The Hidden Treasure
in rags that fluttered round the children with that complete
detachment one admires in the pictures of gods and goddesses,
wondering how the things stick on.
Like the Golden Age too, as the poet describes it, these
people fed on acorns. They expected to do so this winter
because of their rainless cornfields; but they still had some bread
left and a mess of pumpkin for our entertainment, and spread
it on die ground before us.
We were not the only visitors. A civilized Lur was here
on a holiday from Baghdad, where he lived in a shop and
thought he knew what Englishwomen were like until he
saw me. My contentment, so very ragged (after the en-
counter with the dogs), was too much for his politeness. He
looked at me and slapped his knee at intervals, ejaculating
"Allah!"
" Is this as good as Baghdad?" said he.
" Better," said I. " There is cool air, and good water, and
wood for a fire, and shade."
The inhabitants of the seven oak trees agreed. The towns-
man, defeated, sank into silent bewilderment.
After our meal, we climbed down and up again into the
Larti city. As we crossed the valley head, we dipped into a
dark delightful shade, made by fruit trees and vines over a
stream cold as ice and black as velvet, that sprang here from
among stones out of the mountain, and probably first caused
this site to be chosen by prehistoric man.
An old peasant, who had lived all his life in the region,
came with us, saying that he knew the places of graves. He
had a short white beard and the kind of blue eyes that grow light
with excitement. He shouldered a concave tray on which
the bread is baked (saj), and a pickaxe for the digging; and he
walked along before us flapping his old shirt and cotton
trousers, a small felt cap on his head round which his grey