with a wholesome dish of prepared barley or wheat meal, sometimes
crowned with beans; then, after a gossip round the crackling fire, or,
on state occasions, three cups of syrupy green tea apiece, they roll
themselves in their long blankets and sleep on the ground.

The first blush of dawn sees them stirring, and soon all is life and
excitement. The men go off to their various labours, as do many of the
stronger women, while the remainder attend to their scanty household
duties, later on basking in the sun. But the moment the stranger
arrives the scene changes, and the incessant din of dogs, hags and
babies commences, to which the visitor is doomed till late at
night, with the addition then of neighs and brays and occasional
cock-crowing.

It never seemed to me that these poor folk enjoyed life, but rather
that they took things sadly. How could it be otherwise? No security
of life and property tempts them to make a show of wealth; on the
contrary, they bury what little they may save, if any, and lead lives
of misery for fear of tempting the authorities. Their work is hard;
their comforts are few. The wild wind howls through their humble
dwellings, and the rain splashes in at the door. In sickness, for lack
of medical skill, they lie and perish. In health their only pleasures
are animal. Their women, once they are past the prime of life, which
means soon after thirty with this desert race, go unveiled, and work
often harder than the men, carrying burdens, binding sheaves, or even
perhaps helping a donkey to haul a plough. Female features are never
so jealously guarded here as in the towns.

Yet they are a jolly, good-tempered, simple folk. Often have I spent a
merry evening round the fire with them, squatted on a bit of matting,