Daisy In The Field

"Papa, we set off so late, we shall not be able to get further

than Latron to-night."

"What place is that? is it any place?"

"Supposed to be the Modin of the Maccabees."

"Have you brought any books, Daisy?" was papa's next question.

"No, papa, except 'Murray' and the Bible."

"We ought to have more," he said. "We must see if we cannot

supply that want at Jerusalem."

Papa's interest in the subject was thoroughly waking up. We

lunched at Ramleh. How present it is to me, those hours we

spent there. The olive groves and orchards and cornfields, the

palms and figs, the prickly-pear hedges, the sweet breath of

the air. And after our luncheon we stayed to examine the ruins

and the minaret. Our master of ceremonies, Suleiman, was a

little impatient. But we got off in good time and reached our

camping ground just before sunset. Tiere too, the sunlight

flashing on those rocks of ruin comes back to me, and the wide

plain and sea view which the little hill commands. Papa and I

climbed it to look at the ruins and see the view while dinner

was getting ready.

"What is it, Daisy?" he said. "You must be my gazetteer and

interpreter for the land; Suleiman will do for the people."

"It is an old Crusaders' fortress, papa; built to command the

pass to Jerusalem."

That was enough for papa. He pored over the rough remains and

their associations; while I sat down on a stone and looked

over the Philistine plain; scarce able to convince myself that

I was so happy as to see it in reality. Papa and I had a most

enjoyable dinner afterwards; he enjoyed it, I knew; and our

night's rest was sweet, with a faint echo of the war storms of

the ages breaking upon my ear.

To my great joy, there was no storm of the elements the next

morning, and we were able to take up our march for Jerusalem.

The road soon was among the hills; rough, thickety, wild; from

one glen into another, down and up steep ridge sides, always

mounting of course by degrees. Rough as it all was, there were

olives and vineyards sometimes to be seen; often terraced

hillsides which spoke of what had been. At last we came up out

of a deep glen and saw at a distance the white line of wall

which tells of Jerusalem. I believe it was a dreary piece of

country which lay between, but I could hardly know what it

was. My thoughts were fixed on that white wall. I forgot even

papa.

We had pouring rains again soon after we got to Jerusalem. I

was half glad. So much to see and think of at once, it was

almost a relief to be obliged to take things gradually. I had

been given numerous good bits of counsel by the kind English

ladies we had seen at Jaffa; and according to their advice, I

persuaded papa that we should go down at once to Jericho and

the Dead Sea, without waiting till the weather should grow too

hot for it; then Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives and all the

neighbourhood would be delightful. Now, they were very gray

and forlorn to a stranger's eye. I wanted papa to be pleased.

I could have enjoyed Jerusalem at any time. But I knew that by

and by Jericho would be insupportable.