caravan is always in the vanguard; and if it is an enemy, wisdom says we breakfast on him before he sups on us.

And the two sheikhs walked toward the house of "Abu Hamad,"

Abu Salman teasing his friend: "At this great age, still lying in wait on the mountain, Abu Hamad?!" Then he recounted to him the news of the caravan, and the battle of "Tell Abu Shajara," and Sherif Effendi's horse — a blessed journey, praise God, but for what befell Shahin Qasim Abu Ali. God forgive you, Shahin — but so it was decreed: his name was on the bullet in the factory where it was poured.

As for Abu Hamad, there was no news in his pouch but tidings of the "typhus," that fever which laid low everyone it struck, and which — so the government doctor claimed — is caused by the bite of fleas. Glory be to God! Who can believe that a son of Adam is killed by the bite of a flea? God sent down the catastrophe of the war upon mankind only when their minds went crooked and they took to professing such superstitions as the flea and the "typhus."

Come in, brother "Abu Salman."

And the two entered the house, and the guest's eye was caught by the absence of two things — Umm Hamad, and the silver candlestick that was proverbial throughout "the Shouf"; for that candlestick was of pure silver, sent to his father from Mexico by "Hamad" the emigrant. More than that, he felt in the house a desolate air, obscure, laden with riddles. He took the load off the bride, "al-Ghabra," stripped her of her pack-saddle, made the nosebag fast on her head, and returned to the house — and there was Abu Hamad stammering, at a loss, pressing his invitation to eat. I beg you, Abu Salman, let me make some food. I shall open the "pantry" and bring a little laban, and olives, and a dish of "mujad-dara." And Abu Salman knows that in "the Shouf," when they drag out the invitation to eat, they do not want you for their guest. What, then, had happened?! Abu

Hamad does not invite to food; Abu Hamad does not "bid you to table"; Abu Hamad sets down the dish at once, then presses your shoulder gently — sit! — and apologizes for the meanness of his food, though it be savory and of many kinds. And Abu Hamad kept pressing the invitation, and Abu Salman heaped up excuses and explained the reasons that kept him from accepting.

— I ate not long ago. I have no appetite for food just now.

— Allow me to open the "pantry" and...

And had that "pantry" pos-sessed a mouth to laugh, its guffaws would have shaken the house — for it was empty even of the smell of food.

— Your bounty is abundant, Abu Hamad.

— I beg you, Abu Salman...

And when the rituals of invitation and refusal were done, and no food had been brought nor any dish appeared, Abu Hamad took from a hole in the wall, concealed by a curtain, a religious manuscript; he kissed it and passed it over his brow, then opened it and laid it on the wooden stand made for it, and the two sat reading from the book of religion, intoning in a single deep-toned chant, swaying right and left to its melody: "Glory to Thee, glory to Thee — how mighty is Thy kingdom, and how great Thy estate!" And the two remained at a spiritual banquet that possessed all their powers, until midnight; then they took leave of each other, and each turned to his bed.

As for Abu Hamad, he broad-cast, to whom it might concern, that he was asleep — with a snore to wake the dead. As for Abu Salman, he tossed upon his bed, keeping company with the fleas, which had leagued against him and held their banquets in every quarter of his body. Then his thoughts strayed into a tumult of reflection. God forgive you, Shahin — what is this "typhus," and these calamities that have descended upon mankind?! Where is Umm Hamad, and how did the silver candlestick disappear? Did Umm Hamad take the candlestick away to sell it? A whisper had

already run among the people that Abu Hamad was in straits, but the man was forever praising God and saying, "All's well with the world." And suddenly Abu Salman rose from his bed and walked to the grain bins. He lifted the cover of the wheat bin and ran his hand through its corners — it was empty... and the lentil bin, likewise, and the flour bin... and all the bins. And likewise the pantry. Abu Salman's eyes brimmed over with tears, and he looked at his host in anger. Why had Abu Hamad hidden his misery from him?! And his thought leaped to his own house in "Baakline," and he praised God and thanked Him: his bins were full of every kind of grain, always enough for two weeks. For he was forever afraid that sickness, or something else, might keep him from a journey to Hauran, so he always laid in two weeks' provision, so that if he missed a journey there would remain enough to last him until the next. And he looked to where his beast stood, and around her were two sacks and half a sack of wheat and lentils. Why should I have two weeks' provision to spare while Abu Hamad is destitute? I shall leave this load here — we have what will suffice us until we travel to Hauran and come back with a new load, God willing. He listened: Abu Hamad was still sending forth his snores. So he rose and went to his beast and put the libban on her hooves — those "galoshes" the animal wore whenever they drew near a guard post. Then he led her outside, and when he had gone a little way from the house he mounted her back and rode for "Baakline."

And as though someone had seized Abu Hamad and shaken him and cried "Rise!" — he woke, and did not find his guest in his bed. He went to where the beast had been tethered, and there was nothing in the place but her load. Then the truth dawned upon Abu Hamad, and he rushed out of the house — dawn had begun to smile — and shouted: "Abu Salman, what have you done?! Come back and take the load — all is well!" And Abu Salman turned his face toward his host