I gave him the spur and turned and rode toward the bushes just in time to see a horseman dash out wildly with a rifle across his saddle.

I kept the incident to myself, but I was more cautious and kept my eyes open wherever I went.
One afternoon, a fortnight later, as I was riding to Hedera, another Jewish village, two hours' ride away, a shot was fired from behind a sand-dune.

The bullet burned a hole in the lapel of my coat.
That night I had a long talk with my brother.

There was no doubt whatever in his mind that I should try to leave the country, while I, on the contrary, could not bear to think of deserting my people at the crisis of their fortunes.

It was a beautiful night, such a night, I think, as only Palestine can show, a white, serene, moon-bathed night.
The roar of the Mediterranean came out of the stillness as if to remind us that help and salvation could come only from the sea, the sea upon which scores of the warships of the Allies were sailing back and forth.
We had argued into the small hours before I yielded to his persuasion.
[ILLUSTRATION: THE BAZAAR OF JAFFA ON A MARKET DAY].