Then the Brigadier hopped up to respond. He was at his best. He referred to the joy which we, as Christians, experienced in driving the infidel from the Holy Land, and then, after an apt allusion to the Crusaders and King Richard, he became so eloquent and forceful, and slammed the table so hard, that all the village matrons gave play to their religious and patriotic feelings in subdued but prolific tears; which, when you consider that they did not know a word of English, was a unique testimonial to the eloquence and dominating personality of our versatile Brigadier. And then came the swelling triumphant peroration in which the “Old Brig.,” declared that “Palestine had been conquered and Jerusalem delivered by the help of God, but mainly by the might of the British Army.” After that we danced, and very gay it was, despite our unanimous opinion that speaking Russian was an easy task, compared with attempting correctly to foot a Russian measure with a pretty Jewish maiden. To be honest, it was a dumb show; but eyes were eloquent. But we have been a long time coming to the story of the Little Bint. She was one of many of her unhappy kind in Palestine. In that country, as in all the East, the rich know no compassion for the poor. If you starve it is the will of God and no concern of the more fortunate. That interference with the ways of Allah is the cardinal sin is a satisfactory article in the creed of the rich in Palestine. So the poor starve, unsuccoured, about the doors of the wealthy. The Little Bint of Wady Hanein was first seen slinking around the outskirts of Brigade headquarters. She was a wretched little Arab of seven or eight years, clad only in a tattered filthy shirt which came to her knees; with matted verminous hair, sparkling black eyes and a pitifully skinny little body. She sneaked round the lines at meal time, pouncing like a hungry dog on empty bully tins and jam tins, scooping out the remnants with a deft forefinger and flashing happy smiles as she put the finger to her mouth. The men were quick to notice, and soon the Bint had ten times more than she could eat. But she did not thrive. The vermin on her wretched body, and her unsheltered winter nights, kept her thin and miserable. [Illustration]