"It would be pretty in spring," he said. "Where are we to stop to-night, Daisy? I have left all that to you. I do not know the country as you do."
"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."