There are also many mulberry-trees cultivated for the silkworms, and the
ever-present figs and almonds are not wanting. The stone houses of the
town rise, on winding paths, one above the other, many of them having
arched porticoes, red-tiled roofs, and green-latticed windows. It is a
place of about five thousand population, now more than half Christian,
but formerly one of the strongholds and capitals of the mysterious Druse
religion.

Our tents are pitched at the western end of the town, on a low terrace
where olive-trees are growing. When we arrive we find the camp
surrounded and filled with curious, laughing children. The boys are a
little troublesome at first, but a word from an old man who seems to be
in charge brings them to order, and at least fifty of them, big and
little, squat in a semicircle on the grass below the terrace, watching
us with their lustrous brown eyes.

They look full of fun, those young Druses and Maronites and Greeks and
Mohammedans, so I try a mild joke on them, by pretending that they are
a class and that I am teaching them a lesson. "A, B, C," I chant, and
wait for them to repeat after me. They promptly take the lesson out of
my hands and recite the entire English alphabet in chorus, winding up
with shouts of "Goot mornin'! How you do?" and merry laughter. They are
all pupils from the mission schools which have been established since
the great Massacre of 1860, and which are helping, I hope, to make
another forever impossible.

One of our objects in coming to Hasbeiya was to ascend Mount Hermon. We
send for the Druse guide and the Christian guide; both of them assure us
that the adventure is impossible on account of the deep snow, which has
increased during the last fortnight. We can not get within a mile of the
summit. The snow will be waist-deep in the hollows. The mountain is
inaccessible until June. So, after exchanging visits with the
missionaries and seeing something of their good work, we ride on our way
the next morning.

II

RASHEIYA AND ITS AMERICANISM

The journey to Rasheiya is like that of the preceding day, except that
the bridle-paths are rougher and more precipitous, and the views wider
and more splendid. We have crossed the Hasbani again, and leaving the
Druses' valley, the Wadi et-Teim, behind us, have climbed the high
table-land to the west. We did not know why George Cavalcanty led us
away from the path marked in our Baedeker, but we took it for granted
that