arts of the city, fetched
and carried without complaint, and yet never lost the splendid dignity
that seemed to justify his claim to saintship.

So we took our ease in the open patio, and the shareef's long fast was
broken, and the stars came to the aid of our lanterns, and when supper was
over I was well content to sit and smoke, while Salam, M'Barak, the
Maalem, and the shareef sat silent round the glowing charcoal, perhaps too
tired to talk. It was very pleasant to feel at home after two or three
weeks under canvas below Mediunah and along the southern road.

The Maalem rose at last, somewhat unsteadily after his debauch of kief. He
moved to where our provisions were stocked and took oil and bread from the
store. Then he sought the corner of the wall by the doorway and poured out
a little oil and scattered crumbs, repeating the performance at the far
end of the patio. This duty done, he bade Salam tell me that it was a
peace-offering to the souls of the departed who had inhabited this house
before we came to it. I apprehend they might have resented the presence of
the Infidel had they not been soothed by the Maalem's little attention. He
was ever a firm believer in djinoon, and exorcised them with unfailing
regularity. The abuse he heaped on Satan must have added largely to the
burden of sorrows under which we are assured the fallen angel carries out
his appointed work. He had been profuse in his prayers and curses when we
entered the barren pathway of the Little Hills behind the plains of
Hillreeli, and there were times when I had felt quite sorry for Satan.
Oblation offered to the house spirits, the Maalem asked for his money, the
half due at the journey's end, sober enough, despite the kief, to count
the dollars carefully, and make his farewell with courteous eloquence. I
parted with him with no little regret, and look forward with keen pleasure
to the day when I shall summon him once again from the bakehouse of
Djedida to bring his mules and guide me over the open road, perchance to
some destination more remote. I think he will come willingly, and that the
journey will be a happy one. The shareef drew the heavy bolt behind the
Maalem, and we sought our beds.

It was a brief night's rest. The voice of the mueddin, chanting the call
to prayer and the Shehad,[20] roused me again, refreshed. The night was
passing; even as the sonorous voice of the unseen chanted his inspiring
"Allah Akbar," it was yielding place to