Chapter III: Preface (3)

Abi Fressah was not listening. This was beyond endurance. He felt that soon he would collapse in a faint on the floor. And still Ben Maslia droned on. There was a servant from China and also a cunningly wrought vase from that land; a brown page boy in a red turban from India from which land his host had also brought the lamp standing in the center of the table and some of the flowers which adorned the room.

"You would not guess," he was saying, "that many of these blooms are not natural. They are artificial but mixed so skilfully with the real that even experts would be deluded."

By this time Abi Fressah was beyond the power of speech. Two or three times, he tried to speak but could not. He was really too weak. Never in his life before had he been so hungry, so tortured. It was some time, however, before Ben Maslia noticed his plight.

"Art thou ill?" he exclaimed. "That grieves me. But, fortunately, I have in the house an experienced apothecary who can apply leeches and relieve thee of foul blood."

"No, no," pleaded the unhappy Abi Fressah, finding his tongue at this dismal prospect.

"Perchance a glass of rare cordial will revive thee," said Ben Maslia, taking one of the bottles from the table.

Abi Fressah managed to gasp the word "Yes," and Rosh held a goblet into which Ben Maslia poured a rich, red fluid.

"Drink this," he said kindly, holding the cup to his guest's lip.

"At last," thought Abi Fressah, as he opened his mouth.

The next moment he sprang from his stool with astonishing agility, spluttering and cursing. The liquid was bitter in the extreme, the taste it left in his mouth most horrid.

"Now I know I have been hoodwinked," he screamed in rage, and he dashed toward the outer door.

"Stay, stay--what ails thee?" cried Ben Maslia.

"Stop, stop," echoed the servants, as Abi Fressah commenced to run.

The cry was taken up in the street by those who saw a fat man panting along in the darkness, pursued by a number of servants.

"Stop thief!" was the cry of one man in his excitement. The town guards heard, and without any ado they seized Abi Fressah and hauled him off to the jail. In vain he begged for mercy and struggled for freedom.

"If thou wilt not behave, we shall use force," the guards said, and they beat him with staves.

At the jail, Abi Fressah was flung into a cell, and there, on a bed of straw on the ground, he spent a horrible, sleepless night. He ached in every bone in his body, he was bruised all over, and his hunger was such that he felt he had never eaten in his life. His reflections were sad, as you may well imagine, and they led him to a vow that never again would he seek the hospitality of his friends. He realized at last that he had made himself obnoxious and had been cleverly and deservedly well punished.

Even yet his sufferings were not at an end, for next morning, when he was released and sent for his physician, the latter prescribed a diet of gruel and barley water for a whole week!

The Beggar King

Proud King Hagag sat on his throne in state, and the high priest, standing by his side, read from the Holy Book, as was his daily custom. He read these words: "For riches are not for ever: and doth the crown endure to every generation?"

"Cease!" cried the king. "Who wrote those words?"

"They are the words of the Holy Book," answered the high priest.

"Give me the book," commanded the king.

With trembling hands the high priest placed it before his majesty. King Hagag gazed earnestly at the words that had been read, and he frowned. Raising his hand, he tore the page from the book and threw it to the ground.

"I, Hagag, am king," he said, "and all such passages that offend me shall be torn out."

He flung the volume angrily from him while the high priest and all his courtiers looked on in astonishment.

"I have heard enough for today," he said. "Too long have I delayed my hunting expedition. Let the horses be got ready."

He descended from the throne, stalked haughtily past the trembling figure of the high priest, and went forth to the hunt. Soon he was riding furiously across an open plain toward a forest where a wild stag had been seen. A trumpet sounded the signal that the deer had been driven from its hiding place, and the king urged his horse forward to be the first in the chase. His majesty's steed was the swiftest in the land. Quickly it carried him out of sight of his nobles and attendants. But the deer was surprisingly fleet and the king could not catch up with it. Coming to a river, the animal plunged in and swam across. Scrambling up the opposite bank its antlers caught in the branch of a tree, and the king, arriving at the river, gave a cry of joy.

