The morning hours were spent by the two friends in conversation, but the dinner with table napkins and changes of plate was so surprising to our traveller, unaccustomed to such luxury, that it nearly took away his appetite. One morning Emin invited his friend for a walk to his storehouse and the government garden, of which he was very proud. Countless lemon and banana trees, full of fruit, shaded the passageway. Bitter oranges, sweet lemons, oranges and pawpaws, which are somewhat like our melons, only sweeter, were also cultivated. White and yellow and exceedingly fragrant flowers and golden and red fruit shone in the dark foliage everywhere. Emin had also imported pomegranates, small fig trees, and grapevines. Of vegetables there were our cucumbers, several kinds of cabbage, all the Arabian vegetables, as well as the cassava, the sweet batata,[5] and sugar cane.
The government made a profit out of the garden as the surplus of its products was sold daily for a fixed sum. There were such gardens at all the stations and Emin exerted himself to supply the natives with seeds of all kinds and instructions how to plant them so that they might have the benefit of fruit and vegetables. He explained, however, that the negroes were so easy-going and childlike by nature that he always had trouble with them. They cultivated rice, coffee, cotton, and all the products of Emin's garden, but in spite of all his admonitions they would never remember to retain seed corn. So, when the time came for sowing, appeals for seed were made on all sides and the governor was kept busy in sending for it. The negro had no anxiety for the coming day, for "Father Emin" was in Lado. A visit was next made to the drug department, from which a shaded walk led to the back of the garden, where there were several cabins for the use of the sick. The walk was a charming one, as it was shut off from the vegetable garden near by by hedges of flowers.
They now reached a spot where the walk widened and Dr. Junker uttered an exclamation of joyous surprise. A lovely picture was before him. Under a canopy of blue and purple flowers and green vines sat a beautiful Arabian woman upon cushions rocking a charming child upon her knees. It was the little Ferida, Emin's daughter, early bereft of her mother. She greeted her father with a joyous outcry, took the outstretched hand of the unknown guest in the most friendly manner, and gazed at him with indescribably deep, dark, serious eyes. She was a solitary child, without companions of her own age, without playthings or instruction, who would have had plenty of companions in Europe. She had to be carefully protected from the dangers of the tropical world, from snakes and deadly scorpions, which frequently made their way into the house through open windows. She could never leave the garden and go down to the river, for beasts of prey, which they often heard howling not far away, frequently attacked people and dragged them off. So Ferida had to stay the whole day with her dark-skinned nurse, a tall woman in a scarlet undergarment and white loose wrapper, eagerly waiting for the evening hour when the father would have time to see his darling.