y, in which their cook was very nearly done to
death.

It happened near the village of Mejdel esh-Shems, down in the valley
underneath Mount Hermon. We remained in camp there over Sunday, and on
Sunday afternoon my friends were resting in their tent. Suleyman and I
had seized that opportunity to go off for a ramble by ourselves, which
did us good. We were returning to the camp in time for tea, when a
crowd of fellahin came hurrying from the direction of our tents,
waving their arms and shouting, seeming very angry. Suleyman called
out to them to learn the matter.

'Zandiq!' (an atheist) they cried. 'Zandiq! Zandiq!'

'Where?' I asked, eagerly.

'There, in yonder tent,' an old white-bearded man informed me, with
wide eyes of horror. He pointed to the canvas windscreen against
which our famous cook sat gazing at the kettle he had set to boil for
tea. 'We go to fetch the wherewithal to kill him properly.'

'Stop!' said Suleyman peremptorily. 'You are mistaken. That is our
cook--a good, religious man, but mad occasionally.'

'No, there is no mistake, O lords of honour,' cried a score of voices;
while the old man who had pointed out the cook to me, explained:

'He said--may God protect us from the blame of it!--He said: "You see
that mountain! It is I who made it. Prostrate yourselves before me for
I made the world." We had been standing round him inoffensively,
asking him questions, as the custom is, about his parentage, his
trade, and so forth. But when we heard that awful blasphemy we rent
our clothes, and ran in haste to fetch our weapons, as thou seest.
Delay us not, for he must surely die.'

'Commit not such a wickedness! The man is mad.'

'No; he is sane.'

'Quite mad, I do assure you. Return with us, and I will prove it to
your understanding,' cried Suleyman.

I added my assurance. They came back with us, but murmuring, and in
two minds. I could not but admire the simple piety which prompted them
at once to kill a man whose speech betrayed him as an atheist. But I
was very much afraid of what might happen, and of the sad impression
it would make upon my English friends. And everything depended on the
cook's behaviour.

'I tell you he is mad,' said Suleyman, advancing towards the fire. 'It
were a sin for you to slay a fellow-creature thus afflicted. Come
hither, O Mansur,' he cried as to a dog.

The cook rose up and came towards us with a foolish air.

'Lie down before my horse. I would ride over the