into my pocket. Are you wiser than the Bishop? At length some one went
and told the Bishop that the priest was keeping his people fasting for
twenty days after the time. And then the story leaked out, and the poor
woman told how she had filled up the pocket, and the bishop saw that
there was no use in trying to teach the man to count.
See the reapers in the field, and the women gleaning after them, just
as Ruth did so many thousand years ago! On this side is a "lodge in a
garden of cucumbers."
Now we come down upon the sea-shore again, and on our right is the great
plain of Akkar, level as a floor, and covered with fields of Indian corn
and cotton. Flocks and herds and Arab camps of black tents are scattered
over it. Here is a shepherd-boy playing on his "zimmara" or pipe, made
of two reeds tied together and perforated. He plays on it hour after
hour and day after day, as he leads his sheep and goats or cattle along
the plain or over the mountains. You do not like it much, any more than
he would like a melodeon or a piano. When King David was a shepherd-boy
he played on such a pipe as this as he wandered over the mountains of
Judea.
Now we turn away from the sea and go eastward to Halba. Before long we
cross the river Arka on a narrow stone bridge, and pass a high hill
called "Tel Arka." Here the Arkites lived, who are mentioned in Genesis
x:17. That was four thousand two hundred years ago. What a chain of
villages skirt this plain! The people build their villages on the hills
for protection and health, but go down to plough and sow and feed their
flocks to the rich level plain. Now we cross a little stream of water,
and look up the ravine, and there is Ishoc's house perched on the side
of the hill opposite Halba. Ishoc and his wife Im Hanna, come out to
meet us, and he helps us pitch the tent by the great fig tree near his
house. We unroll the tent, splice the tent pole, open the bag of tent
pins, get the mallet, and although the wind is blowing hard, we will
drive the pegs so deep that there will be no danger of its blowing over.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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