One man with the flicker of insanity in his eyes suddenly ran forward and
threw himself on the ground before Wyndham.

"In the name of God the Compassionate, the Merciful--water!" he cried.
"Water--I am dying, effendi whom God preserve!"

"Nile water is sweet; you shall drink it before morning, Mahommed,"
answered Wyndham quietly. "God will preserve your life till the Nile
water cools your throat."

"Before dawn, O effendi?" gasped the Arab. "Before dawn, by the mercy
of God," answered Wyndham; and for the first time in his life he had a
burst of imagination. The Orient had touched him at last.

"Is not the song of the sakkia in thine ear, Mahommed?" he said

"Turn, O Sakkia, turn to the right, and turn to the left.
The Nile floweth by night and the balasses are filled at dawn--
The maid of the village shall bear to thy bed the dewy grey
goolah at dawn
Turn, O Sakkia!"

Wyndham was learning at last the way to the native mind.

The man rose from his knees. A vision of his home in the mirkaz of
Minieh passed before him. He stretched out his hands, and sang in the
vibrating monotone of his people:

"Turn, O Sakkia, turn to the right, and turn to the left:
Who will take care of me, if my father dies?