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whatever of his plans. He was very unwilling to let us have any specimens, and what we finally pried loose from him were ten jerboas, two hedgehogs, and two lizards (Dabs). The jerboas are cunning little mice, with long legs and pleasant yellow fur. We put the entire collection in the back of the car, and went on to the Mena House, fifteen minutes' drive from the Zoo, and on the edge of the Pyramids. 

I must say that Egypt's famous monuments are more impressive seen from a distant. Looming up out of the desert sands, they are softened into romantic outlines - romantic, probably, because they are exactly like all the pictures one has ever seen of them, familiar from childhood, and yet new when one sets eyes on them for the first time. When one is close to them, they are huge and rather crumbly piles, great blocks of stone, and one is so forcibly reminded of the human sweat and agony that went into the making of them, that there seems little beauty in them. Our guide wanted me to ride a camel across the sand to see the Sphinx, but our time was so limited, and we were both feeling so feeble - Bill with his heat stroke and me with my rheumatics - that we weakly said "No, the Sphinx must wait for our next visit." Distant view of pyramids at Sakhara very lovely. 

When Bill was here before, he had had with him for six months in the desert a Bedouin hunter named Abdul. For more than ten years I have been hearing tales of Abdul, and have always pictured him as a sort of rascally Arab guide. When Bill began making inquiries about him today, I thought it would be amusing to see him in the flesh. He used to live in a little village right at the foot of the pyramids. Bill asked an old guide at the Mena House if he knew him, and to his great delight found that Abdul was now working for the Department of Agriculture, and we hastened to the Department to look for Abdul. Alas, he had gone home for the day, but as his home was not far away we went there, and drove down a narrow, dusty street into a little village of flat-roofed, mud houses. Our guide went to look for Abdul, and presently a tall, finely built Egyptian, with erect and graceful bearing, came towards us down the little street. Bill was out of the car in a flash, and going over to the man gave him the Arab greeting that he had learned from him a quarter of a century ago. It was interesting to watch the two men's faces - the Egyptian, dignified but puzzled, Bill eager, proud and happy. Then Bill said "Don't you remember Jebel-el-Sheik?" And the dark, aquiline face melted suddenly into the most winning of smiles. He put both arms around Bill, kissed him, and both of them were nearer tears than smiles for a moment. Even I choked up over the sentimentality of the reunion. Twenty-three years ago they had been practically blood-brothers, had lived and fought and hunted together, and a three minutes' visit was all they could have. Even then, Abdul had to tell me some of the tings that they had gone through together. He wanted us to come to his house for coffee, which I would have loved to have done, but our time was too short, and with affectionate farewells, we drove on. Abdul is a swell guy, and I would like to go on a shikari with him [[strikethrough]] myself [[/strikethrough]] and Bill myself. 

Leaving Cairo, we went through the outskirts of town, and through the ancient Heliopolis. Here is the obelisk, marking the center of the town, that Napoleon once took to Paris for the Place de la Concorde, and which the Egyptians now have back again. Farther on is the Virgin's Tree, where Mary rested when she took the Child into Egypt. Reminders of Biblical days are on all sides of one. The native dress, the little villages of flat-roofed houses, the sheep and the camels and the donkeys, all fill out vividly one's memory of