By this time the sun had risen high in the heavens, and the mat awnings suspended on poles were already drawn down in order to keep out the fierce rays of sunlight, so on we went till we came to the tin-makers’ bazaar. There we heard a cry of “Yá Allah! yá Allah!” and, on looking round, beheld a funeral procession. The corpses, four victims of the epidemic, were being borne from the Harem to the graveyard on rough serirs, or wooden biers peculiar to Mecca. When the procession had passed by, I entered one of the shops and bought a couple of tin bottles, each of which would hold about two pints of Zem-Zem water. It is not customary to bargain over the purchasing of these articles since they are meant to contain the water of the sacred spring. Across the way, in a shop full of musty manuscripts of questionable antiquity, I chanced on a veritable treasure. This was an exquisite copy of the Kurán in the old Kufi writing. It was plain that the bookseller had no conception of its value, for when I asked him the price of it he said, “Give whatever you like, and I will be content to part with it. We must not attempt to make a profit out of the Word of God, though it were well that we should seek to profit by its lessons.” The Muhammadans are not supposed “to sell” the Kurán like any other book: a “hedieh,” or “present” goes to defray the cost of production. I offered a “hedieh” of a Turkish pound, not so much as dreaming that the bid would be accepted; but to my intense delight the shopkeeper, having raised the Book to his lips, and from the lips to his eyes, and from the eyes to his forehead, handed it to me, saying, “This is the Word of Allah; I give it to you, earnestly begging you to pray for me when you read it!” I certainly prayed for him five times that day out of a grateful heart, and I made a point of doing so until, just before I embarked on my homeward voyage, I looked for the precious Book only to find it gone, along with several other valuable purchases.