he most numerous concourse of people one
feels most lonely, so it was now with Yusuf. There seemed none with whom
he cared to speak. Most of the people were self-satisfied traders
busied with the care of the merchandise which they were taking down to
dispose of at the great fair carried on during the Ramadhan. A few were
Arabs of the Hejaz, short and well-knit, wearing loose garments of blue,
drawn back at the arms enough to show the muscles standing out like
whip-cords. Some were smoking short chibouques, with stems of wood and
bowls of soft steatite colored a yellowish red. As they rode they used
no stirrups, but crossed their legs before and beneath the pommel of the
saddle; while, as the sun shone more hotly, they bent their heads and
drew their kufiyahs far over their brows. Many poor and somewhat
fanatical pilgrims were interspersed among the crowd, and here and there
a dervish, with his large, bag-sleeved robe of brown wool--the Zaabut,
worn alike by dervish and peasant--held his way undisturbed.

Yusuf soon ceased to pay any attention to his surroundings, and sat,
buried in his own thoughts, until a voice, pleasant and like the ripple
of a brook, aroused him.

"What thoughts better than the thoughts of a Persian? None. Friend,
think you not so?"

The words were spoken in the Persian dialect, and the priest looked up
in surprise, to see a ruddy-faced man smiling down upon him from the
back of a tall, white Syrian camel. He wore the jubbeh, or cloak, the
badge of the learned in the Orient; his beard was turning slightly gray,
and his eyes were keen and twinkling.

"One question mayhap demands another," returned Yusuf. "How knew you
that I am a Persian? I no longer wear Persian garb."

"What! Ask an Arab such a question as that!" said the other, smiling.
"Know you not, Persian, that we of the desert lands are accustomed to
trace by a mark in the sand, the breaking of a camel-thorn, things as
difficult? The stamp of one's country cannot be thrown off with one's
clothes. Nay, more; you have been noted as one learned among the
Persians."

Yusuf bent his head in assent. "Truly, stranger, your penetration is
incomprehensible," he said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"No, no!" returned the other, good-humoredly; "but, marking you out for
what you are, I thought your company might, perchance, lessen the
dreariness of the way. I am Amzi, the Meccan. Some call me Amzi the rich
Meccan; others, Amzi the learned; others, Am