CHAPTER V.

As the storks heard this word they were fairly beside themselves with

joy. They ran so quickly to the door of the ruin that the owl could

scarcely follow them. But when they reached the open air the Caliph

turned to the owl and said in moved tones:--“Preserver of my life and

of the life of my friend, accept not only my eternal gratitude, but

myself as your husband!”

He and the vizier then turned towards the East, three times they bowed

their long necks towards the rising sun and cried “Mutabor,” and in a

moment they were restored to their former state, and Caliph and vizier

fell into each other’s arms and embraced, congratulating each other

upon the joy of their newly-found life.

But who shall describe their astonishment when they looked round and

saw a lovely lady, gorgeously attired, standing before them. Smilingly

she gave her hand to the Caliph. “Do you not recognise your wife, the

brown owl?” said she.

The Caliph was so enraptured at the sight of her beauty and grace that

he declared the most fortunate thing that had ever happened to him was

to be turned into a stork.

The three set out towards Bagdad together. As the Caliph found in his

pockets not only the magic snuff-box, but his purse also, he was able

to purchase in the next village all the necessaries required for their

journey, and so they were able to push forward, and soon reached the

gates of Bagdad.

Arrived there, the greatest astonishment prevailed at the sight of the

Caliph and his companions. He had been given up for dead, and the

populace was overjoyed to welcome back their beloved ruler, but their

hatred towards the usurper Mizra was as great in proportion.

The people crowded into the palace and seized upon the old magician

and his son. The Caliph ordered the old man to be taken to the

apartment of the ruin the owl had inhabited, and there to be hanged,

but the son, who was ignorant of his father’s magic arts, the Caliph

gave the choice of death or a pinch of snuff. He chose the latter, and

the vizier at once offered him the snuff-box. He took a mighty pinch,

and, the Caliph pronouncing the magic word, he at once became

transformed into a stork. The Caliph had a large cage made for him

which he ordered to be placed in his gardens, and in which Mizra was

confined for the rest of his life.

Long and happily the Caliph lived with his wife, the princess, the

pleasantest hours of the day being when the grand vizier paid his

afternoon call, and they talked together of their curious experiences

as storks, and when the Caliph was in a particularly good humour he

would condescend to imitate the vizier as he looked when a stork: he

would strut stiffly up and down the room, flap his arms as if they

were wings, and bow towards the East, vainly striving to recollect the

forgotten word. This performance gave the Calipha and her children the

greatest delight, but when the Caliph teased the vizier too sorely and

croaked “Mu-Mu-Mu-” for too great a length of time, the vizier would

threaten his master--“I will tell the _Calipha_ what took place

outside the door of the _owl princess’s_ chamber!”

FATIMA’S RESCUE.

The Cadi of Acara had two children named Mustapha and Fatima, who were

the joy and delight of their infirm and ailing father, and who loved

each other very dearly. Mustapha was just two years older than Fatima,

and it was his constant effort to provide pleasure and amusement for

his pretty little sister.

[Illustration: _He knew a pirate ship had been seen in the

neighbourhood._ (P. 29.)]

On her sixteenth birthday he gave a little feast for her, to which he

invited all her favourite playfellows. The feast was set out in the

garden, and consisted of the daintiest dishes that could be procured.

After they had partaken of the meal, and when it was nearly evening,

he suggested that he should take them out for a sail upon the water.

Fatima and her friends were delighted, for it was a beautiful evening,

and the view of the town from the water was a particularly fine one.

When Mustapha had sailed the ship for a short time he wished to return

to land; but the girls begged and entreated him to take them a little

further out. He was most unwilling to do this, as he knew a pirate

ship had been seen in the neighbourhood some few days earlier. The

girls, however, were set on sailing out to a point of land that

stretched far out into the sea, for they were anxious to land there in

order to watch the sun set and see the great ball of fire sink down

into the sea.

Just as they reached the point of land, they noticed a barque, manned

with armed men, and Mustapha fearing it might mean danger, ordered the

boat to be turned round and rowed towards land. But the barque pursued

the smaller boat, overtook it and got between it and the land. By this

time the girls began to realise their danger, and so terrified were

they that they shrieked aloud and would not keep their seats in the

boat. In vain Mustapha begged them to sit still, pointing out how

impossible it was to make any way whilst they impeded the movements of

the rowers. As the barque approached, with one accord they rushed to

the opposite side of the boat and their weight overturned it, and in a

moment they were all struggling in the water.

The people on shore had seen what was happening and several boats put

off to assist Mustapha. They were just in time to help rescue the

frightened girls, and at their approach the strange barque sailed

away. At first it was impossible to find out if everyone was safe;

but when the girls were brought ashore it was discovered, alas! that

Fatima and one of her companions were missing. In one of the boats was

a stranger, and on Mustapha questioning him as to how he got there he

owned that he had belonged to the pirate ship. That he had jumped

overboard to come to the assistance of the sinking girls, and that his

comrades had left him in the lurch when they fled from the approaching

boats; but he had had time to see that two of the girls had been

seized by the pirates and carried away in their ship.

The Cadi’s grief knew no bounds, and as for Mustapha, he was beside

himself with sorrow, for not only did he blame himself for the loss of

his beloved sister, but her friend, who had also been taken captive,

had been for a long time past his promised bride, and would have been

his wife already had it not been that her parents were poor and the

Cadi did not think her a suitable match for his son.

Mustapha’s father was a stern old man, and as soon as his grief had

sufficiently subsided he sent for his son and said:

“Owing to your folly, I have been robbed of the joy and consolation of

my old age. Go, I banish you from my sight for ever, and the curse of

your old father shall rest upon your head, unless by some chance you

should be able to rescue Fatima, when I will forgive you and receive

you once more as my son.”

Mustapha had already fully determined to endeavour to rescue his

sister and her friend, but he had intended to seek his father’s

blessing before setting out upon his travels. However, the unjust

treatment he received did but steel his heart and made him the more

determined not to cease from his quest until he had been successful.

He spoke to the man they had captured from the pirate ship, and from

him learned that the vessel was a slaver, and that the human wares

were generally carried to Balsora and there disposed of.

Mustapha decided to travel overland, as there happened to be no ship

sailing just then from his native town, and he wished to reach Balsora

soon after the pirates. He had a good horse and little baggage and so

he reckoned he could do the journey in six days’ time, but alas! upon

the evening of the fourth day, he was set upon quite suddenly by three

men. Seeing that resistance was useless, and supposing the attacking

party merely wanted his horse and money, he decided to surrender,

which he did. The men then dismounted and, taking him in their midst,

rode off with him at great speed.

It seemed to the poor youth that his father’s curse was already about

to light upon him, for he could not think how it would be possible for

him to rescue Fatima and Zoraida, deprived, as he shortly expected to

be, of all means. He and his companions rode silently along for about

an hour; they then turned into a valley, skirted by gigantic trees and

carpeted with soft green turf. A brook gurgled peacefully through the

valley, and beside it some fifteen to twenty tents were pitched,

whilst a number of camels and horses were tethered to the tent-pegs.

The sound of a zither, accompanying two fine manly voices, issued from

one of the tents.

It seemed very improbable that people who had selected such a charming

little spot for their camping place could have very evil intentions,

and so Mustapha took heart and followed his guides quite cheerfully

when, having unbound his feet and bidden him dismount, they led him

into a tent, larger and more richly decorated than any of the others.

The beautiful cushions, embroidered with gold, woven carpets, and

golden dishes, in which sweet perfumes burnt, would elsewhere merely

have betokened wealth and luxury; but in these lonely surroundings

seemed to point to robbery.

On one of the cushions sat a little old man. His face was ugly,

swarthy, and repulsive. A gleam of savage cunning in his eyes and a

cruel look about his mouth gave him a hateful appearance. Although he

seemed to be a person of some importance, Mustapha soon perceived that

the tent had not been so richly decorated on his account, and his

captors’ words confirmed this--“Where is the Chief?” they asked the

little man. “Away hunting,” he replied “but he told me to take his

place during his absence!”

“More the pity,” replied one of the brigands, “for we must soon decide

whether this dog is to die or whether we are to obtain a ransom for

him, and that is a question for the Chief to decide, and not for you

to meddle with.”

[Illustration: _On one of the cushions sat a little old man._

(P. 32.)]

The little man raised himself in wrath and attempted to box the ears

of the man who had annoyed him by this speech, but as he could not

reach to do this, he burst into a perfect volley of abuse, and as the

other brigands were not slow to reply, the tent soon resounded with

tones of angry voices.

But the curtains at the entrance to the tent were suddenly lifted and

in came a tall handsome young man, stately and dignified as a Persian

prince. His clothing and weapons were plain and unadorned, with the

exception of a dagger with a richly decorated hilt and a gleaming

sabre. His determined mien and his whole appearance were such as

commanded respect without inspiring terror.

“Who dares to quarrel in my tent?” he demanded of the startled men.

For a moment there was silence and then one of the brigands recounted

all that had happened. The Chief’s face reddened with anger--“When

have I ever set you in my place, Hassan?” he cried, and the little man

seemed to shrink with fear, until he looked smaller than ever. He got

up and began to slink out of the tent, when a good kick from the Chief

sent him flying out of the doorway.

As soon as the little man had disappeared, the three men placed

Mustapha before the master of the tent, who had seated himself upon

the cushions. “We have brought you the man you bade us bring,” they

said. The Chief gazed earnestly at the prisoner and said: “Pasha of

Sulieika, your own conscience will tell you why you are in the

presence of Orbasan.”

On hearing these words Mustapha flung himself at Orbasan’s feet.

“You are in error, my lord,” he said, “I am an unfortunate traveller,

but not the Pasha of Sulieika.”

The brigands appeared to be surprised, but the Chief said:

“Dissimulation will not help you, I can bring witnesses to prove your

identity.” And he thereupon commanded that one Zuleima should be

brought in.

An old woman appeared, and on being questioned as to whether or no the

man before her was the Pasha of Sulieika, she answered immediately

that he was.

“Wretched man,” cried the Chief angrily, “you see how impossible it is

to deceive me. You are not worthy that I should stain my good dagger

with your blood, but to-morrow morning I will have you bound to the

tail of my horse and will go a-hunting with you, till the sun sets

behind the hills of Sulieika.”

