arranges the folds of his great white turban, a shawl with many folds,
twisted round his head to keep off the oppressive heat. The servants
put on their white fringed handkerchiefs, falling over the head and
down upon the neck, and held in place by a little cord tied, round the
head. It is not like a bonnet or hat, but one of the very best things
to protect the desert travellers from the sun. The children, too,
cover their heads in the same way, and Gemila no longer looks out to
see what is passing: the sun is too bright; it would hurt her eyes and
make her head ache. She shuts her eyes and falls half asleep, sitting
there high upon the camel's back. But, if she could look out, there
would be nothing to see but what she has seen many and many times
before,--great plains of sand or pebbles, and sometimes high, bare
rocks,--not a tree to be seen, and far off against the sky, the low
purple hills. They move on in the heat, and are all silent. It is
almost noon now, and Abdel Hassan stops, leaps from his horse, and
strikes his spear into the ground. The camel-drivers stop, the
camels stop and kneel, Gemila and Alee and their mother dismount. The
servants build up again the tent which they took down in the morning;
and, after drinking water from the leathern bags, the family are soon
under its shelter, asleep on their mats, while the camels and servants
have crept into the shadow of some rocks and lain down in the sand.
The beautiful black horse is in the tent with his master; he is
treated like a child, petted and fed by all the family, caressed and
kissed by the children. Here they rest until the heat of the day is
past; but before sunset they have eaten their dates and bread, loaded
again the camels, and are moving, with the beautiful black horse and
his rider at the head.

They ride until the stars are out, and after, but stop for a few
hours' rest in the night, to begin the next day as they began this.