"Oh, they are camels!" he cried. "Yes, I know they are. Once at a circus I saw some that looked just like them—but what queer-looking men are on them!"
They were now very near him, and one of the men beckoned with his hand and said something.
"I can't understand him," said Dick to himself, "but I suppose he meant he'll give me a ride."
The man helped him up and they journeyed on. After a time Dick grew very tired even of riding.
"The camel joggles me so," he said, "and I am so thirsty I shall die. If they would only stop a minute!"
What was the matter? What were they saying? Each man was bowing himself toward the ground and waving his hands.
"I don't see what they are making all that fuss about. I can't see anything; the sun hurts my eyes so." And Dick covered his eyes with his hand.
Suddenly there was a shout, and the camels stood still. Dick lifted his head. Could he believe his eyes? Right before him was a little spot of green grass, a spring of cool water, and one of those things he hated—a tree.
Hate a tree? He thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
He fairly tumbled off the camel in his haste to reach it. The tears ran down his face as he threw his arms around its trunk.