Mustapha’s heart sank. “It is my father’s curse that has driven me to

this shameful death,” he cried; “alas, sweet sister, and Zoraida, how

can I ever hope to rescue you now.”

“This pretence is useless,” said one of the brigands, “see, the Chief

bites his lips and feels for his dagger; if you wish to live another

night you had best come with me quickly.” And binding Mustapha’s hands

behind his back he was about to lead him from the tent, when three

other brigands entered, with a prisoner in their midst. “Here, as you

commanded us, we bring you the Pasha of Sulieika,” said one of them,

leading their prisoner before the Chief.

Mustapha glanced at the prisoner and could not but own that there was

a great resemblance between himself and the Pasha, only the other man

was darker in complexion and wore a dark beard.

The Chief was much surprised to see a second prisoner: “Which of you

really is the man I seek?” he asked.

“If you seek the Pasha of Sulieika,” the prisoner answered proudly, “I

am he.”

The Chief regarded him with a stern and terrible look and then made

signs that he was to be led away. This being done, he cut the cords

that bound Mustapha with his dagger and invited him to take a seat by

his side.

“I ask your pardon for the mistake that has occurred,” he said, “but

it was a strange interposition of Providence that placed you in the

hands of my companions at the moment they were lying in wait for that

vile wretch you have just seen.”

Mustapha asked for one favour only as compensation, namely, that he

might be allowed to proceed on his way without further delay, and on

the Chief questioning him as to the reason of his great haste he told

him all. The Chief then persuaded him to remain with him one night at

least, telling him that both he and his horse needed rest, and

promised to show him the next morning a short way by which he would be

able to reach Balsora in a day and a half. Mustapha agreed to this and

after being most hospitably entertained slept soundly all night long

in the robber’s tent.

When he awoke he found himself alone in the tent, but through the

hangings over the doorway he could hear voices, which seemed to

belong to the Robber Chief and the little dark dwarf. He listened

attentively, and to his horror heard the little man advising the Chief

to murder him, as if he were allowed to go free he might betray the

whole troop.

Mustapha could not but perceive that the little man owed him a grudge,

because he had been the cause of the sharp treatment he had received

the previous day. But the Robber Chief, after reflecting a few

moments, said: “No, he is my guest, and as such is sacred to me,

besides which he does not look like a man to betray one.”

He then thrust aside the tent curtains and entered--“Peace be with

thee, Mustapha,” he said, “we will drain a morning draught and then

you should prepare yourself to start.”

[Illustration: _He listened attentively._ (P. 37.)]

He handed his guest a cup of sherbert, and when they had each drunk,

they saddled their horses and Mustapha mounted and left the camp with

a lighter heart than when he had entered it.

As they left the tents behind them the Chief told his new friend that

the Pasha they had captured the previous day, after having promised

him and his men the free range of his territory, had captured one of

the best and bravest of them and, after torturing him terribly, had

hanged him, and that now he should die himself.

Mustapha did not venture to remonstrate, being only too glad to escape

with a whole skin himself.

When they reached the limit of the forest the Chief drew rein and

offered his hand to Mustapha in farewell:

“Mustapha,” said he, “you have been in somewhat a strange fashion the

guest of the Robber Orbasan. I will not ask you not to betray me, but

trust to you that you will not do so. You have suffered, without

cause, all the pangs of the fear of death, and you deserve some

compensation. Take this dagger and if ever you are in need of help

send it to me and I will hasten to your aid. This purse of gold may

also be of assistance to you on your journey.”

Mustapha thanked him for his generosity, accepted the dagger, but

refused the purse. But Orbasan, having pressed his hand, let the purse

fall to the ground and then set spurs to his horse and rode off at

such speed that Mustapha, seeing it was useless to overtake him,

picked up the purse, and was astonished to find what a quantity of

money it contained. Having thanked Allah for his goodness and

recommended the robber to his protection, he continued his journey in

a much more cheerful mood towards Balsora.

He reached that city on the seventh day of his journey, and as soon as

he had put up at an inn he enquired when the next yearly slave market

was to be held. To his horror and distress he heard that he had

arrived just two days too late for it.

The people sympathised with him over his delay and told him how much

he had lost, for on the very last day of the market two young slaves

had been put up for sale who were so beautiful that there had been

great bidding amongst the people for them, and they fetched such a

high price that only their present master, who was a very rich man,

could afford to buy them.

On making further enquiries as to their appearance he could no longer

doubt they were the two unfortunate girls he was in search of. He also

heard that the man who had bought them was called Thiuli-Kos and lived

forty miles away from Balsora; he was an elderly man who had amassed a

large fortune, and had retired from public affairs and settled down to

enjoy his possessions in peace and quietness.

At first Mustapha thought he would re-mount and try and overtake

Thiuli-Kos, but then he reflected that he could do little, for he was

but a single man against the large retinue Thiuli-Kos would no doubt

have with him, and that it would be impossible to wrest his prey from

him; he therefore thought of another plan. His resemblance to the

Pasha of Sulieika, which well-nigh proved fatal to him, might stand

him in good stead now, and he determined to enter Thiuli-Kos’ house in

that name in order to attempt the rescue of the two girls. He

therefore engaged servants and horses and here Orbasan’s gift of money

assisted him. Having purchased magnificent clothing for himself and

his servants, he set out for Thiuli-Kos’ palace. He reached it in five

days and found it was built on a lovely plain and was so surrounded by

high walls that few of the buildings could be seen from without. He

took the precaution to dye his hair and beard a darker tint, and

coloured his face with the juice of a certain plant he knew of, so

that no one could have supposed he was any other than the real Pasha;

then he sent one of his servants to Thiuli’s palace to ask for a

night’s lodging. The servant returned accompanied by four beautifully

dressed slaves, who led Mustapha’s horse into the courtyard. They

assisted him to alight and led him up a flight of marble steps to

Thiuli.

Thiuli was a jolly old fellow and received Mustapha kindly, and

ordered the best dishes his cook could prepare to be set before him.

After dinner Mustapha turned the conversation to slaves, and the old

man told him of the two beauties he had just lately bought, praising

their appearance loudly, but regretting the fact that they appeared to

be so sad, so that Mustapha retired to bed in high hopes of being soon

able to effect a rescue.

He had been asleep about an hour when he was awakened by the light of

a lamp streaming down upon his eyes. Raising himself on his elbow he

at first believed himself to be still sleeping and dreaming, for

before him stood the same swarthy little dwarf he had seen in

Orbasan’s tent. He carried a lamp in his hand, and a horrid grin

distended his mouth from ear to ear. “What do you want?” asked

Mustapha angrily, as soon as he had convinced himself he was awake.

[Illustration: _FATIMA’S RESCUE_

_“He made for the door, screaming lustily for help”_

(_p. 43_)]

“Don’t disturb yourself,” replied the little man. “I know quite well

why you are here, your noble countenance is not unknown to me, but,

had I not assisted at the hanging of the Pasha of Sulieika I might

have mistaken you for him. But I am here to make a suggestion.”

“First of all tell me why _you_ are here,” said Mustapha.

“Well,” replied the little man. “I did not get on very well with the

Chief, and so I left him. Our last particular quarrel was over you,

and so, Mustapha, it is but fair you should promise me your sister for

a wife, otherwise I will go straight to my new master and tell him who

the Pasha of Sulieika really is.”

Mustapha was beside himself with rage and fear; just as he had thought

himself about to accomplish his design, this wretched little creature

came to frustrate it. There was only one thing to be done, he must

kill the little horror, and he sprang out of bed, meaning to catch

him. But the dwarf had guessed what might happen and was prepared for

him. Dropping his lamp, he made for the door, screaming lustily for

help.

Mustapha was now in sad straits and all present hope of rescuing the

two girls was at an end; he had to think only of his own safety. He

looked out of the window and found it was some distance from the

ground and that there was a high wall he would have to scale as well.

However, as he stood considering, he heard voices approaching, and

just as the door was about to be burst open he jumped from the window,

ran across the courtyard and, climbing the wall nimbly, had soon left

his enemies behind. He never stopped running until he had reached the

shelter of a wood, and then he threw himself down quite exhausted, to

try and think what he should do next. Of course he had lost his horses

and his servants, having left them behind him at Thiuli’s house, but

he still had a good sum of Orbasan’s money in his girdle.

Very soon he had invented another plan to save his sister. He

continued his way through the wood until he reached a village, where

he purchased a horse at a low price which speedily carried him to a

town. Here he sought out a physician and offered him several pieces of

gold on consideration that he would concoct a draught which would give

all the semblance of death without harming the patient, and another

draught to counteract the effect of the first. Having made his

bargain, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all sorts of

phials which a physician would be likely to have. He strapped his

baggage on the back of an ass and retraced his steps to Thiuli’s

house.

He was so changed in appearance that he scarcely knew himself, and had

little fear of being recognised by Thiuli-Kos or anyone else. He

arrived at the palace and announced himself as the physician

Chakamankabudibaba. Everything happened as he wished it to do. The old

man was so taken by his high-sounding name that he at once asked him

to enter and take a seat at his table.

After some conversation, in which Mustapha managed to give the

impression that he was a very learned man, Thiuli said he would take

this opportunity of having all his slaves examined and ascertain the

state of their health. Mustapha was overjoyed to think that he was so

soon to see his beloved sister again, but in this he was mistaken.

Thiuli conducted him to his seraglio, it is true, but when they

reached a splendidly-furnished room there was no one in it. “Chambaba,

or whatever your name may be, dear doctor,” said Thiuli, “behold this

opening in the wall. Through this each of my slaves shall pass her arm

and you can feel her pulse, and ascertain the state of her health.”

Mustapha made some objection to this arrangement, but Thiuli would not

consent to alter it, only he did consent to give a few hints as to the

previous state of their healths.

[Illustration: _The slave slipped her hand through the opening._

(P. 46.)]

Drawing a strip of paper from his girdle Thiuli now began to call out

the names of his slaves, and as he called the slave who answered to

the name slipped her hand through the opening.

Six times had Mustapha felt the pulses and pronounced six slaves in

good health, and then came the name of Fatima.

Trembling with joy Mustapha grasped the little white hand and then,

with a grave air, pronounced the patient to be very ill.

Thiuli was very much concerned and asked the wise Chakamankabudibaba

to prepare a medicine for her which could not fail to cure her.