"Now I have thee," he said. Springing from his horse and divesting himself of his clothing he swam across with naught but a sword.

As he reached the opposite bank, however, the deer freed itself from the tree and plunged into a thicket. The king, with his sword in his hand, followed quickly, but no deer could he see. Instead, he found, lying on the ground beyond the thicket, a beautiful youth clad in a deer-skin. He was panting as if after a long run. The king stood still in surprise and the youth sprang to his feet.

"I am the deer," he said. "I am a genii and I have lured thee to this spot, proud king, to teach thee a lesson for thy words this morning."

Before King Hagag could recover from his surprise the youth ran back to the river and swam across. Quickly he dressed himself in the king's clothes and mounted the horse just as the other hunters came up. They thought the genii was King Hagag and they halted before him.

"Let us return," said the genii. "The deer has crossed the river and has escaped."

King Hagag from the thicket on the opposite side watched them ride away and then flung himself on the ground and wept bitterly. There he lay until a wood-cutter found him.

"What do you here?" asked the man.

"I am King Hagag," returned the monarch.

"Thou art a fool," said the wood-cutter. "Thou art a lazy good-for-naught to talk so. Come, carry my bundle of sticks and I will give thee food and an old garment."

In vain the king protested. The wood-cutter only laughed the more, and at last, losing patience, he beat him and drove him away. Tired and hungry, and clad only in the rags which the wood-cutter had given him, King Hagag reached the palace late at night.

"I am King Hagag," he said to the guards, but roughly they bade him begone, and after spending a wretched night in the streets of the city, his majesty, next morning, was glad to accept some bread and milk offered to him by a poor old woman who took pity on him. He stood at a street corner not knowing what to do. Little children teased him; others took him for a beggar and offered him money. Later in the day he saw the genii ride through the streets on his horse. All the people bowed down before him and cried, "Long live the king!"

"Woe is me," cried Hagag, in his wretchedness. "I am punished for my sin in scoffing at the words of the Holy Book."

He saw that it would be useless for him to go to the palace again, and he went into the fields and tried to earn his bread as a laborer. He was not used to work, however, and but for the kindness of the very poorest he would have died of starvation. He wandered miserably from place to place until he fell in with some blind beggars who had been deserted by their guide. Joyfully he accepted their offer to take the guide's place.

Months rolled by, and one morning the royal heralds went forth and announced that "Good King Hagag" would give a feast a week from that day to all the beggars in the land.

From far and near came beggars in hundreds, to partake of the king's bounty, and Hagag stood among them, with his blind companions, in the courtyard of the palace waiting for his majesty to appear. He knew the place well, and he hung his head and wept.

"His majesty will speak to each one of you who are his guests today," cried a herald, and one by one they passed into the palace and stood before the throne. When it came to Hagag's turn, he trembled so much that he had to be supported by the guards.

The genii on the throne and Hagag looked long at each other.

"Art thou, too, a beggar?" said the genii.

"Nay, gracious majesty," answered Hagag with bent head. "I have sinned grievously and have been punished. I am but the servant of a troop of blind beggars to whom I act as guide."

The genii king signed to his courtiers that he desired to be left alone with Hagag. Then he said:

"Hagag, I know thee. I see that thou hast repented. It is well. Now canst thou resume thy rightful place."

"Gracious majesty," said Hagag, "I have learned humility and wisdom. The throne is not for me. The blind beggars need me. Let me remain in their service."

"It cannot be," said the genii. "I see that thou art truly penitent. Thy lesson is learned and my task is done. I will see that the blind beggars lack not."

With his own hands he placed the royal robes on Hagag and himself donned those of the beggar. When the courtiers returned they saw no difference. King Hagag sat on the throne again, and nowhere in the whole world was there a monarch who ruled more wisely or showed more kindness and sympathy to all his subjects.

