CHAPTER XI
ON THE MOUNTAIN
It was a college custom for each class to go for a three days’ excursion, before the Easter holidays, and this year the boys of the Sophomore class had selected the mountain of Sof, to the northwest of Aintab, as the objective point of their trip. Monsieur Bernier and Mihran hodja were to go with them.
About six o’clock in the morning, one day toward the end of March, the masters gave the signal for the start, and the boys sprang to their saddles. They rode horses or donkeys. These donkeys of the East are strong, vigorous animals, with bright eyes and glossy skin, and often rival the horses in speed.
The sky was cloudless, the air pure, and fragrant with a thousand odors from the plain; the fields, so bare in autumn, when parched by heat and drought, had put on their bridal array of grass and flowers. The road ran beside a stream bordered with laurel, roses and eglantine. After a ride of three hours, the party came to the lower foothills of the mountain. The good beasts went on bravely, picking their way among the rough stones and fallen débris, never stumbling. The vegetation was marvelous; as far as eye could see, stretched fields of narcissus, hyacinths, tulips and gladiolas. Monsieur Bernier kept jumping off his horse every few moments to gather a fresh handful of flowers.
The riders stopped near a well, to eat their luncheon; after tethering the donkeys and horses to some plane-trees, every one proceeded to unpack his food.
“I say,” said Aram, “just look at Soghomon!”
The gluttony of the fat boy was notorious; he now had twelve eggs spread out on his knees, the sight of which sent his companions into fits of laughter.
“Are you going to hatch them, or what?” asked the merciless Aram.
“I speak for the chicks,” said Dikran.