Mustapha left the room and wrote the following message: “Fatima, I

will save you if you will consent to the following plan. I will give

you a draught which will make you appear dead for two days; I have

another draught in my possession which will restore you. If you

consent, pretend that the simple draught I will send you has been of

no avail; I shall know this is a sign that you agree and will see that

the more potent draught is given you next.”

He soon returned to the room, where Thiuli awaited him, bringing with

him a harmless draught which he handed to Fatima. He felt her pulse

once more, and managed at the same time to slip the little note under

her bracelet; Thiuli was so distressed about Fatima’s illness that he

thought of no one else, and put off the medical examination of the

other slaves until a more convenient season.

When he and Mustapha had left the room he said to him sorrowfully:

“Chadibaba, tell me frankly what you think of Fatima’s state.”

“Alas!” answered the wise physician, heaving a deep sigh: “may the

prophet give you consolation for I cannot. Fatima is suffering from a

malignant fever from which I am afraid she will not recover.” Far from

appreciating the plain speaking he had begged for, Thiuli flew into a

great rage--“You wretched quack,” cried he, “do you mean to say that

the slave for whom I paid two thousand gold pieces is to die like an

old cow? Take note, if you do not manage to save her life I will have

you beheaded.”

Mustapha saw that he had made a mistake and tried to reassure Thiuli.

Just then a black slave came to tell the physician that the medicine

had done no good. “Exert your whole skill, Chakamdababelda or whatever

your name may be, I will make it worth your while to cure her,”

shrieked Thiuli, almost weeping to think of the possible loss of his

two thousand gold pieces.

“I will give her a draught that is almost certain to relieve her,”

answered Mustapha.

“Yes, yes,” sobbed the old man, “by all means give her another

draught.”

Well pleased, Mustapha slipped away to fetch the sleeping draught,

which he gave to the black slave to give to Fatima. Then, saying that

he needed to gather a few healing herbs which grew on the banks of the

lake, he hurried out of the palace.

As soon as he reached the bank he took off his disguise and cast it

into the water, where it floated gaily about, then he hid himself in

some bushes and waited for the approach of night, when he went and hid

himself in the burial place attached to Thiuli’s palace.

Mustapha had scarcely been gone an hour when the black slave came and

informed Thiuli that Fatima seemed at the point of death. The old man

at once sent his servants to fetch the doctor, but they returned

shortly, saying that he had undoubtedly fallen into the water and been

drowned, for his black robe was floating upon the surface, and every

now and again they had seen his grey beard bobbing up and down. Thiuli

raved like a madman, tore his beard and beat his head against the

wall, but all to no purpose, for shortly afterwards Fatima breathed

her last.

As soon as Thiuli heard that she was really dead he ordered her to be

taken away to the burial place, for he could not bear having a dead

person in the house. The servants who bore her there did but place her

on the ground and run away, for they heard such dismal sighs and

groans that they were afraid. Of course it was Mustapha who had

frightened the servants, and as soon as they were out of the way he

came out from his hiding place and examined the girl he supposed to be

his sister. What was his horror to find that the girl who lay in the

death-like trance bore no resemblance to Fatima whatever, but was a

complete stranger.

When he had a little recovered from his disappointment he reflected it

would be cruel to leave the poor girl in the state she was in, and so

he uncorked the phial he had brought containing the antidote and

poured the medicine down her throat. At once she opened her eyes and

began to breathe freely, but it was some little time before she could

remember where she was and what had happened; but when she did she

flung herself at Mustapha’s feet and thanked him for having rescued

her from her horrible captivity. Mustapha questioned her as to how it

chanced that he had saved her instead of his sister Fatima.

[Illustration: _He poured the medicine down her throat._

(P. 48.)]

She looked at him for some moments in surprise.

“Now I begin to understand to what chance I owe my deliverance,” she

said at length. “Since I have been in Thiuli’s house I have been

called Fatima, which I understand is your sister’s name.”

After some little conversation Mustapha discovered that Fatima and

Zoraida were in the palace, but that, according to Thiuli’s custom, he

had given them new names when they became his property, and they were

now called Mirza and Nurmahal.

Fatima, the rescued slave, could not but see how disappointed Mustapha

was that he had failed in his attempt to carry off his sister, and she

did all she could to encourage him to make a further effort, telling

him that she had a plan which might prove successful.

So Mustapha took heart and questioned her as to how he should set

about his task.

“I have been a slave in Thiuli’s house for the last five months,” she

said, “and from the first day thought out a means of escape, but it

was too difficult to carry out unaided. In the inner courtyard you may

have noticed a fine fountain, which casts its water on high from no

less than ten different jets. Now there was a similar fountain in my

father’s garden, which was fed by water conducted to it by an

underground passage, and I wished to find out if Thiuli’s fountain was

supplied in a similar manner. So one day I began to praise it to

Thiuli and to say what a clever builder he must have had to design it.

‘I designed it myself,’ said he, well pleased, ‘and what you see is

not the most wonderful part about it, for the water has to be brought

here from a distance of a thousand feet at least. I had a lofty arched

underground passage built from my courtyard to a brook and I had the

waters of the brook turned into this passage, through which it now

flows and supplies my fountain with water. I designed and

superintended the building of the whole thing myself.’

“After hearing this I longed for the strength of a man that I might be

able to raise one of the stones in the courtyard, reach the

underground passage, and be free. I can show you the direction in

which this passage lies and by it you can one night obtain entrance to

the palace; but you will need one or two men to assist you, for you

will have to overpower the black slaves who keep watch over the

quarters where the women slaves are kept.”

In spite of the fact that he had already had two failures Mustapha

once more took heart, trusting that Allah would allow him to carry out

successfully the plan of Fatima the slave girl. He promised her that

he would arrange for her to reach her own home when he had rescued the

others, as a reward for lending him her assistance in gaining an

entrance to the palace.

His principal anxiety was how he should obtain the assistance of two

or three men. Suddenly he remembered Orbasan’s dagger and the promise

the Robber Chief had made that he would come to his aid if ever he

were in need of help.

So he made haste to leave the burial place and, taking Fatima with

him, returned to the town in which he had purchased his physician’s

disguise, and placed the girl in the charge of a poor but respectable

woman.

Then, with the last of Orbasan’s money he bought a horse, and set out

once more for the robber’s dwelling place. He reached it in three

days’ time, and, although an unexpected guest, was none the less a

welcome one.

He told Orbasan of his unsuccessful attempts to rescue his sister, and

in spite of the gravity of the situation Orbasan could not refrain

from laughing as he pictured his friend decked out as the physician

Chakamankabudibaba. But he was enraged to hear of the treachery of the

dwarf, and vowed he would hang him with his own hands, as soon as he

could catch him. He promised Mustapha that as soon as he was rested

and refreshed he would return with him and help him to carry out his

designs.

Accordingly on the following morning, Mustapha and Orbasan,

accompanied by three of the latter’s bravest men, set out for the

little town where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. They rode so

fast that they reached it in two days’ time and, calling for Fatima,

who was to show them the way, rode on to a little wood not far from

Thiuli’s palace. Here they hid themselves until nightfall and then

Fatima led the way to the brook which supplied the fountain. Very soon

they found the entrance to the underground passage and prepared to

descend. One of the men was left in charge of Fatima and the horses,

and the rescued slave repeated her directions--They were to traverse

the passage until they came to the pipes which supplied the fountain;

having raised one of the flag-stones they would find themselves in the

inner courtyard. They would see two towers to right and left of them

and, passing through the sixth door from the right hand tower, they

would come into the room where the real Fatima and Zoraida were shut

up, watched by two black slaves.

[Illustration: _Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through

the opening._ (P. 55.)]

So, well-armed and carrying crowbars with them, Mustapha, Orbasan, and

two other men climbed down into the underground passage. The water in

the passage reached to their middles, but they were nevertheless able

to move briskly forward. In half an hour’s time they had reached the

end of the passage, immediately below the fountain, and then they

began to use their crowbars. The stone-work was thick and very strong,

but the efforts of the four men at length succeeded in forcing an

opening sufficiently large for a man to crawl through.

Orbasan crept through first and gave a hand to the others, and when

they all four stood in the courtyard they gazed around them in order

to determine which of the doors was the one described to them.

But they were somewhat perplexed, for on counting from the right hand

tower they found that one door had been walled up, and they were not

sure whether Fatima had meant them to count this door or not.

But Orbasan did not hesitate long. “My good sword can open any door

for me,” he said, and advanced towards the one he imagined to be the

right one.

On opening the door they discovered six black slaves lying fast

asleep. They would have retreated silently, as they saw they had come

to the wrong door, but a figure in the corner raised itself, and a

well-known voice began to shriek for help. It was the little dwarf

from Orbasan’s camp.

But before the black slaves knew what was happening Orbasan had seized

the little man; tearing his girdle into pieces he stuffed part of it

down his throat, and with the rest he tied his hands behind his back,

then he turned his attention to the slaves, several of whom had been

bound and gagged by Mustapha and the two robbers; in a few moments

they were completely overpowered, but were told their lives would be

spared on condition that they told where Mirza and Nurmahal were to be

found.

They confessed that they were in the adjoining room, and on Mustapha

hurrying in he found both Fatima and Zoraida, who had been awakened by

the noise.

Hurriedly snatching up their jewels and their clothing they followed

Mustapha out of the palace. The robbers wished to take some plunder

with them, but Orbasan forbade it, declaring that it should never be

said of Orbasan that he broke into houses by night like a common

thief.

Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through the opening in the

courtyard into the underground passage, Orbasan promising to follow

him immediately, but before doing so he and one of the robbers took

the little dwarf and, leading him into the courtyard, hanged him with

a silken rope, which they had brought expressly for the purpose, to

the topmost point of the fountain.

Having so punished the treachery of the wretched little creature, they

also got down into the watercourse and followed Mustapha and the

girls.

Fatima and Zoraida, with tears in their eyes, would have thanked their

noble rescuer for having saved them from a miserable existence, but he

bade them waste no time on words, for it was quite likely that

Thiuli-Kos would, before long, discover his loss and pursue them.

It was with a deep feeling of gratitude that, on the following day,

Mustapha and the girls bade Orbasan farewell, vowing that they would

never forget him. Fatima, the girl who had been first rescued, was

carefully disguised, and then sent to Balsora and put on board a boat

which would carry her to her own home.

