"No, thank you," answered Marjorie briskly; "I like to have my own things myself. I am not used to being waited on. Besides, you are going to your friends. Oh, what a curious place! what big squares! And it's so beautifully clean too! Call Arab towns dirty? Why, there's no dirt anywhere; and oh, look at those people over yonder! What are they doing?"
"Washing their clothes by treading on them. They always chant that sort of sing-song whilst they are trampling them in the water. That is the custom-house yonder, where they are taking the cargo we have just sent off. Now we must go through the gate, and so into the town; but you will find it all like this—one square or arcade leading into another by gateways at the end. That's the distinguishing feature of Mogador, and you will find some of them pretty dirty, though it's more dust than mud this time of year."
Marjorie was enchanted by everything she saw. She only wished Mr. Stuart would take himself off, for she saw no chance of slipping away unobserved if he were at her side. Luckily for her, a young man came hurriedly to meet them from somewhere in the opposite direction, and, greeting Mr. Stuart with great effusion, carried him off forthwith, whilst Marjorie hurried along after the rest of the party.
But they had no intention of exploring the wonderful old town that day. They turned into a little side street, where there was nothing particular to see, but where, outside the agent's office, a number of donkeys were waiting. Marjorie caught hold of Miss Craven, her cabin companion, and said hastily:
"I'm not going this ride; I don't care for being jolted on a donkey, with only a pack of straw for a saddle and a rope for a bridle. I must get some sketches done. The Colquhouns are going to sketch. I can find them if I want. Don't let anybody bother about me. I'll join you in time to go back to the boat at five."
"Well, take care of yourself," said Miss Craven, "and don't wander about alone, for it's a most heathenish-looking place. But you will be all right with the Colquhouns."
"Oh, yes," answered Marjorie, turning away with a burning face. She felt rather guilty, as though she had gone near to speaking an untruth, although no actual falsehood had passed her lips. Nobody heeded her as she slipped through the crowd of donkey boys and onlookers. Some offered her their beasts, but she smiled and shook her head, and hurried back to the main route through the larger arcades. Once there, she went leisurely, eagerly looking into shop doors, watching the brass-beating, the hand-loom weaving, and dashing off little pencil sketches of the children squatting at their tasks, or walking to or fro as they performed some winding operations for an older person seated upon the floor.
Nobody molested her in any way or seemed to notice her much. Sometimes a shopkeeper would offer her his wares in dumb show; but Marjorie had very little money with her, and, knowing nothing of the value of these things, was not to be tempted.
The sun poured down hot and strong, but there was shade to be had in these arcaded streets; and though some of them were anything but clean or sweet, Marjorie forgave everything for the sake of the beauty and picturesqueness of the scene. She wandered here, there, and all over; she found herself in the long, straggling market, and made hasty sketches of the men and women chaffering at their stalls; of camels, with their strange, sleepy, or vicious faces, padding softly along, turning their heads this way and that. She watched the lading of the beasts, and heard their curious grunts of anger or remonstrance when the load exceeded their approval. Everything was full of attraction for her, and she only waited till she had explored the place to set herself down and make some coloured sketches.
She soon had a following of small boys and loiterers, all interested in the doings of the strange lady with her sketchbook, but Marjorie did not mind that. She made some of the children stand to her, and got several rather effective groups.