young Englishman,
whose face had that frank, attractive look of one whose thoughts
are kindly, well disposed to all the world; and at stem and stern
stood, erect and silent, the white-clothed figure of a boy from
the Soudan. Lithe, graceful forms supported long necks and
straight-featured faces, black as if carved out of smooth ebony,
and contrasting strangely with the white turbans of stiff linen
twisted deftly into a high crest above the brows. Swiftly the
little boat ran on for a mile or two against wind, with its three
silent and motionless occupants; then one boy turned, and
pronounced solemnly the two words, "Mister, Omdurman!"

This was accompanied with a gracious wave of his hand towards the
bank, as he leant forward to stop the engine, and his companion
turned the boat to land.

Omdurman, as seen from the river level, looks like nothing but a
long streak of duller yellow on the real gold of the African sand.
Its tiny, square, flat-roofed mud-houses are not, with few
exceptions, higher than six feet, and there is nothing else save
them and their dreary, yellow-brown, muddy monotony in the whole
village: not a palm, not a flower, not one blade of grass, simply a
collection of low mud-houses, with trampled mud-paths between, and
here and there an open, brown, dusty square.

The stillness and heat of the day were settling down now: the first
wild, cool youth of the morning was past, and the Englishman felt
the heat of the desert rise from the ground and strike his face,
like the blow of a flail, as he stepped on land. He expected the
Soudanese boys to follow, as they generally did on similar
excursions--one to secure the boat and sit and wait beside it, and
the other to accompany himself, carry his tripod and camera, and
act as guide and general escort. To-day the boy stood in the boat,
and addressed him earnestly:

"Boat wanted by other misters: let us go back: take them. We make
much money; come again evening, take you home."

"But, you young ruffians, what am I to do out here alone? I don't
know the way, and I want you to carry my things," expostulated the
Englishman, vainly trying to adjust a pair of blue goggles over his
eyes, smarting already in the intolerable glare from the sand,
while striving not to let drop his camera, fiercely cuddled under
one arm, and its tripod of steel legs and an overcoat balanced on
the other.

The black remained for a moment impassive, statuesque, wrapped in
reflection