onfidence in
his own skill as a doctor.

We asked him if he could read.

"Read? No. Why should he read? What was the use of reading? The thing you
wanted to do was to _remember_. Now he, if he was doctoring any one, he
would try first this herb and then that. This herb no good. Try another.
Another no good. Another no good. He might try twelve herbs, and all no
good. And the thirteenth herb would be good. And then he would _remember_
that herb. Why! all his doctoring he taught himself . . ."

A rough sort of doctoring it is too, consisting of two remedies--a
violent purge, or else burning with a hot iron. Every sore place is
burnt; and for all sorts of illnesses, in cases of rheumatism, etc.,
etc., the patient is scored, perhaps all over his chest or back--"fired"
like a horse. Sores are always cauterized. Bullets are never extracted.
Wounds are bound up with earth and rags. A serious gunshot wound, means
death. Certainly there is a wide field for women doctors in Morocco.

From this house we went on to one where the father, mother, and children
were all having a meal--a poverty-stricken family again, where one of the
children was wasting away with fever. The rest of the party were sitting
round an earthenware pan, which was full of mallow leaves, stewed in
native oil, with red pepper and garlic in huge quantities. They were
dipping in their fingers, fishing out the greasy mallow and garlic, and
laying it on their brown native bread and eating it. They insisted upon
our joining them. It is no excuse to say "I have dined lately," for a
Moor eats at any time, when there happens to be food. Miss Banks tasted
the stew with a heroism worthy the noblest end.

We went on to the house of a man who has one of the best shops in Tetuan.
It was consequently comfortable, and delightfully fresh-looking. The
master of the house was in bed with fever--that is to say, we found him
reclining on a divan on the floor, beside a gorgeous bed, with a
lily-white turban fresh from the wash-tub wound round his head. We sat
down on the divan running round the room, and Miss Banks was glad to hear
that her patient had at last consented to take quinine. He was
worn-looking, with small black beard and moustache. Moors, like every
effete people, are unable to grow a great quantity of hair on their
faces.

After visiting her cases Miss Banks suggested something of a change, and
we turned into the best part of Tetuan, to pay a call upon one of th