e tramped, will he now push his orange-cart and his
hopes. There, between City and Country, nearer to Nature, and not far
from the traffic of life, he fares better both in health and purse. It
is much to his liking, this upper end of the City. Here the atmosphere
is more peaceful and soothing, and the police are more agreeable. No,
they do not nickname and bully him in the Bronx. And never was he
ordered to move on, even though he set up his stand for months at the
same corner. "Ah, how much kinder and more humane people become," he
says, "even when they are not altogether out of the City, but only on
the outskirts of the country expanse."

Khalid passes the Spring and Summer in the Bronx and keeps in the open
air, not only in the day, but also in the night. How he does this, is
told in a letter which he writes to Shakib. But does he sleep at all,
you ask, and how, and where? Reader, we thank you for your anxiety
about Khalid's health. And we would fain show you the Magic Carpet
which he carries in the lock-box of his push-cart. But see for
yourself, here be neither Magic Carpet, nor Magic Ring. Only his
papers, a few towels, a blanket, some underwear, and his coffee
utensils, are here. For Khalid could forego his _mojadderah_, but
never his coffee, the Arab that he is. But an Arab on the wayfare, if
he finds himself at night far from the camp, will dig him a ditch in
the sands and lie there to sleep under the living stars. Khalid could
not do thus, neither in the City nor out of it. And yet, he did not
lodge within doors. He hired a place only for his push-cart; and this,
a small padlock-booth where he deposits his stock in trade. But how he
lived in the Bronx is described in the following letter:

"My loving Brother Shakib,

"I have been two months here, in a neighbourhood familiar to
you. Not far from the place where I sleep is the sycamore tree
under which I burned my peddling-box. And perhaps I shall yet
burn there my push-cart too. But for the present, all's well. My
business is good and my health is improving. The money-order I
am enclosing with this, will cancel the note, but not the many
debts, I owe you. And I hope to be able to join you again soon,
to make the voyage to our native land together. Meanwhile I am
working, and laying up a little something. I make from two to
three dollars a day, of which I never spend more than one. And
this on one meal only; for my lodging and my lunch