After a short and most successful voyage Mustapha and the two girls

arrived home, and the joy of the old Cadi to see his dearly-loved

daughter once again was beyond all expression.

He gave a great feast to which he invited all his relations and

friends, to whom he made Mustapha relate all his adventures.

When he had finished speaking the Cadi solemnly revoked the curse he

had put upon his son’s head, and taking Zoraida’s hand he placed it in

that of Mustapha. “Take her,” he said, “as a reward for your unwearied

perseverance, and take also the blessing of your aged father, whose

earnest wish is that our city may never lack men who, like you,

combine tender brotherly affection with wisdom and perseverance.”

THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK.

In Nicea, which is my native place, there once lived a little man,

named Mouk. I remember him very well indeed, although I was but a

youngster at the time, for I once received a good sound thrashing from

my father on his account.

In spite of the fact that he was already an old man, he was but three

or four feet in height, and presented a most extraordinary appearance,

for although his body was small and delicate he carried a head upon

his shoulders that was larger than that of any full-grown man.

[Illustration: _Little Mouk._]

He lived quite by himself and did all his own work. Had it not been

for the fact that every mid-day the smoke rose in thick volumes from

his chimney, folks would scarcely have known if he were alive or dead,

for he left his house but once in four weeks. It is true that he

walked up and down upon the flat roof of his house most evenings, but

he was so short that his body could not be seen, and so the story got

about that it was his head alone which promenaded upon the house-top.

I am afraid that I and my playmates were bad boys who loved to tease

and worry anyone we could, and we reckoned it rare fun when the time

came round for little Mouk to take his monthly walk abroad. We waited

outside his house for him, and as soon as his big head, surmounted by

an enormous turban, appeared, we threw our caps in the air and shouted

for joy. The head and turban always came out first, and the tiny

little body which followed was clad in a shabby little cloak, wide

trousers and a broad girdle; attached to the latter was a long dagger,

so much out of proportion to the size of his body that it was

difficult to tell at a first glance whether Mouk was fastened to the

dagger or the dagger to him.

In spite of the fact that we naughty boys danced round him like young

maniacs, Mouk always bowed to us with great gravity, and walked down

the street with a dignified air, dragging his poor little feet,

encased in huge loose slippers, laboriously after him.

We had made up a little rhyme which we sang as we danced around him.

It was as follows:

“Little Mouk, we know you well,

In a great big house you dwell,

Only once a month you go

For a walk with footsteps slow.

Though you’re but a dwarf, ’tis said,

You’ve a mountain for a head,

Turn around and take a look,

Run and catch us, little Mouk.”

I am ashamed to say I was one of the worst of the tormentors of the

poor little man. I would twitch his cloak, and once I went behind him

and trod on his huge slipper, thus causing him to fall. This seemed a

fine joke to me; but I ceased to laugh, when I saw him turn towards my

father’s house. He went in and remained there some time. I hid myself

behind the door and watched until he came out again.

He was accompanied by my father, who held his hand and bowed

repeatedly and most respectfully to him as he took his leave.

I must confess that I felt very uneasy upon seeing this and remained a

long time in my hiding place, but at length hunger, which I disliked

even worse than a thrashing, forced me to come out, and I stole into

my father’s presence, shame-faced and with bowed head.

“I hear you have been playing your pranks upon the good little Mouk,”

said my father in stern tones. “I am now about to tell you his story,

after which I am quite sure you will never wish to mock and annoy him

again; but first I must punish you for the offence you have committed,

in the usual way.”

The usual way meant five-and-twenty strokes with the stem of his long

pipe. Having unscrewed the amber mouth-piece, he used it to give me

the sound thrashing I so richly deserved.

He did not spare me a single stroke, but when he had finished he

ordered me to pay attention whilst he related the story of Little

Mouk.

“The father of little Mouk, whose real name is Mukrah, was a highly

respected, though poor man, who also lived here in Nicea.

“He was almost as much of a hermit as his son is. Unfortunately he

could not bring himself to love his son, for he was ashamed of his

dwarfish figure, and consequently he would not have him educated.

“Little Mouk was still but a merry child when he had reached the age

of sixteen years, and his father, who was a stern man, scolded him

frequently for being so foolish and full of tricks when he had passed

the age of childhood.

“But one day the old man had a bad fall and hurt himself so much that

he died, leaving poor ignorant little Mouk to fight his way in the

world as best he could.

“His unkind relations, who had lent the dead man money which he would

now never be able to repay them, turned the poor little fellow out of

doors, advising him to seek his fortune abroad.

“Little Mouk expressed himself as quite ready for his travels; but

begged that he might be allowed to take his father’s clothes with him,

and to this they consented.

“Now his father had been a fine tall man, so the clothes did not fit

little Mouk, but this did not worry him. He cut them down in length

and put them on, quite forgetting that they required taking in in the

width as well. This is the reason of his extraordinary appearance, for

the large turban, the broad girdle, the wide trousers and the blue

mantle are all heirlooms of his father, which he has always worn.

“The dagger, too, was his father’s; this he stuck in the girdle when

he set out upon his way, with his staff in hand.

“Happy and well content he wandered along. If he spied a piece of

broken glass glittering in the sunshine, he put it in his pocket

believing it was a diamond.

“If he saw the distant cupolas of a mosque shining like fire, or the

sea stretched before him as smooth as a mirror, he hurried along

thinking for sure he was coming to an enchanted country. But alas! the

magic pictures changed as he approached them, and all too soon his

weariness and empty stomach reminded him that he was still in the land

of mortals.

“Thus he wandered on for two whole days and nights, hungry, weary, and

dejected, in search of a fortune he began to fear he would never find.

The wild fruits were his only food and the hard earth was his bed. On

the third morning, from the top of a high hill, he saw a large town.

“He could see the glittering crescent and bright coloured flags upon

the roofs and it seemed to little Mouk that they beckoned him nearer.

He stood a few moments watching the town and its surroundings in

surprise. ‘There will little Mouk make his fortune if anywhere,’ he

said, and in spite of his fatigue he jumped for joy, then summoning

all his strength he began to walk towards the city. But although it

appeared so close he did not reach it until mid-day, for his poor

little legs almost refused their office, so that he was obliged to

rest frequently in the shade of a palm tree. But at length he reached

the city gate. He shook out his mantle, re-arranged his turban, spread

out his girdle and set his dagger jauntily in it, then, wiping the

dust from his shoes, he strode bravely into the city.

“He had wandered through several streets, but nowhere had a door been

opened to him, nowhere had the folks called out to him as he had

imagined they would: ‘Come in, little Mouk, come in, eat drink, and

rest your weary little legs.’

“But as he glanced longingly at a fine large house opposite him, a

window opened and an old woman popped her head out and began calling

out in sing-song tones:

“‘Come everyone,

The food is done,

Decked is the cloth,

Come taste the broth,

Ye neighbours all

Come to my call!’

The house-door opened and little Mouk saw many cats and dogs enter. He

stood a moment in doubt as to whether he should answer the invitation,

but at length he took courage and went in. A pair of young cats

trotted along before him and he decided to follow them, guessing they

knew the way to the kitchen better than he did.

[Illustration: _THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK._

_“He decided to follow them.”_]

“When Mouk reached the top of the staircase he saw the old woman who

had looked out of the window. She looked at him sulkily and asked

what he wanted--‘I heard you inviting everyone to partake of your

food,’ answered little Mouk, ‘and came in too, because I was so

hungry.’

“The old woman laughed: ‘Where do you come from, you queer little

fellow?’ she asked. ‘Why, everyone in the town knows that I only cook

for my beloved cats, and now and again I invite a few guests to feast

with them, as you saw just now.’ Little Mouk told what a hard lot his

had been since his father’s death and begged her to let him partake of

her cats’ food for once. The old woman seemed pleased with the

truthfulness of the little fellow and gave him a plentiful supply of

food and drink.

“When he had satisfied his hunger the old woman looked at him for some

time and then said: ‘Little Mouk, would you like to enter my service?

If you would you shall have little trouble and be well paid for your

work.’

“Little Mouk, who had enjoyed the cats’ broth, consented, and entered

the service of Madam Ahavzi. His work was light but very curious.

“Madam Ahavzi had in all six cats, and little Mouk was expected to

brush their fur and anoint them with sweet-smelling essences. When

their mistress was out he had to take charge of them. When they took

their meals it was his task to set the dishes before them, and at

night he was expected to put them to bed on silken cushions and cover

them with velvet coverlets.

“There were also several little dogs in the house for him to take

care of; but there was not so much fuss made over them as over the

cats, which Madam Ahavzi treated as her own children.

“On the whole Mouk’s life was as solitary as it had been in his

father’s house, for besides the old woman he saw no living creature

but the cats and dogs.

“For some time all went well and little Mouk had plenty to eat and

little to do, and the old woman was quite pleased and contented with

him, but by-and-by the cats were naughty. When the old woman went out

they jumped about the room, upset all manner of things and broke one

or two valuable ornaments which happened to be in their way. But the

moment they heard the old woman’s step on the stairs they crept back

to their cushions and waved their tails to and fro as though nothing

had happened.

“Madam Ahavzi flew into a violent rage when she saw what a state the

room was in and laid the blame on Mouk, and it was useless for him to

excuse himself; she believed her innocent-looking cats rather than her

servant.

“Little Mouk was very sad to think that his misfortunes had overtaken

him again and he determined to quit his mistress’ service.

“But as he had discovered on his first journey that it is very

unpleasant to be without money, he determined to try and help himself

to wages, which his mistress had always promised but never yet given

him. There was a room in the house which was always kept locked and

the interior of which he had never seen, but he had often heard the

old woman in it, and dearly wished to know what was hidden there. As

he now sat wondering where the money for his journey was to come from,

it occurred to him that the closed room might contain the old woman’s

treasures, but alas! the door was locked and he was unable to get in.

“One morning, when Madam Ahavzi had gone out, one of the little dogs,

which had never been treated very kindly by her, but which little Mouk

had petted and paid great attention to, came and pulled his wide

trousers and made signs to Mouk to follow him.

“Mouk, who had always been fond of playing with the little dog,

followed it, and it led him into the bedroom of his mistress and

showed him a little door he had never seen before. The door was ajar,

and Mouk entering found himself in the room he had so long wished to

enter. He peered about in every corner to see if he could find any

money, but all in vain. Nothing but old clothes and strangely-shaped

vases were lying about. One of these attracted his attention, for it

was of crystal and had a number of beautiful figures engraved upon it.

