And thus it comes to pass that the mere traveler who spends but half a year on the Nile may, if he takes an interest in Egypt and the Egyptians, learn more of both in that short time than would be possible in a country less singularly narrowed in all ways--politically, socially, geographically. And this reminds me that the traveler on the Nile really sees the whole land of Egypt. Going from point to point in other countries, one follows a thin line of road, railway, or river, leaving wide tracts unexplored on either side; but there are few places in Middle or Upper Egypt, and none at all in Nubia, where one may not, from any moderate height, survey the entire face of the country from desert to desert. It is well to do this frequently. It helps one, as nothing else can help one, to an understanding of the wonderful mountain waste through which the Nile has been scooping its way for uncounted cycles. And it enables one to realize what a mere slip of alluvial deposit is this famous land which is “the gift of the river.” A dull gray morning; a faint and fitful breeze carried us slowly on our way from Esneh to Edfû. The new bread--a heavy boat-load when brought on board--lay in a huge heap at the end of the upper deck. It took four men one whole day to cut it up. Their incessant gabble drove us nearly distracted. “Uskût, Khaleefeh! Uskût, Ali!” (“Silence, Khaleefeh! Silence, Ali!”) Talhamy would say from time to time. “You are not on your own deck. The Howadji can neither read nor write for the clatter of your tongues.” And then, for about a minute and a half, they would be quiet. But you could as easily keep a monkey from chattering as an Arab. Our men talked incessantly; and their talk was always about money. Listen to them when we might, such words as “khámsa gurûsh” (five piasters), “nûs riyâl” (half-a-dollar), “ethneen shilling” (two shillings), were perpetually coming to the surface. We never could understand how it was that money, which played so small a part in their lives, should play so large a part in their conversation. It was about midday when we passed El Kab, the ancient Eileithyias. A rocky valley narrowing inland; a sheik’s tomb on the mountain-ridge above; a few clumps of datepalms; some remains of what looked like a long, crude brick wall running at right angles to the river; and an isolated mass of hollowed limestone rock left standing apparently in the midst of an exhausted quarry, were all we saw of El Kab as the dahabeeyah glided by. And now, as the languid afternoon wears on, the propylons of Edfû loom out of the misty distance. We have been looking for them long enough before they come into sight--calculating every mile of the way; every minute of the daylight. The breeze, such as it was, has dropped now. The river stretches away before us, smooth and oily as a pond. Nine of the men are tracking. Will they pull us to Edfû in time to see the temple before nightfall?