dear lamented dead in the cemetery; the water of the
ablution places in the mosque had been changed; the ragged policemen
had new putties; the kourbashes of the tax-gatherers were hid in their
yeleks; the egregious Pasha wore a greasy smile, and the submudir, as he
conducted Fielding--"whom God preserve and honour!"--through the prison
and through the hospital, where goat's milk had been laid on for this
especial day, smirked gently through the bazaar above his Parisian
waistcoat.

But Fielding, as he rode on Selamlik Pasha's gorgeous black donkey from
Assiout, with its crimson trappings, knew what proportion of improvement
this "hankypanky," as Dicky called it, bore to the condition of things
at the last inspection. He had spoken little all day, and Dicky had
noticed that his eye was constantly turning here and there, as though
looking for an unwelcome something or somebody.

At last the thing was over, and they were just crossing the canal, the
old Bahr-el-Yusef, which cuts the town in twain as the river Abana does
Damascus, when Dicky saw nearing them a heavily-laden boat, a cross
between a Thames house-boat and an Italian gondola, being drawn by one
poor raw-bone--raw-bone in truth, for there was on each shoulder a round
red place, made raw by the unsheathed ropes used as harness. The beast's
sides were scraped as a tree is barked, and the hind quarters gored as
though by a harrow. Dicky was riding with the mamour of the district,
Fielding was a distance behind with Trousers and the Mudir. Dicky pulled
up his donkey, got off and ran towards the horse, pale with fury; for
he loved animals better than men, and had wasted his strength beating
donkey-boys with the sticks they used on their victims. The boat had
now reached a point opposite the mudirieh, its stopping-place; and the
raw-bone, reeking with sweat and blood, stood still and trembled, its
knees shaking with the strain just taken off them, its head sunk nearly
to the ground.

Dicky had hardly reached the spot when a figure came running to the
poor waler with a quick stumbling motion. Dicky drew back in wonder,
for never had he seen eyes so painful as these that glanced from the
tortured beast to himself--staring, bulbous, bloodshot, hunted eyes;
but they were blue, a sickly, faded blue; and they were English! Dicky's
hand was, on his pistol, for his first impulse had been to shoot the
rawbone; but it dropped away in sheer astonishment at the sight of this