He is a large bird, but he is a very silly one, and, when he is tired of running, he will hide his head in the sand, thinking that because he can see no one he can’t be seen himself.  Then the swift-footed Arab horses can overtake him, and the men can get his beautiful feathers, which you must have often seen, for ladies wear them in their bonnets.

All this about the ostrich.  Don’t forget it, my little girl:  some time you may see one, and will be glad that you know what kind of a fellow he is.

The ostrich which Gemila sees is too far away to be caught; besides, it will not be best to turn aside from the track which is leading them to a new spring.  But one of the men trots forward on his camel, looking to this side and to that as he rides; and at last our little girl, who is watching, sees his camel kneel, and sees him jump off and stoop in the sand.  When they reach the place, they find a sort of great nest, hollowed a little in the sand, and in it are great eggs, almost as big as your head.  The mother ostrich has left them there.  She is not like other mother-birds, that sit upon the eggs to keep them warm; but she leaves them in the hot sand, and the sun keeps them warm, and by and by the little ostriches will begin to chip the shell, and creep out into the great world.

The ostrich eggs are good to eat.  You eat your one egg for breakfast, but one of these big eggs will make breakfast for the whole family.  And that is why Gemila clapped her hands when she saw the ostrich:  she thought the men would find the nest, and have fresh eggs for a day or two.

This day passes like the last:  they meet no one, not a single man or woman, and they move steadily on towards the sunset.  In the morning again they are up and away under the starlight; and this day is a happy one for the children, and, indeed, for all.

The morning star is yet shining, low, large, and bright, when our watchful little girl’s dark eyes can see a row of black dots on the sand,—­so small you might think them nothing but flies; but Gemila knows better.  They only look small because they are far away; they are really men and camels, and horses too, as she will soon see when they come nearer.  A whole troop of them; as many as a hundred camels, loaded with great packages of cloths and shawls for turbans, carpets and rich spices, and the beautiful red and green morocco, of which, when I was a little girl, we sometimes had shoes made, but we see it oftener now on the covers of books.

All these things belong to the Sheik Hassein.  He has been to the great cities to buy them, and now he is carrying them across the desert to sell again.  He himself rides at the head of his company on a magnificent brown horse, and his dress is so grand and gay that it shines in the morning light quite splendidly.  A great shawl with golden fringes is twisted about his head for a turban, and he wears, instead of a coat, a tunic broadly striped with crimson and yellow, while a loose-flowing scarlet robe falls from his shoulders.  His face is dark, and his eyes keen and bright; only a little of his straight black hair hangs below the fringes of his turban, but his beard is long and dark, and he really looks very magnificent sitting upon his fine horse, in the full morning sunlight.