THE FIRE
"LISTEN, listen, Osman. What is all the noise about?" exclaimed Selim.
It was toward the end of the afternoon, and both boys were growing tired
of play.
"It's a fire. Don't you see the police? They are hurrying along with
pails of water on their heads. Then, look quickly down the street! Smoke
is coming out of that building. Let's ask nurse to go with us."
In another moment Osman had run into the house and out again, with old
black Fatima trotting after as fast as she could move. She hurriedly
pulled her veil over her face. Then, taking each boy by the hand, she
led them through the gate, and joined the crowd of people who were
going in the direction of the fire.
Everybody looked gay and happy. Why shouldn't they have a good time? The
fire did not happen through any fault of theirs. It would be a grand
sight, and the onlookers might as well enjoy it.
There were no fire-engines in the city. The policemen brought pails of
water, but these did little good.
And now, not only columns of smoke are bursting through the windows and
doorways, but flames are leaping and dancing along the openings. See!
Those who are still inside the burning house are throwing out cushions
and mats, curtains and pillows, into the street. Such furnishings can be
saved, even if the building is destroyed.
The watching crowd seize these articles and at once make themselves
comfortable. A number of women sit down on a pile of soft rugs and
prepare to enjoy the show, as if they were at the theatre. Not far off
is a group of men, who stand chatting and smoking. The balconies of
neighbouring houses are filled with gazing crowds.
The street peddlers soon begin to arrive. They bring trays of
sweetmeats, sherbets, and other good things. As they elbow their way
through the crowd, they act as though the fire had been started on
purpose to give them a chance to sell their goods.
Still the fire rages; the timbers creak; the walls begin to totter; the
roof gives way, and falls inward with a crash. In a few moments more,
only a heap of charred wood is left in the place of a fine house.
It might have been saved if firemen could have been here with their
engines. But they are unknown, as yet, in this great city of the Turks,
where many buildings are destroyed by fire every year.
"Come, come, children," said Fatima, "it is late. The shadows are
beginning to fall. Osman, your father is surely home by this time and
will wonder where you are."
While the old woman hurried the boys along, they ate fig-paste they had
bought of a peddler.
No doubt you, children of other lands, have eaten fig paste, too. But
perhaps you have never thought of the people who invented it. It is a
Turkish sweetmeat, and Osman thinks it is delicious when freshly made by
a candy merchant in his city.
"The fire has waked up every dog in this quarter," said Fatima,
fretfully, as she hurried the children along. She was right in saying
so, for "Bow-wow-wow, bow-wow-wow," could be heard in every direction.
Even as she spoke, the old nurse stumbled against a big dog that was
rushing past her and barking furiously.
"Hurry up, old fellow! Catch him, catch him!" cried Osman, turning
around to watch. "Fatima, don't you see what is the matter? He is
driving a strange dog out of the street. I hope he will succeed."
Just as Osman spoke, a half-dozen other dogs came tearing along, eager
to join in the chase. There was small chance for the stranger, who was
now running with all his might. His tongue was hanging from his mouth,
and his tail was thrashing from side to side between his legs.
Poor homeless dogs of Constantinople! There are thousands of them. Yes,
it is the very truth. There are scores of thousands of them.
Those big, gaunt, yellow creatures live in the streets and byways, under
the door-steps and in the graveyards. They feed on the garbage thrown
out from the kitchens, but sometimes get a little choicer food through
the kindness of the people.
"Kill a dog without real need of doing so! No, no," Osman's father would
say, very solemnly. "It is the law of our religion that we should kill
nothing living if we can possibly help it. Let the dogs live.
"Besides, they are useful creatures. They keep our streets clean of all
decaying matter. By doing this, fevers and many other kinds of illness
are prevented. The poor animals are a real blessing."
"I know where there are some new-born puppies," said Selim, as he was
leaving Osman for the night.
"Where? Let's go and see them now. Is it near here?" cried his little
friend.
"Yes, it's only a few steps."
"No, no, children," broke in Fatima, "you ought to be in your own homes
this very moment. Wait till morning, and I will go with you before
school-time."
"Are their eyes open yet? Does their mother seem fond of them? How many
are there?" asked Osman.
But Fatima did not give Selim a chance to answer. She had already rung
the bell at the door of his house, and a servant had appeared to take
charge of him.
So, without stopping for anything except a kind wish to Selim for his
peace and happiness, she led her own little charge home. His father had
reached there before him, and was all ready to talk over the day's
doings with his only child.
As the Turk sat smoking that evening, Osman described the fire he had
seen, and told of the hunted dog he had met on the way home.
"He ought to have known better than to come into a strange quarter,"
said the boy. "It was all he could expect. Any dog that remains at home
is not troubled by the others. I love the creatures; don't you, papa?
They are gentle and quiet and clever."
"Yes, Osman, the city would not seem like home without our yellow-haired
dogs. Before you were born, however, the Sultan thought it would be wise
to clear our streets of them. Great numbers were taken to an island near
the coast."
"Did they die there from want of food, papa?"
"Oh, no. They were too wise to stay there and starve. They all swam back
to the city. Our people were so pleased, the dogs have never been
troubled since then."
"I love the dogs because they are not only gentle, but they do not
forget a kindness. They are grateful creatures," said Osman's mother. "I
have a friend who told me the story of an English lady living here in
our city. She had a small terrier she had brought back with her after a
visit to England.
"I suppose, Osman, you know that our dogs are always ready to attack one
of a different breed?"
"Yes, mamma."
"Well, it happened one day that this little terrier escaped from his
home and got out into the street among the dogs of the city."
"Did they kill him?"
"No, indeed. But they had a reason for being friendly to him. The
English lady and her family had always been kind to them, and had often
fed them. Not only this, but she had seen that pans of water were placed
in the street on hot days, so the dogs should not suffer from thirst.
They were grateful to her, and seemed to feel that her pet terrier was
also a friend.
"After this, the lady allowed her dog to play with the others as much as
he liked. He was always well treated. But he did not have sense enough
to keep in his own street One day he wandered off into another quarter,
and he was instantly attacked. His dog friends heard the noise and
rushed after him. When they got to him, he was surrounded on all sides
by his enemies.
"It would have gone hard with him, if one brave friend had not seized
him by the neck and rushed home with him. He did not stop till he
reached the lady's house, where he dropped the terrier on the door-step.
"Even then, he and his comrades did not go away. There they waited till
the owner appeared, when they tried to explain, as well as poor doggies
can, what had happened."
"What noble fellows they were," said Osman, when his mother had finished
the story. "I shall love them more than ever." Then the little boy went
on to tell of the family of puppies Selim had discovered.
"I will go to see them early to-morrow morning, and will carry some food
to the mother," he said. "I love puppies. They are beautiful little
things, and their hair is as soft as silk."
Osman loved pets as much as any other boy in the wide world, and he was
always ready to take a family of puppies into his heart. His parents
taught him, however, that it was not good to handle them. "The dog is an
unclean animal," said the boy's father. "Be kind to him and love him,
but touch him as little as possible."