He took it up to examine it, but alas, to his horror, it had a cover

which he had not noticed and which slipped off and broke into a

thousand pieces.

[Illustration: _Seeing an enormous pair of slippers, he made up

his mind to take them._ (P. 66.)]

“For some moments he was rooted to the spot with terror. His fate was

now decided, for if he did not run away he was quite certain the old

woman would kill him. He took a glance around to see which of the old

woman’s possessions would be most useful to him upon his journey.

Seeing an enormous pair of slippers, he made up his mind to take them,

for his own shoes were worn out; moreover it was quite certain that

with the big slippers on, no one could accuse him of still standing in

his childhood’s shoes, so he quickly exchanged shoes, took a fine

walking stick, which had a handle carved in the form of a lion’s head,

and going to his own room donned the turban and cloak that had been

his father’s, and left the house and town as fast as his legs could

carry him. Once outside the town he still continued running, for he

was afraid the old woman would overtake and punish him; but at length

he grew very weary, for his little body had to support such a large

head that he was soon overcome with fatigue. But when he would have

stopped he could not, the big shoes kept urging him on, and he guessed

at length they must be magic shoes. He did not know how to prevent

them dragging him along, but, driven to despair, he cried out, as

though to a pair of restive horses, ‘Stop, stop, oh! stop,’ and the

slippers immediately stopped and Mouk threw himself upon the ground

quite worn out.

“He was delighted with the slippers, for, after all, he felt he had

gained something for his work which would probably assist him on in

the world and help him to make his fortune. But in spite of his

pleasure fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep and dreamt. In his

dream the little dog, which had assisted him in obtaining the

slippers, appeared to him and said, ‘Dear Mouk, you do not seem to

quite understand the use of the slippers. Turn round on the heel, when

you have them on, three times, and you will then be able to fly

wherever you please. With the little stick you will be able to find

treasure, for wherever gold is buried it will strike the earth three

times and where silver is buried twice.’ Such was little Mouk’s dream,

and when he awoke he determined to make a trial in order to discover

if the dream had any truth in it. He put on the slippers and, lifting

one foot in the air, turned round on the heel of the other. But it was

a difficult task and the poor little fellow’s enormous head dragged

him sometimes this way and sometimes the other, so that he fell over

two or three times before he finally succeeded. But succeed he did,

and then, wishing himself to be transported to the nearest town, he

found himself raised in the air and flying through the clouds like the

wind, and before he could grasp what was happening he was in a market

place, where many booths had been set up and where innumerable people

were running to and fro.

“He went in and out among them, but presently decided to seek a

quieter street, for in the crowded market folks constantly trod upon

his big slippers and nearly threw him down, or else his long dagger

stuck into the people and he then had some difficulty in avoiding the

blows rained upon him.

“Little Mouk now began to set his wits to work as to how he was to

earn a piece of money. It is true that he had a staff which could

discover hidden treasure, but where could he find a place all in a

moment where gold and silver lay hidden?

“He might have exhibited himself in a booth and received money for it,

but was too proud to do so. Then it struck him his swift running might

be the means of earning him a livelihood and decided to offer his

services as a courier.

“Thinking it likely that the king might pay the highest sum for such

service, he enquired the way to the palace.

“By the palace gateway stood a guard, who asked what he wanted. Upon

replying that he wished for work he was sent to the overseer of the

slaves. He repeated his request, adding that he wished for a post

amongst the royal messengers. The overseer looked him all over from

head to foot and said, ‘How is it possible that you with your tiny

little limbs, scarcely a span long, could become a courier? Away with

you, I am not here to waste my time with fools.’

“But little Mouk assured him he was not joking and offered to run a

race for a wager with their swiftest runner.

“The overseer was amused, and told him to hold himself in readiness

to run a race that very evening, then, taking him into the kitchen, he

ordered him to be supplied with plenty to eat and drink.

[Illustration: _He found himself flying through the clouds._

(P. 67.)]

“Then he went into the king’s presence and told him about the funny

little man and the request he had made.

“The king was a merry gentleman and was therefore well pleased that

little Mouk had been kept to make a joke for him.

“He ordered stands to be set up in a large meadow behind the palace,

so that the racing could be viewed in comfort by all the royal

household, and he also said that the greatest care was to be taken of

the dwarf.

“The king told the prince and princess of the spectacle that was to be

provided for their entertainment, they told their servants, and so, as

the evening approached, everyone was in a state of pleased expectancy

and everyone that had a leg to stand upon was hurrying to the meadow

to see the boastful dwarf run a race.

“When the king and his sons and daughters had taken their seats,

little Mouk appeared and made a deep obeisance to the distinguished

company.

“A shout of merriment greeted the uncouth little figure, for the

people had never seen such a sight before.

“The little body, surmounted by the huge head, and clothed in the

mantle, the wide trousers, the long dagger stuck in the broad girdle,

and the tiny feet in the big slippers, oh! altogether he looked too

funny for anything, and roar after roar of laughter went up.

“But Mouk was not in the least put out by the laughter. He stood

leaning proudly upon his little staff and waited for his adversary.

The overseer of the slaves, according to Monk’s request, had selected

the very best runner in the kingdom, and he now stepped forward and

placed himself beside the little man and both awaited the signal to

start. Then the Princess Amarza waved her veil, which was the signal

for the start agreed upon, and, like two arrows aimed at the same

target, the runners shot forward across the meadow.

“Mouk’s adversary had the advantage to begin with; but the little man,

arrayed in the magic slippers, soon overtook him, passed him, and

reached the winning post long before the other came in, gasping for

breath.

“The spectators were at first too much overcome with surprise and

admiration to give vent to applause, but no sooner did the king

commence to clap his hands than the whole multitude followed his

example and shouted--‘Bravo, little Mouk, long life to the winner of

the race.’

“When little Mouk was brought before the king he bowed to him and

said: ‘Sire, I have given you a small proof of what I am able to

accomplish, I pray you now grant me a position as courier to your

Majesty.’

“‘Your request is granted,’ replied the king. ‘Not only shall you be

one of my couriers, but I will grant you a place near my own person

and you shall receive a yearly wage of a hundred gold pieces.’

“Mouk now thought his fortune must surely be made. From that time he

was employed constantly by the king to undertake all messages of

importance and secrecy, and as he performed his duties with

conscientiousness and speed he continued to gain the king’s favour.

But the king’s courtiers were all jealous of him, for they could not

bear that their master should prefer a dwarf to them, and they made

many plans to oust him from the royal favour, none of which succeeded.

“It grieved little Mouk that he should be the object of their anger

and he made up his mind to perform some act of kindness to them which

would reconcile them to him. It was then he remembered his staff, and

he thought to himself that if he could discover a hidden treasure that

would probably benefit them all, he would surely endear himself to

them.

“So whenever he went out he took his staff in his hand, for he

remembered to have heard that the father of the present king had

buried a great deal of his treasure and had died before he could

manage to tell his son where it was hidden.

“One evening chance led him into a part of the palace gardens that was

but seldom used, and suddenly he felt his staff strike the ground

three times. He knew well what that betokened and so, drawing his

dagger from his girdle, he cut signs in the neighbouring trees, so

that he might recognise the spot again, returned to the castle, and,

as soon as night fell, went back to the spot carrying a spade with

him.

“The little dwarf had set himself a weary task, for his arms were weak

and the spade was heavy, and he dug for a couple of hours at least

before he felt the spade strike against some metal. Jumping into the

hole he had dug he found he had unearthed a pot full of golden coins.

He was not strong enough to lift the pot from the earth, but he

filled his pockets with as many coins as he could carry and the next

day, thinking to please his servants and companions, he distributed

the money liberally amongst them.

[Illustration: _THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK_

_“He had unearthed a pot full of golden coins”_

(_p. 72_)]

“Alas! poor little Mouk, he had better have run off with it and left

the kingdom, for now he did but rouse their envy.

“One declared he must be a magician, another said he had helped

himself from the king’s treasures, for a sum of money had lately been

missing, and they one and all agreed that they would conspire together

and see if they could not deprive him of the king’s favour.

“So one day the cup-bearer, who was a particular enemy of Mouk’s

entered the king’s presence and begged to know how he had offended his

royal master.

“The king looked at him in astonishment. ‘You have not offended me,’

said he, ‘I don’t understand what you are talking about.’

“‘Oh pardon me, your Majesty,’ said the man, ‘but do you not load the

dwarf Mouk with treasures, whilst to me you have not given a single

gold piece?’

“The king was surprised, for he knew he had given Mouk no money; but

the treasurer who was present, and who had cause to know that certain

sums were missing from the treasury, added his story to that of the

cup-bearer.

“They told the king that Mouk always had more money than he knew how

to spend, and the treasurer suggested that Mouk had stolen it from

his royal master.

“So the king ordered spies to be set to watch the little man in order

that they might try and catch him in the act of stealing.

“The following night little Mouk, who had generously given away all

his money, stole out to the garden with his staff and spade to find

more treasure.

“It was not long before he discovered another pot of gold, and had

just uncovered it and begun to fill his mantle with coins, when his

enemies fell upon him, bound him hand and foot, and led him before the

king. They unearthed the pot of gold and carried that with them too.

“The king was not in a very good temper, for he had been awakened from

his sleep, and so his poor little courier got a very bad reception.

“The wicked men who had caught Mouk now began to accuse him of having

stolen the pot of money, declaring they caught him in the act of

burying it in the earth. The king asked the accused what he had to say

for himself, and bade him tell how he came by so much money.

“Little Mouk, knowing his own innocence, told the king boldly that he

had found the pot in the garden and that he had been digging it out,

not burying it.

“All present laughed loudly at the impudence of the little dwarf in

making such a foolish excuse. But the king was furious. ‘You wretched

little thief,’ he cried, ‘how dare you lie to me in this barefaced

manner, after having robbed me, too.’ Then he asked his treasurer if

it were true that a sum such as had been found with the dwarf really

were missing from the treasury.

“Of course the treasurer declared that not only that sum, but more

still had been missing, from time to time, and that he was absolutely

certain that it had been stolen.

