One piece of land attracted us so much that we remained in the adjacent village a full week, returning every day to wander over it, trying to see if it could not be made to fit my needs. It consisted of a grove of fine old olive trees, with terraces of fig and mulberry trees and vegetables, spread out to catch the morning sun upon a mountain side sloping to a wooded valley walled by rocky heights. Water was there in plenty, but no house to speak of; the three small, cube-shaped houses on the property being in the occupation (which amounts to ownership) of workers of the land, who, according to the custom of the country, would become my partners. Upon the other hand, the land was fairly cheap, and after paying for it, I should have a balance with which I might begin to build a proper house; for, as Suleyman remarked, 'here all things are done gradually. No one will expect to see a palace all at once. Begin with two rooms and a stable, and add a fresh room every time that you have forty pounds to spare.' The price of building appeared fixed in all that countryside at forty pounds a vault, which in ordinary buildings means a room, since every room is vaulted. The trouble was to see just where to put the house without encroaching upon profitable land. At last I hit on a position in the middle of the highest terrace on which grew olive trees so very old that they could well be sacrificed. Having arrived at this decision I sat down among those trees and gazed in rapture at the view across the valley. It was indeed a grand position for a house. Rashid exclaimed: 'Our dwelling will be seen afar. The traveller on distant roads will see its windows flashing, and will certainly inquire the owner's name. Yet would I rather it had faced the evening sun, because more people are abroad at sunset than at dawn.' 'The morning sun is better for the growth of plants, and it comports the evening shadow, which is most agreeable,' murmured Suleyman, who stretched his length upon the ground before us, chewing a flower-stem with an air of wisdom. As we were there conversing lazily, one of the peasant-partners in the land came through the trees, bringing a tray with cups of coffee, which he had prepared for our refreshment. 'The Lord preserve thy hands, O Casim,' sighed Suleyman. 'Thou comest at the very moment when my soul said "coffee."' The peasant Casim beamed with pleasure at the thanks we showered on him, and, squatting down, inquired if we had yet decided anything. 'Aye,' I replied. 'In sh'Allah we shall cut down these three olive trees and put the house instead of them.' At that his smile gave place to grave concern. He said: 'That may not be.' 'Why not?' I asked. 'Because we have no right to touch these trees.' 'But the Sheykh Ali told me that this terrace was his property.' 'That is so, as to the land. The trees are different.' 'To whom, then, do these trees belong?' 'To different people.' 'How can I know which trees are ours, which theirs?'