The ride through the last part of the forest was uneventful. Argan,
kharob, and lotus, with the help of a few of the "arar" or gum sandarac
trees, shut off the view to the right and left. Below them dwarf-palm,
aloe, cactus, and sweet broom made a dense undergrowth, and where the
woodland opened suddenly the ground was aflame with flowers that recalled
England as clearly as the cuckoo's note. Pimpernel, convolvulus,
mignonette, marigold, and pansy were English enough, and in addition to
these the ox-daisies of our meadows were almost as common here. Many
companies of the true Bedouins passed us on the road, heralded by great
flocks of sheep and goats, the sheep pausing to eat the tops of the
dwarf-palms, the goats to climb the low-lying argan trees, while their
owners stayed to ask about the water supply and the state of the country
beyond.
Though we might consider ourselves far removed from civilisation, these
Bedouins felt that they were all too near it. The change from their desert
land, with its few and far-scattered oases, to this country where there
was a douar at the end of every day's journey, was like a change from the
country to the town.
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