[FROM LONDON TO DAMASCUS.]
WATER SELLERS, PORT SAID.
I suppose most girl-readers will understand the thrill of surprise and delight with which I read the following sentences from a friend's letter one February morning.
"My uncle thinks I need a change, and suggests my going abroad. Will you go with me to Palestine for two or three months? We ought to get off before the warm season begins there. Do you think we could leave England at the end of this month?" Two or three times I read the words in a dazed sort of way, and then astonished my hostess (a well-known contributor to the G.O.P.) by quietly remarking—
"Would you be greatly surprised if I started for the Holy Land in a few days? Elizabeth N. has asked me to go with her."
"The Holy Land!" echoed Mrs. B. "Do you really mean it?"
For answer, I handed her my letter, and greatly enjoyed the sensation it created at the breakfast-table.
"How lovely," said kind Mrs. B., "to visit the sacred spots where our Lord began and ended his ministry. How I wish I was strong enough to go with you!"