. In
the outer or public grounds of this vast pleasaunce the fruit is sold by
auction to the merchants of the city in late spring, when blossoming time
is over, and, after the sale, buyers must watch and guard the trees until
harvest brings them their reward.

[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO MARRAKESH]

We rode past the low-walled gardens, where pomegranate and apricot trees
were flowering, and strange birds I did not know sang in the deep shade.
Doves flitted from branch to branch, bee-eaters darted about among
mulberry and almond trees. There was an overpowering fragrance from the
orange groves, where blossom and unplucked fruit showed side by side; the
jessamine bushes were scarcely less fragrant. Spreading fig-trees called
every passer to enjoy their shade, and the little rivulets, born of the
Tensift's winter floods to sparkle through the spring and die in June,
were fringed with willows. It was delightful to draw rein and listen to
the plashing of water and the cooing of doves, while trying in vain to
recognise the most exquisite among many sweet scents.

Under one of the fig-trees in a garden three Moors sat at tea. A carpet
was spread, and I caught a glimpse of the copper kettle, the squat
charcoal brazier tended by a slave, the quaint little coffer filled no
doubt with fine green tea, the porcelain dish of cakes. It was a quite
pleasing picture, at which, had courtesy permitted, I would have enjoyed
more than a brief glance.

The claim of the Moors upon our sympathy and admiration is made greater by
reason of their love for gardens. As a matter of fact, their devotion may
be due in part to the profit yielded by the fruit, but one could afford to
forget that fact for the time being, when Nature seemed to be giving
praise to the Master of all seasons for the goodly gifts of the spring.

We crossed the Tensift by the bridge, one of the very few to be found in
Southern Morocco. It has nearly thirty arches, all dilapidated as the city
walls themselves, yet possessing their curious gift of endurance. Even the
natives realise that their bridge is crumbling into uselessness, after
nearly eight centuries of service, but they do no more than shrug their
shoulders, as though to cast off the burden of responsibility and give it
to destiny. On the outskirts of the town, where gardens end and open
market-squares lead to the gates, a small group of children gathered to
watch the strangers with an interest in which fear play