I have been astonished to-day to discover how popular I have become, and I have met with nothing but thoughtfulness and consideration for my convenience and comfort shown by people, some of whom I hardly knew by name. This morning the jail-master came, personally, to see with his own eyes that the one and only cocoanut tree in front of my bungalow was properly watered by the prisoners. Again this evening he came, and, although fresh water is as precious here as beer in England, this jolly good-hearted fellow had that tree watered again. I was touched, but not to the extent of more than half a rupee. It is New Year's Eve, you know, and one can show one's appreciation of thoughtfulness and kindness in others in the shape of a small gift--silver rupees preferred--without hurting the recipient's feelings. All the sahibs make small gifts at this time. My servant taught me that. He said that, although he had never yet asked his master for a present on the Yom-el-'Id, and never would, he had never yet failed to receive one on that day. Being in a strong position to do so I felt tempted to break his record, but no ordinary mortal likes to be an exception to the rule, and I have fallen into line. The people expect it. Haji Abdi Kheiri, a Somal trader, and by way of being one of our Napoleons of finance, called on me this evening to donate twenty rupees to the poor fund, a good way of ending the old year. He has made some profitable deals in cattle at Djibouti, and assures me that God expects it of him to come down handsomely for the wretched poor. He has already one wife, and is reputed to be looking round for another, with the result that there is much excitement amongst the ladies of the town. He is a stout man, and, compared with the slim handsome bedouin Somal, is rather coarse looking, but the majority of the townswomen would overlook that, and would jump at the opportunity of getting their pretty fingers inside his money boxes. Good luck to him I say. May Allah prosper him further; it will help the poor fund.