After the brown bundles had unwrapped themselves and become women, they unloaded the donkeys and hobbled them. Then they brought out from the little house a ladder and some large squares of old canvas. The ladders were for the women. Abdul Aziz and his cousin had no trouble in scrambling up without them into the gray rustling world of the olive branches, where the little leaves stirred and whispered, and the round black olives shone like bits of polished onyx. When Abdul Aziz could reach the olives, he picked them by hand, and threw them down on the squares of canvas which had been spread on the ground under the trees. When the branches were too high, he shook them till the fruit fell like dark hailstones, with a little pattering noise.

In the evenings, when the work was done, the women cooked wonderful dishes, with lots of pimentos in them, on the pottery fire-pots. After dinner Abdul Aziz beat his darbouka, and they sang songs. Sometimes, too, the women danced.