On the road we passed long caravans of Russian and other pilgrims going up to Jerusalem to keep Easter. They saluted us courteously, but showed unmistakable surprise at our travelling in an opposite direction to the Holy City. Half-way to Hebron we stopped at a khân, and were presented with tiny cups of coffee. We returned the compliment by offering a backsheesh to the khân-keeper. In the remoter parts of Palestine buying and selling is reduced to a fine art. As a matter of fact you don’t buy anything, you merely exchange presents. You wish to purchase something and ask the price; the owner immediately gives you the article, and with a grand air places his hand on his heart and exclaims— “Take it, my brother; what is that between thee and me?” If you are foolish enough to accept his words literally, he will be grievously disappointed, and by the exercise of much cunning would, without fail, get his gift back again. No, the correct way is to utter polite protests against such generosity, to which your would-be benefactor again fervently remarks— “Think not of that, O my brother, it is a trifle.” You go on playing at cup and ball until he deprecatingly yields to your scruples, and names a price out of all proportion to the value of the article. At this point the game becomes exciting. If you are wise, you turn on your heel in disgust, after throwing out contemptuous hints on the worthlessness of the “present.” This causes the merchant to reflect; his respect for you is growing; finally he relents and proposes a more reasonable price. The exchange is then made, and you part with mutual expressions of good-will. While we were sipping our coffee, our driver and a friend washed their hands, carefully removed their shoes from their feet, and turning towards Mecca they solemnly prayed and recited portions of the Korân, bowing their heads and performing the prescribed genuflexions. When this duty was finished, they promptly fell out over some trifle, and said things to each other in what Miss B. described as highly pictorial language. Just as we expected them to come to blows, they embraced, climbed into their places on the box-seat (for the friend turned out to be a fourth passenger), and we resumed our journey, though not before our Jehu had thrust his head under the hood of the carriage with the artless inquiry, “Are you happy, O beautiful ladies?” To which Miss B. replied— “Transcendently happy, O son of the Prophet!” In acknowledgment of this compliment to his powers of pleasing, we were entertained with an improvised air, to which he sang in praise of our loveliness and amiability of character. Such is the Arab! In a couple of hours we were entering Hebron by the narrow valley whose vine-clad hills have immortalised the Vale of Eshchol. We alighted at the door of the English Hospital, which is outside the town, and were warmly welcomed by the ladies, whose guests we were to be for the next two days.