“The king commanded that little Mouk should be heavily chained and

shut up in a prison in the tower, and the king bade the treasurer

carry the pot of gold away and count it carefully and put it back into

the treasury.

“The dishonest man carried the pot home and counted out the gold, and

when he came to the bottom of the pot he found a paper on which was

written:--

“‘An enemy has over-run my land and I am forced to bury my treasures.

Whoever finds this must carry it to my son or else the curse of a king

will rest upon him--Signed, King Said.’

“This paper the treasurer did _not_ show to his master.

“Poor little Mouk was in sad straits and wearied his brain trying to

think of a way out of his trouble.

“He knew that to rob the king was usually punished by death, and yet

he could not make up his mind to tell the secret of his magic slippers

and staff, guessing rightly that they would probably be taken from

him. His slippers were of no use to him now, for he was chained

closely to the wall, and think as he would he could hit upon no plan

by means of which he could escape.

“The following day, however, he was informed that sentence of death

had been passed upon him, and he made up his mind that as the magic

staff would certainly be of no benefit to him when he was dead, he

might as well sacrifice it to save his head. So he asked to be allowed

to speak in private to the king and then told him the secret.

“The king had little faith in the story, but he decided to put Mouk to

the proof and, unknown to the dwarf, a sum of money was buried in the

earth. Mouk was released and shortly afterwards had found the money,

for the staff struck the ground three times just over the spot where

it was buried. The king knew now that his treasurer had deceived him,

and sent him a silken rope, as a hint that if he did not hang himself,

he would promptly be seized and led to the gallows, for monarchs in

the Eastern countries show their erring servants scant mercy.

“Now the king had promised to spare Mouk’s life if he could prove his

innocence; but having discovered the secret of the staff, he began to

suspect that there was some magic connected with the marvellous

running powers the little man possessed, and so he declared that,

unless Mouk instantly disclosed the secret, though he would spare his

life, as he had promised, Mouk would be sent to perpetual

imprisonment.

“Little Mouk, who had had enough of prison life during the short time

he had been shut up in the tower, confessed that his speed had nothing

to do with himself, but was given him by the magic slippers. He did

not, however, tell him the secret of turning round on his heel three

times.

[Illustration: _The king slipped into the shoes and commenced

running round the garden._ (P. 79.)]

“The king slipped into the shoes and commenced running round the

garden like mad. He ran and ran until he was exhausted, for little

Mouk could not deny himself this small revenge and did not tell him

how to make the shoes cease running, and so the king went on and on

until he fell down in a faint.

“As soon as the king regained consciousness he commenced to abuse

little Mouk in no measured terms. ‘I promise you life and pardon,’

said he, ‘but unless you are out of my kingdom in less than twelve

hours, I will go back upon my word and have you hanged.’

“He then walked off, carrying little Mouk’s magic shoes and wand with

him, and these he shut up at once in his treasure chamber.

“As for the poor little fellow, he went out of the country just as

poor as he came into it, blaming his own folly in having supposed he

was suited to life at court.

“As the country he had been in was not of very vast dimensions he

found himself upon the borders of it within a week, but after having

been used to the magic shoes he found it very troublesome to be

obliged to walk.

“Once across the border little Mouk sought out the woods and took up

his abode in the most solitary and forsaken situation he could find,

for he was tired of the ways of men and wished to dwell alone.

“He threw himself down upon the soft green grass beside a clear

brooklet, in the waters of which were reflected the green fig trees

which grew in abundance upon the bank. He made up his mind that he

would never taste any food again, for he thought he was tired of life

and wished to die. However, he fell asleep, and when he awoke he felt

so terribly hungry that he decided that death by starvation would not

be a pleasant one and got up to search for something to eat.

“Delicious ripe figs hung upon the tree beneath which he had fallen

asleep and he climbed up it and plucked some fruit. It tasted so good

that he had a fine feast, and then climbed down in order to take a

drink of water from the stream, but what was his horror when he saw

his reflection in the water, for his head was adorned with two

enormous ears, and a huge, long, thick nose. He put up his hands to

his ears, they were a foot long at least.

“‘It is meet that I should wear asses’ ears,’ he cried, ‘for like an

ass have I trampled my good fortune beneath my feet.’

“He wandered to and fro beneath the trees for a long time, until he

again felt so hungry that he had no resource but to help himself to

some more figs, for there was no other kind of fruit to be had. He

plucked the fruit from a different tree, however.

“Having finished his meal, it occurred to him that he might try and

tuck his great unsightly ears beneath his turban, but when he put up

his hands to touch them they had dwindled down again to their ordinary

size.

“He ran to the brook and looked in, and to his great joy discovered

that both long ears and huge nose had disappeared.

“He now came to the conclusion that it was the fruit from the first

tree which had caused his affliction, and the fruit from the second

tree had cured him, and he recognised the fact with joy that he had

once more the means placed in his hands to bring him good fortune. He

therefore plucked from both trees as much fruit as he was able to

carry and began to retrace his steps towards the country he had so

shortly left.

“In the first town he came to he took care to obtain a disguise, which

he put on, and then made his way towards the city where the king’s

palace was. It happened to be just the time of year when fruit was

scarce, and Mouk seated himself by the palace gateway, where he knew

the steward of the royal kitchens came every day to buy delicacies

from the country people who went there to sell their wares.

“He had not sat long before he saw the steward coming across the

courtyard. He looked at the wares spread out for his inspection and

presently his eye chanced to light upon Mouk’s basket of figs. ‘Ah!’

said he, ‘fruit is scarce just now, and his Majesty is very fond of

it! What will you take for the basketful?’

“Little Mouk named a reasonable sum and the bargain was soon

completed. The steward gave the basket to one of the slaves who

accompanied him and went on his way, and little Mouk lost no time in

making off, for he knew as soon as the figs he had sold were eaten the

king would discover the misfortune that had overtaken him and would

search for and punish the dealer who had been the cause of it.

“The king was in great good humour that day, for his dinner had

pleased him particularly well and he praised the steward for his

excellent catering, but the steward, who had kept the figs back as a

surprise, smiled knowingly and quoted several wise saws--‘All’s well

that ends well,’ ‘A fine evening may sometimes follow a dull day,’ and

so on, until the princesses, becoming curious, questioned him eagerly

as to what he had still to set before them.

[Illustration: _“Good gracious, Father,” cried the Princess,

“whatever is the matter with you?”_ (P. 84.)]

“Then with a smile of triumph he set the figs upon the table.

“There was a general exclamation of ‘Oh!’ from everyone seated round.

“‘What delicious-looking fruit,’ cried the king. ‘How ripe, how

luscious! Steward, you have indeed proved yourself to be a first-rate

fellow.’

“As he spoke he drew the dish of fruit towards him and began dealing

out the dainty with a sparing hand, for he was inclined to be a little

greedy.

“To the princes and princesses he gave two each, but the ladies-in-waiting

and the courtiers received but one a-piece, and then the king set himself

to finish the fruit left over.

“‘Good gracious, father,’ cried the Princess Amarza suddenly,

‘whatever is the matter with you? You look most peculiar.’

“Everyone stared at the king in astonishment, for he had a couple of

enormous ears and a great big nose that stretched far beyond his chin.

Next they all began to look at one another in horror and surprise for,

more or less, according to the quantity of fruit they had eaten, were

they adorned with large nose and ears.

“Imagine the consternation that took possession of the whole court!

“From far and near doctors were sent for, and they ordered all sorts

of pills and draughts, but without avail--they could not reduce the

size of the noses and ears of the victims, and even an operation upon

one of the princes failed, for no sooner were his nose and ears cut

off than they grew again.

“Mouk heard from his hiding place the news of the great disaster that

had overtaken the court, and deemed that the time had come for him to

bargain. With the money he had obtained for the figs he had purchased

a fresh disguise, and now, clad in black robes and wearing a long

white beard of goat’s hairs, he approached the palace and introduced

himself as a foreign doctor of repute, and offered his services to

relieve the king and his court of their strange encumbrances.

“At first no one paid much heed to him, but one of the princes, having

eaten one of the figs he brought as an antidote, speedily felt his

nose and ears resume their original size, so then everyone came

thronging round him to be cured.

“Last of all came the king, and, taking him by the hand, led him into

his treasure-chamber and bade him choose whatever he would if he would

only free him from the shameful calamity that had overtaken him.

“These words fell like tones of sweetest music upon Mouk’s ears, for

he had already spied his slippers and little magic staff upon the

floor of the treasure-chamber. He walked about admiring the various

treasures until the king was off his guard, when Mouk slipped his feet

into the slippers and grasped the magic staff. Then, tearing the false

beard from his face, he allowed the king’s gaze to rest upon the

well-known features of his little courier.

“‘Faithless king,’ cried Mouk, ‘you who repay faithful service with

ingratitude, take as a well-deserved punishment the deformity that you

bear. Your long ears and nose will remind you daily of little Mouk.’

“As he spoke he wheeled round quickly upon his heel and at the third

turn he wished himself far away, and before the king had time to call

for help Mouk had disappeared.

“Since then the little man has lived here in our town, but he keeps

himself aloof from his fellow-men, because he has learnt to despise

mankind. Experience has made him a wise man, and his wisdom calls for

your respect and admiration, even though his appearance may happen to

be somewhat extraordinary.”

This is the story as my father told it to me. I expressed my sorrow

and repentance for having so plagued the good little man, and my

father gave me another thrashing to keep me from forgetting my manners

in future.

I told my playmates the wonderful story of little Mouk and they agreed

with me that we would never tease or annoy him any more. In time we

came to love and reverence him to such a degree that we vied with each

other in paying him every token of respect.

THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE.

There was once a worthy tailor’s apprentice named Labakan, who was

learning his trade from a clever master at Alexandria.

[Illustration: _Labakan._]

No one could accuse the young man of being awkward in plying his

needle, on the contrary he worked very well indeed. Neither was he at

all lazy, and yet there was certainly something wrong with him, for

though at times he would sit and sew for hours at such a rate that his

needle became red-hot, yet another time, and this occurred pretty

frequently, too, he sat wrapped in thought, staring before him with

unseeing eyes, and having altogether such a very singular appearance,

that his master and his fellow apprentices would nudge each other and

say: “Labakan is putting on his grand airs again.”

