"
"Dear me! It seems to be all climb here," remarked Faith wearily,
after an hour or two of the rough native streets, which divide the old
town and make it like a different place, as compared with the new.
"Yes, it's climbing, either way you take it," said Dwight. "You can't
even have the fun of sliding down-hill after getting up, for these
steps are so rough you've got to pick your way every instant, or take a
tumble. Now, what is that? Did you ever see anything so queer? Why,
_what_ is it?"
Even Mr. Lawrence was nonplussed for a moment, but presently broke into
laughter, in which he was quickly joined by the rest, for the queer
figure approaching turned out to be a vender of monkeys, and he had
certainly chosen a most novel device for carrying his lively burden. A
tall branch of considerable size had been freshly cut from an olive
tree, and its leaves still hung, coldly-gray, and only half wilted,
from the twigs.
Among this foliage were clustered a dozen or more of the little
creatures, each fastened by one leg to prevent escape. This tree-like
branch was carried straight upward, like a flag-staff, by a stalwart
Mohammedan who, with his burnous wrapped about him, in all the dignity
of a Roman senator, stalked steadily ahead, once in a while breaking
into an odd cry that told his wares, but, as Mr. Lawrence suggested,
sounded more like the slogan of a Scottish chieftain going into battle.
Altogether, he was an odd and striking spectacle.
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