ailed among
the weeds, which later on were cut down with a sickle and turned into
green meat for cows. Splendid muscats, we were told, our vines would
produce: branches are spread over them in the summer as a slight
protection from the sun, but the grapes are left on the ground and often
soiled; nor has a Moor the slightest idea of picking them, or of
preserving their bloom. Besides the vines, there were fruit-trees in
Jinan Dolero. Pink almonds blossomed first; the leaf and the flower of
apricots followed; apples, peaches, and pears came almost at the same
time; and we lived in a pink world. The fig-tree softened its hard heart
last of all, and its ashy-grey arms burst into tender green leaf and
infant figs; at the same time the pomegranates shot into warm red
leaflets. There were lemons which were ripe on the trees on New Year's
Day, and made many a lemon-squash: there was double narcissus in flower
everywhere; it sprouted up in the grass paths which divided our garden,
and got badly trodden down: there were rows and rows of beans, which
scented the air: last of all, there were some red geraniums in flower.

A hedge of prickly pear ran down the east side of the enclosure, a tall
cane fence effectually hedged in the rest, and the whole was entered by
the inevitable locked and barred door, and whitewashed doorway, the long
key of which, was a care in life, till we learnt that in Morocco every
precaution is taken up to a certain point; matters are then handed over
to Providence, and man, forbearing to meddle further, sits down and
awaits their development.

Thus, with all their locks and bolts, garden doors were often left open,
and the cane fences were full of gaps. But none of our lemons were
stolen--not, at least, after we got rid of the guard of soldiers which
for the first week the basha insisted on sending to Jinan Dolero every
night. They ate them.

Fine days were never long enough in the little garden-house facing the
mountains: in the mornings an opal light; the sunrise stalking across
their summits, while a cloud of white mist would sweep down the valley
out to the blue sea-line; all day bright light and dazzle, a wind soft
and yet racy; at night an abrupt sunset, leaving for a few moments a
rose-pink after-glow, followed by an intense silence.

The first thing in the morning, we always wandered in our garden down the
grassy paths among the dew; measured the rain-gauge; looked at the sky;
watched the birds,