The grooms and batmen on Brigade conferred on the subject of the Bint and her future. The ringleader, whom we shall call Pine, a groom whose Regimental reputation was far from the best, led a deputation, accompanied by the interpreter and the Bint, up to the Bey, a fat Arab with a comfortable home and substantial wealth. Pine was forceful and the interpreter glib and honest. But the sleek Bey was obdurate. “There are many such,” he said suavely and finally, disowning any responsibility for the Little Bint, and he was not at all moved at the nasty reflections which the outspoken Pine cast upon his mother as the deputation withdrew. The missionaries returned to camp, baffled but not defeated. “We’ll adopt the little beggar ourselves,” declared Pine, “and take her on as a blasted mascot.” And they did. The preliminary work was decided. First the Bint must, as they say in plain army English, be “deloused” and bathed. Nobody wanted the job. But Pine was determined to see it through, and with the Brigade Major’s batman he cut the Bint’s hair, disinfected her and scrubbed her until her dusky colour was in danger. Other clumsy but Christian fingers cut up shirts and made her clothes; the remainder contrived a bivvy in which she was to sleep. And the Little Bint of Wady Hanein waxed fat and happy, and was a touch of soft femininity and a source of much delight to Brigade headquarters. Then came marching orders for Amman. You occasionally find Arab boys travelling with the Light Horse, keen little beggars who act as cooks’ offsiders and batmen’s batmen, and officers smile and sympathetically shut their eyes to it. But it was clear that the sprightly little black-eyed Bint could not be taken out over the mountains into the bitter cold and bloody fighting at Amman. So Pine sought the Padre, and the Padre went off twelve miles to Jaffa and talked to the Mother Superior at the convent. Next day the Brigadier lent his car, and Pine—his leggings gleaming and spurs shining, and amusingly self-conscious—accompanied the Bint to Jaffa, and handed her over to the kindly nuns. Perhaps, as he left her, he gave her a big brotherly kiss and a trooper’s rough benediction; but probably he was too shy. I do not know. “CAMP FOLLOWER” [Illustration] [Illustration: BRIG.-GENERAL RYRIE INSPECTS THE “BULLY” ] [Illustration: BRIG.-GENERAL COX ON RIVER JORDAN ] [Illustration: A WALLAD OF PALESTINE ] Algy, Misfit “Hullo, old chappa!” It was Algy, an old camp acquaintance from Australia, whom I hadn’t seen before over this way. By his greeting, you will probably be able to imagine Algy; yet, with all his “haw-haw,” when you got to know him, he was quite the opposite to what was suggested by his manner of speech.