, or mills, consists of a row of one-storied mud huts,
each of which contains a pair of grindstones. Connecting with the upper
stone is a perpendicular shaft of wood which protrudes through the roof
and extends fifteen feet above it. Cross-pieces run through at right
angles and, plaited with rushes, transform the shaft into an upright
four-bladed affair that the wind blows around and turns the millstones
below.

So far, this is only a very primitive and clumsy method of harnessing the
wind; but connected with it is a very ingenious contrivance that redeems
it entirely from the commonplace. A system of mud walls are built about,
the same height or a little higher than the shaft, in such a manner as to
concentrate and control the wind in the interest of the miller,
regardless of which direction it is blowing in.

The suction created by the peculiar disposition of the walls whisks the
rude wattle sails around in the most lively manner. Forty of these mills
are in operation at Tabbas; and to see them all in full swing, making a
loud "sweeshing" noise as they revolve, is a most extraordinary sight.
Aside from Tabbas, these novel grist-mills are only to be seen in the
territory about the Seistan Lake.

The door-way of the quarters provided for our accommodation being too
small to admit the bicycle, not the slightest hesitation is made about
knocking out the threshold. Every male visible about the place seems
eagerly desirous of lending a hand in sweeping out the room, spreading
nummuds, bringing quilts, tea, kalians, or something.

A slight ripple upon the smooth and pleasing surface of the universal
inclination to do us honor is a sententious controversy between the mirza
and a blatant individual who enters objections about killing a sheep.
Whether, in the absence of the village khan, the objections are based on
an unwillingness to supply the mutton, or because the sheep are miles
away on the plain, does not appear; but whatever the objections, the
mirza overcomes them, and we get freshly slaughtered mutton for supper.

Tea is evidently a luxury not to be lightly regarded at Tabbas; after the
leaves have served their customary purpose, they are carefully emptied
into a saucer, sprinkled with sugar, and handed around--each guest takes a
pinch of the sweetened leaves and eats it.

The modus operandi of manipulating the kalian likewise comes in for a
slight modification here. The ordinary Persian method, before handing the