. Her clothes consist
of cast off garments given her by others. Her head is generally covered
and wrapped up in a black muslin veil; then she has an _abba_ or Arabian
cloak of very green-black cashmere; then under that a many coloured
garment called a _thobe_; it is square in pattern with armholes and
sleeves nearly a yard wide. The ends of these wide sleeves are deftly
taken and thrown over the head to form a sort of tight-fitting cap.
Underneath this garment is a kind of dressing gown with tight-fitting
sleeves. Such is Fatimah's wardrobe. She wears no shoes, not even sandals.
Would you like to walk in the hot sand with no covering for your feet?

Sometimes I visit the school where Fatimah teaches the smaller girls A, B,
C. It is a topsy-turvy school indeed. The object seems to be to make as
much noise as possible; the pupils sit on the floor with a small stand or
trestle (like a saw-buck!) in front of each one to hold their Korans out
of which they read. The first pupil begins a sentence at the top of his,
or her, voice and then in a sort of refrain