It was just a bleak waste of a landscape, barren of trees and vegetation, a shallow canyon with easy-sloping walls of rubble.

In the middle distance was a cluster of wretched, flat-roofed hovels.
"Now, my boy, where is that ?" the missionary quizzed.
And the name came to me! "Samaria," I said instantly.
My father clapped his hands with glee, my mother was perplexed at my antic conduct, while the missionary evinced irritation.
"The boy is right," he said.

"It is a village in Samaria.

I passed through it.

That is why I bought it.