The first day of the Mahomedan New Year is nearing its close without anything unusual having occurred, for which let us touch wood and be duly thankful. At four o'clock this morning the people were astir, and afterwards, from my veranda, I watched the town beauties bathing in the sea. Perhaps I ought not to have looked, but I _did_ notice that some of them had extraordinary fine figures, of which they were not ashamed. By half-past five all the bathers had gone to don their "glad rags," and the men and boys marched onto the sports ground behind my house, where a service was held in the open. Afterwards, the day long, there was dancing, singing, and feasting, in all of which the women were very much in evidence. At sunset another burst of prayer, more feasting, followed by general dancing and rejoicing, marred by only one fight. Fatuma Fareh, a divorced lady, invited to dance in a friend's compound, had patiently watched all the other women guests dance in their turn. When hers came the dance broke up, and poor Fatuma, who loves dancing, was given no opportunity of showing what she could do on her feet. What she had to say about it must have been to the point for one of the women came back and smacked her face. Then the fight started. I thought it better to keep away from the town, and Buralli and Mahomed, pitying my loneliness, came after dinner and sat with me in front of the bungalow. "Please tell me one of your stories, Mahomed," I asked. "Once upon a time," said Mahomed, "a man came to a Somal encampment, and at the entrance met a woman to whom he said: 'I do not talk with women, and am in a conversational mood. Is there ever a man here with whom I can have a chat?' "'In this encampment,' said the woman, 'is only one man, and he lies asleep inside the tent.' "'Well, wake him up,' said the man. "'I am ashamed to wake him,' said the woman. "'For what reason?' says he. "'Because his mother is my mother's child and I am his father's wife,' she replied. "That is my story," said Mahomed, "and sometimes a Somal will sit for two days trying to find out what relation that woman was to the sleeping man." "I'll tell you a real story, Sahib," said the disgusted Buralli, "but it is naughty. Do you mind?" Now what does it matter what I answered for Buralli told the story.