[Illustration: ONE OF THE CITY GATES]

We took this good counsel, and on our return an hour later, a very
complete transformation had been effected. Palmetto brooms, and water
brought from an adjacent well, had made the floor look clean and clear.
The warmth of the air had dried everything, the pack-mules had been
relieved of their load and sent back to the stable. Two little earthen
braziers full of charcoal were glowing merrily under the influence of the
bellows that M'Barak wielded skilfully, and two earthen jars of water with
palm leaves for corks had been brought in by our host's servants. In
another hour the camp beds were unpacked and made up, a rug was set on the
bedroom floor, and the little table and chairs were put in the middle of
the patio. From the alcove where Salam squatted behind the twin fires came
the pleasant scent of supper; M'Barak, his well-beloved gun at his side,
sat silent and thoughtful in another corner, and the tiny clay bowl of the
Maalem's long wooden kief pipe was comfortably aglow.

There was a timid knock at the door, the soldier opened it and admitted
the shareef. I do not know his name nor whence he came, but he walked up
to Salam, greeted him affectionately, and offered his services while we
were in the city. Twenty years old perhaps, at an outside estimate, very
tall and thin and poorly clad, the shareef was not the least interesting
figure I met in Marrakesh. A shareef is a saint in Morocco as in every
other country of Islam, and his title implies descent from Mohammed. He
may be very poor indeed, but he is more or less holy, devout men kiss the
hem of his djellaba, no matter how dirty or ragged it may be, and none may
curse a shareef's ancestors, for the Prophet was one of them. His youthful
holiness had known Salam in Fez, and had caught sight of him by Boubikir's
fandak in the early afternoon. Salam, himself a chief in his own land,
though fallen on evil days then and on worse ones since, welcomed the
newcomer and brought his offer to me, adding the significant information
that the young shareef, who was too proud to beg, had not tasted food in
the past forty-eight hours. He had then owed a meal to some Moor, who,
following a well-known custom, had set a bowl of food outside his house to
conciliate devils. I accepted the proffered service, and had no occasion
to regret my action. The young Moor was never in the way and never out of
the way, he went cheerfully on errands to all p