I hastened to prepare for riding. A gazelle hunt had been arranged for that day by Salihh Agha, and he had invited us to accompany him. The kawass and grooms and the Agha's people had charge of some fine gazelle hounds. We met the rest of the party down by the fountain. Three of them were on foot leading boar-hounds. They soon left us, and entered the hill country of Carmel to seek for boars. Little Nimr was riding with the lieutenant on a chestnut horse, whose pedigree they say could be traced back to the time of Solomon. His defense against fascination was a white shell, called wadat, fastened to a cord hung round his neck.
We were joined by Habîb and Stephani, and our friend and fellow-townsman Saleh Sekhali. The latter said to me, "You must take notice to-day, ya sittee Miriam, of the great difference between the vision of people who live in towns and of those who live in the open country in tents." I soon had an example of this, for Salihh Agha scanned the horizon, and he and his people discerned in the distance a horse at full gallop. Before we townspeople could distinguish that the horse had a rider, Salihh Agha could describe his dress and even his features, though he was a the rider came within the range of our vision. I congratulated Salihh Agha on the possession of such a faculty, and told him how much it astonished me. He said, "You also have a power which is a marvel to me. I have seen the writing in your book, [he referred to the note-book which I invariably carried and frequently used;] the strokes and figures in it are so fine and small and so close together that it made my eyes ache to look at them." The Agha could not even read or write his own language. Saleh Sekhali remarked, "The good gifts of Allah are divided; praised be Allah!" One of the Bedouins said, "Men who live in towns accustom their eyes to look only from one street to another and from one wall to another, but we who live in tents see to the ends of the earth.
