d, over rocks and past boulders, before the path that stretches in a
faint fading line becomes wholly obliterated. In such a place as this one
might wander for hours within a quarter of a mile of camp, and then only
find the road by lucky accident, particularly if the senses have been
blunted by very long residence in the heart of European civilisation.

[Illustration: A GUIDE, TANGIER]

I think that dinner brings the most enjoyable hour of the day. Work is
over, the sights of sea and shore have been enjoyed, we have taken
exercise in plenty. Salam and his helpers having dined, the kitchen tent
becomes the scene of an animated conversation that one hears without
understanding. Two or three old headmen, finding their way in the dark
like cats, have come down from Mediunah to chat with Salam and the town
Moor. The social instinct pervades Morocco. On the plains of R'hamna,
where fandaks are unknown and even the n'zalas[4] are few and far between;
in the fertile lands of Dukala, Shiadma, and Haha; in M'touga, on whose
broad plains the finest Arab horses are reared and thrive,--I have found
this instinct predominant. As soon as the evening meal is over, the
headmen of the nearest village come to the edge of the tent, remove their
slippers, praise God, and ask for news of the world without. It may be
that they are going to rob the strangers in the price of food for mules
and horses, or even over the tent supplies. It may be that they would cut
the throats of all foreign wayfarers quite cheerfully, if the job could be
accomplished without fear of reprisals. It is certain that they despise
them for Unbelievers, _i.e._ Christians or Jews, condemned to the pit; but
in spite of all considerations they must have news of the outer world.

When the moon comes out and the Great Bear constellation is shining above
our heads as though its sole duty in heaven were to light the camp, there
is a strong temptation to ramble. I am always sure that I can find the
track, or that Salam will be within hail should it be lost. How quickly
the tents pass out of sight. The path to the hills lies by way of little
pools where the frogs have a croaking chorus that Aristophanes might have
envied. On the approach of strange footsteps they hurry off the flat rocks
by the pool, and one hears a musical plash as they reach water. Very soon
the silence is resumed, and presently becomes so oppressive that it is a
relief to turn again and see our modest lights