On Friday, when other folk were returning quietly homewards to their

work after their prayers, Labakan strutted out from the mosque,

decked in fine clothes, which had cost him a good deal of trouble to

procure, and paraded himself through the streets and squares of the

city. When any of his companions met him and saluted him with: “Peace

be with thee,” or “How is it with thee to-day, friend Labakan?” he

would merely reply by a wave of the hand, or a dignified nod.

Sometimes his master would say to him in a joke: “What a fine prince

you would make, to be sure, Labakan.” Then, instead of seeing he was

being laughed at, he would be delighted and replied--“So you have

noticed that too, my master? I have long thought so myself.”

And so the foolish apprentice would go on, but his master put up with

his nonsense because he was not only a very clever workman, but a good

fellow too.

But one day the Sultan’s brother Selim, who happened to be travelling

through Alexandria, sent a robe to Labakan’s master to have some

slight alteration made. The work was given to Labakan, because his

work was finer than that of any of the other apprentices.

In the evening, when the master and the men had all gone home to enjoy

a little well-earned rest and amusement after the labours of the day,

an irresistible longing drew Labakan back to the workshop, for he

wished to feast his eyes upon the Prince Selim’s robe.

For some time he stood before it admiring the gold embroidery and the

brilliant colours of the silk and velvet, until at length he could

resist no longer and put it on. It fitted him exactly as though it

had been made for him. “Do I not make as fine a prince as Selim?” he

asked himself, strutting backwards and forwards across the room. “How

often has the master himself told me that I was born to be a prince!”

With the royal robe Labakan seemed also to have assumed a royal mood

and he began really to persuade himself that he must be a king’s son

in disguise, and he therefore decided to leave the place, where the

people all seemed too stupid to recognise his worth. It seemed to him

as though the splendid robe had been sent to him by some good fairy

and to be too precious a gift to be despised, and so, putting the

little money he possessed into his pockets, he slipped through the

gates of Alexandria, his flight being covered by the darkness of the

night. The new prince caused a good deal of surprise amongst the

people of the towns he passed through, for it was not usual to see a

man so handsomely arrayed walking on foot, but on being questioned he

would reply in dignified tones that he had his own reasons for so

travelling. This, however, did not satisfy the folks, and when he

found he was making a laughing-stock of himself, he spent part of his

money in purchasing a broken-down old horse, which he obtained for a

very small sum, and which suited him excellently, because its quiet

pace called for little display of horsemanship and therefore did not

betray the fact that he was an unskilful rider.

One day, as he rode carefully along upon old Murva, as he had named

his horse, he was joined by another rider, who requested permission to

travel in his company, as converse made the time pass more pleasantly

and quickly.

This rider was a cheery young fellow, and very good-looking. He

questioned Labakan as to whence he came and whither he was going, and

it appeared that he too was riding about at present merely for his own

pleasure. He told his new friend that his name was Omar and that he

was the nephew of Elfi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and that

his uncle had made a communication to him shortly before his death

which would presently necessitate his taking a journey in a certain

direction. Labakan was not quite so communicative as his companion,

but he intimated that he came of very high parentage and was

travelling for his own pleasure.

The two young men seemed mutually pleased with each other and on the

second day Labakan had become sufficiently familiar with him to ask

him what was the communication Elfi Bey had made to him, and was much

surprised to hear the following: Elfi Bey had brought up Omar from his

earliest youth and he had never known his own parents. But the Pasha,

being defeated and mortally wounded by his enemies, thought the right

time had now come to tell his adopted nephew that, instead of being

his nephew, he was really the son of a mighty ruler, who had removed

the young prince from his court on account of a prophecy the

astrologers had made concerning him, and who had declared he would

not see his son again until his two-and-twentieth birthday.

Elfi Bey had not told him his father’s name, but had given him minute

instructions as to what he was to do. Upon the fourth day of the

coming month of Ramadan, which was his birthday, he was to go to the

celebrated Pillar of El-Serujah, four day’s journey east of

Alexandria. He would there find some men awaiting him, to whom he was

to present a dagger, with the words, “I am he whom ye seek.” The men

would answer, “Praised be the Prophet who has preserved thee,” and he

was to follow them, for they would then lead him to his father. The

tailor’s apprentice was very much astonished to hear his companion’s

story and regarded him with envious eyes, inwardly raging over the

fate which had first allowed Omar to pass for the nephew of a mighty

pasha, and yet heaped still further dignity upon him by proving him to

be a royal prince, whilst Labakan, though possessing all the

attributes of a prince, came from humble origin and belonged to a

common trade.

He was forced to confess that the young prince was of a pleasing

countenance and possessed gentle and engaging manners, and yet in

spite of that he tried to persuade himself that the young man’s father

would have preferred him, Labakan, for his son.

All day long he dwelt upon this and dreamt of its possibility at

night, and when morning dawned and he looked upon the face of the

unconscious youth, he determined to take by cunning what an unkind

fate had denied him. The dagger which was to establish the prince’s

identity was stuck in his girdle, and Labakan drew it out and placed

it in his own, then, mounting the prince’s fleeter steed, he rode off

and was many miles away before the prince awoke and discovered the

trick his perfidious companion had played him.

It was the first day of the month of Ramadan, and so Labakan had four

days in which to reach the Pillar of El-Serujah, which was well known

to him and which was only two days’ journey; but he hurried on as fast

as he could, because he feared the real prince would overtake him.

At the end of the second day he came in sight of the Pillar, which

stood upon a little hill in the midst of a wide plain, and could be

seen for some miles away.

Labakan’s heart beat wildly and his guilty conscience made him afraid

as to whether he might be able to carry out his intentions, but he

comforted himself with the thought that he had been born to be a

prince and rode on.

The neighbourhood of the Pillar of El-Serujah was uninhabited and

desolate, and the new prince would have been in sad straits had it not

been for his forethought in providing himself with food for several

days, so he encamped beneath a palm tree, with his horse tethered

beside him, and there awaited his fate.

Towards the middle of the following day he saw a great company of

horses and camels advancing across the plain towards him. The company

halted at the foot of the hill and pitched magnificent tents, the

whole giving the impression of being the escort of some powerful pasha

or sheik.

Labakan guessed these were the men who had come to meet him, and would

have liked to present their future ruler to them immediately, but

suppressed his eagerness to take upon himself the rôle of prince, as

the following day was to see the accomplishment of all his desires.

The morning sun awakened the overjoyed tailor to the most important

moment of his life, for he was to be raised from his lowly position to

the side of a royal father.

[Illustration: _At the end of the second day he came in sight of

the Pillar._ (P. 92.)]

It is true that, as he saddled his horse and prepared to ride towards

the Pillar, he could not but remember what a dishonest step he was

about to take, and also what pain and grief he was bringing to the

real prince in blighting all the hopes he had in life, but the die was

cast and he could not undo what he had already done, and his love of

self whispered to his heart that he was handsome and stately enough to

be the son of the mightiest of kings.

Encouraged by this thought he sprang upon his horse and, summoning all

the bravery he possessed, ventured to urge his steed to a gallop, and

in less than a quarter of an hour he was at the foot of the hill.

He dismounted and, drawing forth Prince Omar’s dagger, began to climb

the hill.

At the base of the Pillar stood six men, surrounding a grey-headed old

man of noble and majestic appearance, who was glad in a magnificent

caftan of pure gold wrapped around with a white cashmere shawl, a

white turban glistening with diamonds, all of which betokened him to

be a man of high estate and honour.

Labakan approached him, and, bowing before him, presented the dagger,

with these words: “I am he whom you seek.”

“Blessed be the Prophet who hath preserved thee,” answered the old

man, whilst tears of joy streamed down his face: “embrace thy father,

my dear, dear son!”

The tailor had the grace to feel both touched and ashamed as the arms

of the aged prince enfolded him.

But not for long was he to be left in undisturbed possession of his

new position, for he soon perceived a rider hurrying across the plain

towards them. Horse and rider presented a somewhat peculiar

appearance, for whilst the animal appeared to be either unwilling or

unable through fatigue to proceed further, the rider urged him forward

with both hands and feet. Only too soon did Labakan recognise the pair

as his horse Murva and the rightful prince; but he was desperate and

determined to brazen it out.

The rider had been seen beckoning and making signs from a long way

back, and now that, in spite of the wretched pace of his horse, he had

reached the foot of the hill, he hastily dismounted and dashed up the

hill. “Wait,” he cried frantically, “wait, and do not let yourselves

be deceived by the basest of impostors. I am Omar, and I will allow no

one to misuse my name.”

The spectators of this extraordinary scene were astounded,

particularly the aged prince, who turned from one to the other of the

two claimants in uncertainty. But Labakan turned to him and said in a

voice of studied calmness--“Most gracious lord and father, do not

allow yourself to be deceived, this man is but a mad tailor’s

apprentice, who deserves our pity rather than our anger.”

These words well-nigh drove the prince crazy. Foaming with rage, he

would have rushed upon Labakan had not the bystanders prevented him.

“You have spoken truly, my dear son,” said the aged prince. “The poor

man must indeed be mad. He shall be bound and placed upon one of the

camels and perhaps later we may be able to do something for him.”

The young man’s rage had exhausted itself and he cried to the prince:

“My heart tells me that you are my father, and I pray you, by the

memory of my mother, to give me a hearing.”

But the prince only shook his head--“How the poor fellow raves,” he

said, then, leaning upon the false prince’s arm, he began to descend

the hill. They then mounted beautifully caparisoned horses and rode

at the head of the company across the plains.

The unfortunate prince had his hands firmly bound and was placed upon

a camel whilst a guard rode on either side of him to watch his every

movement.

The aged prince was named Saaud, and he was Sultan of the Wechabites.

For a long time he had been childless and then one son had been born

to him. But the astrologers whom he had consulted as to the boy’s

future told him that until he had passed the age of twenty-two he

would be in constant danger of being supplanted by an enemy, and

therefore he had entrusted the care of his child to his old and valued

friend Elfi Bey, and had passed two-and-twenty anxious years awaiting

his son’s coming.

The Sultan told his supposed son this story and added how pleased and

more than contented he was with his appearance and bearing.