The Quarrel of the Cat and Dog

In the childhood of the world, when Adam named all the animals and ruled over them, the dog and the cat were the greatest good friends. They were inseparable chums in their recreations, faithful partners in their transactions, and devoted comrades in all their adventures, their pleasures and their sorrows. They lived together, shared each other's food and confided their secrets to none but themselves. It seemed that no possible difference would ever arise to cause trouble between them.

Then winter came. It was a new experience to them to feel the cold wind cutting through their skins and making them shiver. The dismal prospect of the leafless trees and the hard cold ground weighed heavily upon their hearts, and, worse still, there was less food. The scarcity grew serious, and hunger plunged them into unhappiness and despair. Doggie became melancholy, while Pussie grew peevish, then petulant, and finally developed a horrid temper.

"We can't go on like this," moaned the cat. "I think we had better dissolve partnership. We can't find enough to share when we are together, but separately we ought each to discover sufficient forage in our hunting."

"I think I can help you, because I am the stronger," said the dog.

Pussie did not contradict, but she thought the dog a bit of a fool and too good-natured. She knew herself to be sly and intended to rely on that quality for her future sustenance. Doggie was deeply hurt at Pussie's desire to end their happy compact, but he said quietly, "Of course, if you insist on parting, I will agree."

"It is agreed then," purred Pussie.

"Where will you go?" asked Doggie.

"To the house of Adam," promptly replied the cat, who had evidently made up her mind. "There are mice there. Adam will be grateful if I clear them away. I shall have food to eat."

"Very well," assented the dog. "I will wander further afield."

Then the cat said solemnly: "We must each take an oath never to cross the other's path. That is the proper way to terminate a business agreement. The serpent says so, and he is the wisest of all animals."

They put their right fore-paws together and gravely repeated an oath never to interfere with each other by going to the same place. Then they parted. Doggie trotted off sorrowfully with his head hanging down. Once he looked back, but Puss did not do so. She scampered off as fast as she could to the house of Adam.

"Father Adam," she cried, "I have come to be your slave. You are troubled with mice in the house. I can rid you of them, and I want nothing else for my services."

"Thou art welcome," said Father Adam, stroking Pussie's warm fur.

Puss rubbed her head against his feet, purred contentedly, and ran off to look for mice. She found plenty and soon grew fat and comfortable. Adam treated her kindly, and she soon forgot all about her former comrade.

Poor Doggie did not fare so well. Indeed, he had a rough time. He wandered aimlessly about over the frozen ground and could not find the slightest scrap of food. After three days, weary, paw-sore and dispirited, he came to a wolf's lair and begged for shelter. The wolf took pity on him, gave him some scraps of food, and permitted him to sleep in the lair. Doggie was most thankful, and sleeping with his ears on the alert, he heard stealthy footsteps in the night. He told the wolf.

"Drive the intruders away," said his host in a surly tone.

Doggie went out obediently to do so. But the marauders were wild animals and they nearly killed him. He was lucky to escape with his life. After bathing his wounds at a pool in the early morning he wandered all day long, but again could find nothing. Toward night, when he could scarcely drag his famished and wounded body along, he saw a monkey in a tree.

"Kind monkey," he pleaded, "give me shelter for the night. I am exhausted and starving."

"Go away, go away, go away," chattered the monkey, jumping and swinging swiftly from branch to branch, moving his lips quickly and opening and shutting his eyes comically. Doggie hesitated, and, to frighten him away, the monkey pulled cocoanuts from the tree and pelted him.

Poor Doggie crawled miserably away.

"What shall I do?" he moaned.

Hearing the bleating of some sheep, he made his way to them and asked them to take compassion on him.

"We will," they replied, "if you will keep watch over us and tell us when the wolf comes."

Doggie agreed willingly, and, after he had devoured some food, he stretched himself to sleep like a faithful watch-dog, with one eye open.

In the middle of the night he heard the wolves approaching, and, anxious to serve the sheep who had treated him kindly, he sprang to his feet and began to bark loudly. This aroused the sheep, who awoke and started to run in all directions. Some of them ran right into the pack of wolves and were killed and eaten. Poor Doggie was nearly heart-broken.

