“Toward Chelmsford,” replied Ezra.
The man seemed baffled; he passed one hand over his shining bald head as though in meditation. But the singular dark eyes never left the boy’s face.
“This is rather an unusual way to select,” he said at last. “Rough and indirect.”
“Perhaps so,” said Ezra. “But I had some small matters of business hereabouts.”
An eager look came into the man’s face; he held up one hand with an inquiring gesture.
“You were to ask for some one?” said he.
“Yes. For a gentleman of the name of Abdallah.”
“I am he,” said the other humbly. “Abdallah—son of Hamid—a poor scholar, and a friend to all the world.”
Ezra took out the packet from the breast of his coat; riding close to the fence he gave it into Abdallah’s hands.
“I thank you,” said the man. “I had been expecting you for some days.”