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2o6 BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD
All at once, at the back of the tent, a hand was
raised and a bundle of fine brushwood came down on
to the fire ; in sudden blaze it momentarily lit up the
fifty-three dark faces, flared an instant, flickered, then
as rapidly died away, and we only felt the gaze we
had seen before. We silently watched the coffee-
maker and our host, who, being nearest to the fire,
were dimly visible in its remaining light; the attention
of the one was concentrated on his pot; that of the
other, in common with his companions, was on us.
There was no call for speech, for we spoke in tongues
unintelligible to one another, and the only sound
which fitfully broke the ghostly silence was that lan
guage understood by all nations alike, the wail of an
infant in its mother's arms.
" Salaam Aleikum," we had been received with as
the Shaykh stood up to welcome us on our arrival,
unexpected and uninvited, in the midst of his tribe.
We had been guided to his tent by the long spear
which stood upright at the door, and when he had
offered us that token of Arab goodwill—the cup of
coffee—we knew that we were amongst friends. He
waved us to our seats, and then, seating himself,
pulled the child towards him ; he patted his own chest,
and then pointed to the lad with pride.
"His youngest child," interpreted Ali, who accom
panied us, and who understood a few words of Arabic.
We nodded back our looks of appreciation, and,
these preliminary acts of courtesy having established
the requisite good feeling, all need for further converse
seemed at an end, and a comfortable silence fell upon
us all.
ARAB HOSPITALITY 207
The whole village had followed us into their chiefs
tent as a matter of course, and those for whom there
was no room inside herded together at the door.
The Eastern standard of ideas, which allows respect
ful equality with one's superiors, was responsible for
the total absence of ill-mannered jostling which would
have characterised a civilised crowd under similar
circumstances on the reception of strange foreigners.
The coffee-maker reached out his hand without
turning, and one amongst the crowd at his back
handed him a massive iron spoon on to which was
chained a copper ladle. The Shaykh's little son, obey
ing a nod from his father, pulled a bag out of a dark
recess behind him ; another bundle of brushwood was
thrown upon the fire and by the light of its sudden,
almost startling blaze, the lad untied the bag and
carefully counted out the allotted number of coffee-
berries. The coffee-maker dropped them into the
spoon, for which he had raked out a hole in the ashes.
The slight stir caused by these proceedings subsided,
the blaze died away, and the attention of all was again
riveted on us, save that only of the coffee-maker,
who, sitting close up to the embers, now scraped the
white ashes round the pot, now turned the roasting
berries over with the ladle chained to the spoon.
The Shaykh's hand stole on to the little boy's head,
and the boy, looking up, stroked the old man's beard.
On we sat in the dark silence, learning from these
true masters of Time how neither to waste it nor to
let it drag, but going step by step with it, to lay our
selves open to receive all that it had to give.
The silence was so prolonged and so intense that,