"No, papa, except 'Murray' and the Bible."

"We ought to have more," he said. "We must see if we cannot
supply that want at Jerusalem."

Papa's interest in the subject was thoroughly waking up. We
lunched at Ramleh. How present it is to me, those hours we
spent there. The olive groves and orchards and cornfields, the
palms and figs, the prickly-pear hedges, the sweet breath of
the air. And after our luncheon we stayed to examine the ruins
and the minaret. Our master of ceremonies, Suleiman, was a
little impatient. But we got off in good time and reached our
camping ground just before sunset. Tiere too, the sunlight
flashing on those rocks of ruin comes back to me, and the wide
plain and sea view which the little hill commands. Papa and I
climbed it to look at the ruins and see the view while dinner
was getting ready.

"What is it, Daisy?" he said. "You must be my gazetteer and
interpreter for the land; Suleiman will do for the people."

"It is an old Crusaders' fortress, papa; built to command the
pass to Jerusalem."

That was enough for papa. He pored over the rough remains and
their associations; while I sat down on a stone and looked
over the Philistine plain; scarce able to convince myself that
I was so happy as to see it in reality. Papa and I had a most
enjoyable dinner afterwards; he enjoyed it, I knew; and our
night's rest was sweet, with a faint echo of the war storms of