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By Root 857 0

too apparent. He was always trying to prevent Ramses from doing harmless things—such as digging, which was, after all, our reason for being there—and allowing him to do other things, such as drinking unboiled water, that were not at all harmless. Besides, John was proving useful in other ways. He had picked up Arabic with surprising quickness and mingled readily with the men, displaying none of the insular prejudices that afflict many English persons, including some who ought to know better. As I swept sand from the large room, once the refectory of the monastery, that we had selected for our parlor, I could hear John chatting away in his ungrammatical but effective Arabic, and the other men laughing good-naturedly at his mistakes.

Late in the afternoon, when I emerged from the house to inspect the repairs on the roof, I saw a small procession advancing toward me. Leading it were two gentlemen mounted on donkeyback. The tall, graceful figure of Mr. Cabot was immediately recognizable. Beside him was another man wearing the same dark clerical garb and a straw boater. It was not until the caravan had come closer that I realized the third person was female.

My heart went out to the poor creature. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved gown of dark calico, with skirts so full they almost hid the donkey. Only its head and tail protruded, with bizarre effect. One of the old-fashioned shovel bonnets—a style I had not seen in years—completely hid her face, and so enveloping was her attire it was impossible to tell whether she was dark or fair, young or old.

Mr. Cabot was the first to dismount. “We are here,” he exclaimed.

“So I see,” I replied, thanking heaven I had sent Emerson and Ramses out to survey the site.

“I have the honor,” Mr. Cabot continued, “to present my revered mentor, the Reverend Ezekiel Jones.”

There was nothing in the appearance of this person to justify the reverence and pride in Mr. Cabot’s voice. He was of middle height, with the heavy shoulders and thick body of a workingman, and his coarse features would have been better hidden by a beard. His forehead was crossed by lowering dark brows as thick as my finger. His movements were awkward; he climbed awkwardly off his mount and awkwardly removed his hat. When he spoke I had some inkling as to why he commanded the admiration of his young acolyte. His voice was a mellow baritone, marred by an unfortunate American accent, but resonant and musical as a cello.

“How do, ma’am. We figured as how you could use some help. This here’s my sister, Charity.”

The woman had dismounted. Her brother grasped her by the shoulder and shoved her at me, like a merchant hawking his wares. “She’s a hard worker and a handmaiden of the Lord,” he went on. “You tell her what you want done.”

A thrill of indignation passed through me. I offered the girl my hand. “How do you do, Miss Jones.”

“We don’t use worldly titles,” her brother said. “Brother David here tends to forget that. Oh, it’s all right, my friend, I know it’s respect that prompts you—”

“It is indeed, sir,” said “Brother David” earnestly.

“But I don’t deserve respect, Brother. I’m just a miserable sinner like the rest of you. A few steps farther up the road that leads to salvation, maybe, but a miserable sinner just the same.”

The self-satisfied smile with which he proclaimed his humility made me want to shake him, but the young man gazed at him with melting admiration. “Sister Charity” stood with her hands folded at her waist and her head bowed. She looked like a silhouette cut out of black paper, lifeless and featureless.

I had been undecided as to whether to invite the visitors to enter the house; the decision was taken out of my hands by Brother Ezekiel. He walked in. I followed, to find that he had seated himself in the most comfortable chair the room contained.

“You’ve got quite a bit done,” he said in obvious surprise. “Soon as you paint over that heathen image on the wall—”

“Heathen?” I exclaimed. “It is a Christian image, sir; a pair of matched saints, if I am not mistaken.”

“‘Ye shall make unto yourselves