As the sun gets higher, it begins to grow very hot.  The father arranges the folds of his great white turban, a shawl with many folds, twisted round his head to keep off the oppressive heat.  The servants put on their white fringed handkerchiefs, falling over the head and down upon the neck, and held in place by a little cord tied, round the head.  It is not like a bonnet or hat, but one of the very best things to protect the desert travellers from the sun.  The children, too, cover their heads in the same way, and Gemila no longer looks out to see what is passing:  the sun is too bright; it would hurt her eyes and make her head ache.  She shuts her eyes and falls half asleep, sitting there high upon the camel’s back.  But, if she could look out, there would be nothing to see but what she has seen many and many times before,—­great plains of sand or pebbles, and sometimes high, bare rocks,—­not a tree to be seen, and far off against the sky, the low purple hills.  They move on in the heat, and are all silent.  It is almost noon now, and Abdel Hassan stops, leaps from his horse, and strikes his spear into the ground.  The camel-drivers stop, the camels stop and kneel, Gemila and Alee and their mother dismount.  The servants build up again the tent which they took down in the morning; and, after drinking water from the leathern bags, the family are soon under its shelter, asleep on their mats, while the camels and servants have crept into the shadow of some rocks and lain down in the sand.  The beautiful black horse is in the tent with his master; he is treated like a child, petted and fed by all the family, caressed and kissed by the children.  Here they rest until the heat of the day is past; but before sunset they have eaten their dates and bread, loaded again the camels, and are moving, with the beautiful black horse and his rider at the head.

They ride until the stars are out, and after, but stop for a few hours’ rest in the night, to begin the next day as they began this.  Gemila still rides upon the camel, and I can easily understand that she prays to Allah with a full heart under the shining stars so clear and far, and that at the call to prayer in the early dawn her pretty little veiled head is bent in true love and worship.  But I must tell you what she sees soon after sunrise on this second morning.  Across the sand, a long way before them, something with very long legs is running, almost flying.  She knows well what it is, for she has often seen them before, and she calls to one of the servants, “See, there is the ostrich!” and she claps her hands with delight.

The ostrich is a great bird, with very long legs and small wings; and as legs are to run with, and wings to fly with, of course he can run better than he can fly.  But he spreads his short wings while running, and they are like little sails, and help him along quite wonderfully, so that he runs much faster than any horse can.

Although he runs so swiftly, he is sometimes caught in a very odd way.  I will tell you how.