some poison to send her to Him."

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Miss Banks looked at her patient, who might or might not have
had his life tampered with; but there was little she could do then. We
left that house and walked on into the poorest part of the city, down a
little alley which was hard to find, in search of a certain door which
was still harder. After two or three mistakes, we hit upon the right one,
and knocked at an old, battered, rat-eaten entrance falling to pieces.

"Anna. Tabiba," called Miss Banks; and the door was opened by a
countryman, a Riffi, rough-looking, only a coarse jellab over him, but
with a kind expression on his face. The space inside was something like a
chicken-pen. We stooped under a very low doorway in the farther wall, and
went into a little shed-like lean-to, where the inhabitants evidently
lived entirely. A boy of thirteen was lying on the ground, covered with a
piece of sacking. The father squatted down beside him. Two girls were
grinding beans close to them in a hand-mill--the old mill of . . . "the
one shall be taken, and the other left."

Miss Banks and I seated ourselves on a wooden rail, which was part of a
manger or a sheep-pen. These Riffis had been forced by famine to abandon
their home and come down into Tetuan, where at first they had lived in a
cave, on roots principally. The father would go out and hoe when he could
get work--every land-owner has hoeing to be done; but lately he had had
fever. The boy had an abscess, and could not move. In spite of it he
smiled cheerfully, and was delighted with a new red jellab which Miss
Banks brought him. Poor little chap! he did not live to wear it. I gave
him a trifle to buy food. Beyond the dried beans in course of being
ground, and half a lemon, there was no sign of anything to eat. Beans and
lemons to fight an abscess!

[Illustration: STRAW FOR SALE.

[_To face p. 230._]

After Miss Banks had attended to the child, we took our way to the house
of a Moorish doctor, who had been unable to cure himself, and had sent
in desperation for his European rival.

He was lying on a divan upstairs, himself the colour of oatmeal porridge,
with his wife attending to him; and he had a terrible sore on his thigh.
This was duly attended to. The long fast of Ramadhan might partly account
for his state of health. In spite of his faith in Miss Banks, which he
would sooner have died than acknowledged, he had unbounded c