wearing the wide pantaloons, flowing robe, and "kufiyeh"; he was
apparently twenty-five years old, dark-skinned, and blind in one
eye; he could not speak a word of English; and he was a devout
Mohammedan. "Haleel, of Jerusalem!" Notwithstanding his fantastic
appearance, the name and place of residence seemed to me a
blending of mystery and sacredness. I did not hesitate to extend a
cordial greeting, and his smile of confused interest as I tried to
shake hands with him while he tried to give me an Oriental
salutation won me to him. It was his only intelligible language to
me, but it was sufficient to give me assurance of his friendship,
and I was beginning to feel that from that hour I should need
friends. The salutation that Haleel offered to me was a quick,
graceful movement of his hand toward my feet, next to his lips,
and then lightly to his forehead. I had seen the natives do this
in exchanging salutations, and now that it had been offered to me
I sought an interpretation. My guide explained that Haleel meant
to tell me that he felt so honored in meeting me, that he "would
take the dust from my feet, would kiss it, and then place it on
his forehead." Beautiful sentiment! Had I ever previously in my
life been so honored in meeting any one!

The greeting over, I noticed unusual movements about the station.
Many Turkish soldiers were there. They stood about in groups
engaged in animated conversation. Upon inquiry I learned that the
feuds so common in that region were again "on," and that the
soldiers were there to quell lawlessness. As I was the only
tourist there I became an object of special interest. Some of the
men came to my dragoman, and only a few words had passed until I
knew that I was the subject of their conversation. I could
occasionally catch the word "hawadje," which means "master," and I