igeons circled overhead and cooed distractedly, children were driving
dogs away with stones and curses. Khalil, the musician, stood to lead
the way, making his concertina speak occasionally as a protest against
further waiting. Iskender was to follow next to him as donor of the
honoured picture; then the males of the congregation by twos and
threes, many of them carrying lighted tapers; and, last of all, the
priest fully robed, bearing the sacred picture at his breast. Groups
of white-veiled women, mere spectators, waited in the shadow of the
hovels, or beneath the oak-tree.

"Play that tune that thou didst play at our wedding, O Khalil," cried
Nesibeh to the musician, who was chafing for the start.

"Which tune may that be of all tunes, O lady? I played you all I knew
on that most blessed day!" Khalil was very grave and ceremonious, this
being the greatest hour of all his life. "Is it this?" He broke into
"God save the Queen."

"No, no; it goes like this!" Nesibeh strove to shadow forth the
Frankish air. Do what she would, she could not keep from smiling, for
pleasure in her husband's great success.

"Ah, yes, I know thy meaning now. That is a tune indeed--a tune of
playful triumph without arrogance, well suited to the occasion. It was
taught to me by an English mariner in Bur' Said, and is entitled 'Bob
gus the wissal.'"

"Play it, O Khalil! Play it all the time; for it is merry and it makes
us laugh!" cried Nesibeh, clapping her hands.

"Ready!" cried Mitri from the house; and Khalil stepped out with
triumph, flourishing his concertina, flinging its strains out far and
wide; his head, his whole body carried this way and that with the
violence of his exertions. Elias and other excitables cut strange
capers or embraced each other. The more serious rendered praise to
Allah; the women looking on gave forth their joy-cries; and Mitri,
bringing up the rear of the procession, smiled a blessing on their
enthusiasm over the picture held against his breast. They had
compassed the church five times to the tune of "Pop goes the Weasel,"
and were coming round again when a carriage which they had not heard
approaching drew up beneath the ilex-tree. Its occupants were a
Frankish clergyman dressed in black, and a lady dressed in white with a
white sunshade. They watched the procession curiously with pitying
smiles. Iskender from a distance was struck by the clergyman's
complexion, which seemed darker than is