It so happened that we found ourselves in Touggourt in the fasting month of Ramadan, when no devout Mohammedan permits either food or water to pass his lips between sunrise and sunset for a period of thirty days. When the shadows began to lengthen with the approach of nightfall, we were wont to climb to the lofty platform atop the minaret of a disused mosque, from which could be obtained a superb view of the whole oasis and the adjacent desert. Just as the upper edge of the blood-red sun coincided with the western sky-line, an ancient field-piece, posted in the square below, crashed in smoke and flame. As the reverberations died away the white figures of the muezzins appeared on the balconies of their minarets, as the little figures pop out of Swiss clocks when they strike the hour, and over the waiting city rolled the high-pitched call to evening prayer: “_Al-lah-hu il Al-lah ... Al-lah Ak-bar_!” At the eagerly awaited signal the covers were tossed from the steaming cooking-pots, the sellers of _cous-cous_ and sweetmeats were suddenly besieged by clamorous customers, and the entire population of Touggourt fell to with knives and fingers, ravenous after the day-long fast. My daughter is passionately fond of animals, so, when she came upon two Arabs boys tormenting a desert fox cub which they had captured, she became its owner for a small consideration. It was an amusing little creature, as soft and furry as a chow puppy, and quickly became domesticated, following her about on a string. She announced at dinner that she intended taking it back to America with her, remarking that as a pet a Saharan fox would be much more chic than a sheep-dog or a Pomeranian. I did not attempt to dissuade her; I knew better. She retired happily, with the cub, a pile of blankets, and a bowl of milk. But when she appeared for breakfast it was obvious that she had passed a restless night. “I didn’t sleep a wink,” she greeted us. “That fox is the most exasperating creature I have ever seen. He kept me awake until long after midnight with his barking. I fed him some milk, and he went to sleep for a time, but a little later I heard a noise under the bed. He was busy chewing the toes of my best dancing-slippers. I put him back in the blankets and tried to snatch a little sleep, but when I woke up he was gone. After looking everywhere for him, I finally found him hidden under the bath-tub. I’m through. A bull terrier for mine. It may not be as romantic as a Saharan fox, but it couldn’t possibly be as troublesome.” * * * * *