ding over the whole sky, and suddenly the little girl sees
stretching far before her the long shadow of the camels, and she knows
that the sun is up, for we never see shadows when the sun is not up,
unless it is by candlelight or moonlight. The shadows stretch out very
far before them, for the sun is behind. When you are out walking very
early in the morning, with the sun behind you, see how the shadow of
even such a little girl as you will reach across the whole street; and
you can imagine that such great creatures as camels would make even
much longer shadows.

Gemila watches them, and sees, too, how the white patches of sand
flush in the morning light; and she looks back where far behind are
the tops of their palm-trees, like great tufted fans, standing dark
against the yellow sky.

She is not sorry to leave that old home. She has had many homes
already, young as she is, and will have many more as long as she
lives. The whole desert is her home; it is very wide and large, and
sometimes she lives in one part, sometimes in another.

As the sun gets higher, it begins to grow very hot. The father
arranges the folds of his great white turban, a shawl with many folds,
twisted round his head to keep off the oppressive heat. The servants
put on their white fringed handkerchiefs, falling over the head and
down upon the neck, and held in place by a little cord tied, round the
head. It is not like a bonnet or hat, but one of the very best things
to protect the desert travellers from the sun. The children, too,
cover their heads in the same way, and Gemila no longer looks out to
see what is passing: the sun is too bright; it would hurt her eyes and
make her head ache. She shuts her eyes and falls half asleep, sitting
there high upon the camel's back. But, if she could look out, there
would be nothing to see but what she has seen many and many times
before,--great plains of sand or pebbles, and sometimes high, bare
rocks,--not a tree to be seen, and far off against the sky, the low
purple hills. They move on in the heat, and are all silent. It is
almost noon now, and Abdel Hassan stops, leaps from his horse, and
strikes his spear into the ground. The camel-drivers stop, the
camels stop and kneel, Gemila and Alee and their mother dismount. The
servants build up again the tent which they took down in the morning;
and, after drinking water from the leathern bags, the family are soon
under its shelter, asleep on their mats, while