These tents of ours, five in number, must not be confounded with the ones we had used at Mecca. They belonged to a Persian _moghavem_ attached to the Syrian caravan, and were made of white canvas lined on the inside with a particular kind of red cloth that goes by the name of _shelleh_. Supported on nine poles covered with the same material, they were so constructed that any one of the sides could be converted at will into the front entrance, and that doors could be opened wherever and whenever needed. By this means it was possible to keep the interior relatively cool. The floor of our withdrawing-tent was spread with Persian rugs, and at the further end facing the doorway was a downy _mokhata_ or pillow divan. To this snug abode I returned, after I had washed my hands and feet in a tent close by, to find that the servants, following the hospitable custom of the Bedouins, had already laid the cloth for supper. My hosts were not present; having dined, they were fast asleep in their own tents. It is not considered seemly in the East for inferiors to sit down in the presence of their superiors, nor do the latter ever so far forget their superiority as to stand up in welcoming a guest of lower rank. The act of rising is a recognition of equality, and not a mere greeting. Thus, when “I fell down to supper” (as the late Shah was fond of saying in the diary of his European tour) I was in etiquette bound to accept the homage of Sheykh Eissa and Seyyid ’Alí’, who were standing up. But their attitude of docile humility so tickled my sense of the ridiculous that I raised my head after a few minutes, and said: “Ah, are you there? _Bismillah_, sit down ... _Yá-Allah!_” The invitation was certainly a breach of social custom on my part, inasmuch as I was the master--a breach, however, for which the exclamation of _yá-Allah_, which is an acknowledged substitute for rising, made ample amends in my humble opinion. With an equal contempt for formality, or finding the silence oppressive beyond endurance, I then gave them permission to talk. If I refrained from inviting them to partake of the savoury dishes of camel’s flesh prepared for me, it was simply because I knew that they had already broken their fast. The conversation fell on the subject of the Bedouins. The Sheykh, having told me a story of a blood-feud between two clans, untied a little parcel which he was in the habit of carrying about with him, and took out three steel dice loosely threaded on wire and inscribed with talismanic characters, together with a brass disk divided into squares and covered all over with hieroglyphics. “By means of these two things,” said he (while Seyyid ’Alí tipped me a wink of incredulity), “I can foretell the future.”