On reaching the Sultan’s own country they were greeted with shouts of

joy by the whole populace, for the news of the prince’s coming had

spread like wildfire through all the villages and towns. Arches of

flowers and greenery spanned the roads, and tapestries of gorgeous

colours decked the houses, and all the people shouted praise to the

Prophet for sending them such a handsome prince. No wonder the

tailor’s heart swelled with pride and joy, whilst Prince Omar felt

more unhappy than ever at his sad state. The air resounded with cries

of “Omar,” but he who had the right to the name rode unnoticed

through the throng, except when now and then some one asked who it was

that was bound and guarded so securely. Then the answers his guards

made caused his heart to sink: “He is but a mad tailor,” they said.

The procession at length reached the Sultan’s capital, where

everything had been prepared for their reception with even greater

splendour than in the other towns. The Sultana, an elderly and

dignified lady, awaited them with her entire court in the most

magnificent room in the palace. The floor of the apartment was covered

with an enormous carpet and the walls were hung with pale blue cloth,

draped with golden cords and tassels which hung from silver hooks.

As it was already dark when the procession reached the palace, the

room was lighted with innumerable many-coloured lamps, the light from

which turned night into day. Beneath the brightest light the Sultana

sat upon her throne, which was raised upon four steps and was of pure

gold set with amethysts. The four most distinguished emirs held a

canopy of red silk over her head, and the Sheik of Medina fanned her

with a fan of peacock’s feathers.

Thus the Sultana awaited the coming of the son she had not seen since

his birth, although in her dreams he had been frequently present with

her, so that she felt certain she would know him again in the midst of

thousands.

Presently the noise of the approaching procession was heard, and

before long the curtains were drawn aside and the Sultan approached

his wife, leading his supposed son by the hand.

“Here I bring you the son you have yearned for so long,” he cried. But

the Sultana would not allow him to proceed--“That is not my son,” said

she. “Those are not the features the Prophet allowed me to gaze on in

my dreams.”

Just as the Sultan was about to reprove her for her superstition, the

door burst open and in dashed the rightful prince, who had managed to

escape from his guards. Breathlessly he flung himself before the

throne and cried: “Slay me here if you will, O cruel father, for this

shame will I bear no longer.”

All present were astounded at his words, and the guards would once

more have seized the unfortunate prince, but the Sultana stepped

forward and, gazing at him earnestly, cried: “Stay, this is my

rightful son, this is he whom my eyes have never rested on since his

birth, but whom my heart recognises nevertheless.”

The guards drew back involuntarily; but the Sultan cried to them in

wrath to seize the madman. “It is for me to decide,” he said angrily.

“Of what worth are the dreams of a woman beside the real token which

this, my son, brought me from my friend Elfi Bey. He who brought the

dagger is the rightful heir.”

“It was stolen,” cried Omar furiously. “He betrayed my confidence with

treachery and stole the dagger.”

But the Sultan would not listen to his son, for he was very obstinate

when once he had formed an opinion, and he ordered Omar to be taken

away by force, and he went to his own room violently enraged with the

Sultana, with whom he had lived in peace and happiness for the last

five-and-twenty years. Of course Labakan accompanied him; but the

Sultana remained behind in great grief, for she was absolutely certain

that an impostor had gained the affection of the Sultan and ousted

their own son.

When her grief had somewhat subsided she set herself to think of means

wherewith she could convince her husband of his error. This was a

difficult task, for the dagger had been the token decided upon as a

means of recognition, and moreover Omar had related so much of his

early life to Labakan that the tailor was able to play his part

without betraying himself.

She called to her presence the men who had been with the Sultan at the

Pillar of El-Serujah, in order to question them narrowly as to what

had taken place there, and then she took counsel with her most

confidential slaves.

Many suggestions were offered, but at length an old Circassian woman

asked: “Did not the bearer of the dagger say that he whom you regard

as your son was in reality Labakan, a tailor’s apprentice?”

“Yes, that is so,” replied the Sultana, “but I do not see what that

has to do with the case.”

“May it not be that he gave his own name and trade to your son?” said

the slave. “If this is so, then I know of a plan by which we can

detect the impostor, and which I will tell you of in secret.”

The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s ear, and the mistress

approved so well of it that she prepared herself at once to go into

the Sultan’s presence.

The Sultana was a wise woman, well knowing the Sultan’s weak points

and how to take advantage of them, and so she pretended to yield her

opinion and to be willing to accept the false son, merely making one

condition. The Sultan, who regretted the anger he had shown towards

his wife, readily agreed to let her make her own condition.

“Well,” said she, “we will set the two claimants a task. Anyone can

manage a horse or throw a spear; but I have hit upon something more

difficult. We will see which of them shall make the best caftan and a

pair of trousers.”

The Sultan laughed good-naturedly: “And so my son is to compete with

your crazy tailor,” he said. “Well, be it as you will, but if the

tailor makes ever so fine a caftan I will not own him as a son.”

The Sultan went to his son and begged him to gratify the whim of his

mother who wished for a caftan made by the hands of her son. Labakan

laughed for joy. If it only depended on that, he thought, then the

Sultana would very speedily be well pleased with him.

Two rooms had been prepared, one for the prince, the other for the

tailor, and there they were to give proof of their skill, and each

was given a piece of silk, scissors, needles and thread. The Sultan

was very curious as to what sort of a thing his son’s caftan would

look like.

The Sultana felt nervous and her heart beat anxiously lest her plan

should prove a failure.

Two days were allowed the young men in which to complete their task,

and on the third day the Sultan sent for his wife and as soon as she

had joined him he ordered the two young men to be brought in and to

bring their caftans with them.

[Illustration: _The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s

ear._ (P. 100.)]

Labakan strode triumphantly into the apartment and spread out his

garment proudly before the eyes of the astonished Sultan. “See,

father,” said he, “see, most honoured mother, is this not a

masterpiece? I would lay a wager that even the court tailor himself

could not make a better one.”

The Sultana smiled and turned to Omar: “And what have you

accomplished, my son?” said she.

For reply Omar flung the roll of silk and scissors upon the floor. “I

was taught to manage a horse, to handle a sword, and to hurl a

lance,” said he, “but the art of needlework is unknown to me, neither

is it a fitting art for the adopted son of Elfi Bey, the ruler of

Cairo.”

“O thou true son of thy father,” cried the Sultana, “oh! that I might

embrace thee and claim thee for my son. Pardon me, my lord and

master,” she said, turning to the Sultan, “that I have tricked you in

this way, in order to prove to you which is the prince and which the

tailor. Certainly the caftan your son has made is a magnificent one,

but I should like to ask him who taught him his trade?”

The Sultan bit his lip and glanced suspiciously first at his wife and

then at Labakan, who had turned crimson with embarrassment and

vexation at having betrayed himself.

“This test is not sufficient,” the Sultan decreed, “but Allah be

praised, I know of a way out of the difficulty.”

He ordered his swiftest horse to be saddled, mounted in haste, and

rode off towards a wood, which was not far from the city. In the midst

of this wood dwelt a fairy named Adolzaide, who was said to have

befriended previous Sultans of that country and given them good advice

when they were in any difficulty, and so the Sultan turned to her in

his present trouble.

He reached the spot where she was supposed to dwell, and having

dismounted and tethered his horse to a tree, he cried out in a loud

voice: “Adolzaide, if it be true that you have befriended my fathers

in former times, help me now in my dire need, I pray you.”

Scarcely had he spoken these words when the trunk of a cedar tree

parted and a veiled woman, clad in long white garments, appeared.

“I know your errand, Sultan Saaud,” she said, “and I am ready to help

you, because your desire is an honourable and just one. Take these two

caskets, show them to the two youths who claim to be your son, and let

them choose which casket they will have. The true Omar will not fail

to choose rightly, and you will then be no longer in doubt as to which

is your heir.”

The veiled woman then handed him two caskets of ivory, richly

ornamented with gold and pearls. Upon the lids of the caskets, which

the Sultan was unable to raise, were inscriptions in glittering

diamonds; one was “Honour and Glory” and the other “Happiness and

Riches.” The Sultan racked his brains to try and discover how the

caskets could possibly help him to discover his real son. He tried

again and again to open the lids, but in vain.

As soon as the Sultan reached his palace he sent for the Sultana and

told her the result of his visit to the fairy, and her heart leapt

with joy, for she was certain that now the truth would be arrived at.

A table was placed before the Sultan’s throne and upon it the Sultan

himself placed the two caskets, then he seated himself upon his throne

and made a sign to one of his slaves to open the doors of the

apartment. A brilliant train of pashas and emirs streamed in, for they

had been ordered to be in attendance when this further trial was made.

They seated themselves upon the cushions ranged along the walls, and

then the Sultan ordered Labakan to be summoned.

Proudly he stepped into the room and, bowing before the throne, asked:

“What does my lord and father command?”

“My son,” replied the Sultan, “as some doubt has been cast upon your

claim to bear the name you call yourself, this test will decide the

truth. Here are two caskets; choose one, I doubt not you will choose

rightly.”

Labakan approached the caskets and read the inscriptions; he pondered

awhile and then said--“Honoured father! what can be greater than the

happiness of being your son, and what more noble than the riches of

your favour? I choose the casket with the inscriptions ‘Happiness and

Riches.’”

“Later on we will see if you have chosen rightly,” said the Sultan,

and then he signed to his slaves to bring Omar in.

His downcast looks and dejected mien roused the pity of all who beheld

him. He threw himself down before the throne and enquired what the

will of the Sultan might be.

He was told he had to choose one of the caskets upon the table. He

read the inscriptions carefully and then said: “The last few day have

taught me how uncertain happiness is and how fleeting are riches;

but they have also taught me that honour dwells for ever in the

brave man’s heart, and the glory of a good name is better than

riches--therefore I choose ‘Honour and Glory.’”

[Illustration: _THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE_

_CHOOSING THE CASKETS_

(_p. 104_)]

Before the Sultan allowed either of the young men to open their

caskets he sent for a ewer of water from the holy stream in Mecca,

and, having washed his hands, he turned his face towards the East and

prayed to the Prophet that he would allow this test to decide beyond

all doubt the identity of the rightful prince. Then he arose and bade

the young men open their caskets, but although before it had been

found impossible to raise the lids they now flew open of their own

accord.

Inside Omar’s casket, upon a tiny velvet cushion, lay a little golden

crown and sceptre, but within Labakan’s lay a needle and thread.

The Sultan commanded them to bring the caskets to him. He took the

little crown from its velvet bed and immediately it began to increase

in size until it was large enough to set upon his son’s head, which

the Sultan did, bidding Omar sit down at his right hand.