"It is my fault, my fault," he wailed. "I barked too soon. Oh, what an unhappy creature I am. I shall keep away from all animals now."

Once again he set off on his travels. Whenever he met an animal he ran off in the opposite direction. He had to make his journey by the loneliest paths and the most unfrequented routes, and the difficulty of finding food grew steadily greater. At last he grew so weak and thin that he hardly had strength to crawl and he had several narrow escapes from falling a prey to ferocious beasts.

One night he came to a house and begged a morsel of food. It was given, and during the night he woke the man and warned him that wild animals were making a raid. The man jumped up, seized his bow and arrow and drove the thieves away. Then he patted Doggie.

"Good dog," he said. "You are a wise animal. Stay with me always. You will find Father Adam kind."

"Father Adam!" cried Doggie, in alarm. "I must not stay here."

"Nonsense. I say you must," answered Adam, and Doggie was compelled to obey.

In the morning, Pussie learned that the dog had joined the household and she complained to Adam.

"The dog has violated the oath he swore not to come to the place where I am," she said.

"He did not know you were here," said Adam, desirous of maintaining peace. "He is very useful. I want him to remain. He won't hurt you. There is ample room for both."

"No, there isn't," said Puss spitefully, arching up her back and getting cross. "He broke his oath. He is a wicked creature. You dare not overlook his offense."

Poor Doggie stood dejectedly apart, with his tail between his legs.

"I didn't know it was Adam's house, and I was so hungry and miserable and tired," he said.

But Pussie would not be pacified. She thrust out her ugly claws and tried to scratch her former partner. The dog kept out of her way as much as possible, but she quarrelled with him at every opportunity, and at last he determined to tolerate her conduct no longer.

"I must leave you, Father Adam," he said. "Pussie is making my life unbearable."

"But I want you," said Adam.

"I'm sorry," said Doggie, firmly, "but it is really impossible for me to continue in your service. I've got another situation at the house of Seth. He wants me, too."

"Won't you make friends with Pussie?" asked Adam.

"With pleasure, if she will let me, but she won't."

"You blame each other," said Adam, losing patience. "I can't make you out. You look like quarrelling for ever."

Adam's words have proved true. Ever since that time the cat and dog have failed to agree, and Pussie will never consent to be friendly again with Doggie.

The Water-Babe

Floating in a basket on the River Nile, Princess Bathia, the daughter of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, found a tiny little water-babe. Princess Bathia was a widow and had no children, and she was so delighted that she took the child home to the palace and brought it up as her own. She called the babe Moses.

He was a pretty little boy, full of fun and frolic as he grew up, and he became a favorite with everybody in the palace. Even the cruel King Pharaoh, who had ordered that all the Hebrew boy babes should be drowned, loved to play with him. His ministers of state and magicians, however, frowned when they saw Moses, as soon as he could toddle and talk, making a play-mate of the king. They warned Pharaoh that it was dangerous to give a strange child such privileges, but Princess Bathia only laughed at them. So did her mother, the queen, and King Pharaoh took no notice.

When Moses was three years old, Princess Bathia gave a birthday party in his honor. It was really a big banquet and was attended by the king and queen and all the courtiers. Moses was seated at the head of the table and his eyes opened very wide with wonderment at everything he saw. It seemed such a ridiculous lot of solemn fuss to him. He would rather have played on the floor, or climbed on to the table, but of course they would not allow him.

"What does all this mean?" he asked of the king who was seated next to him. "Tell me," and he playfully pulled King Pharaoh's beard.

The courtiers looked on horrified, and Bilam, the chief magician, cried out, "Beware, O king, this is not play."

"Heed not these words, my father," said the princess. "Bilam is ever warning thee. If thou wert to take notice of all that he says, thou wouldst not have a moment's peace. Take our little babe on thy knee and play with him."

To please the princess, King Pharaoh did so, and Moses amused himself by playing with the glittering jewels on his majesty's robes. Then he looked up and stared hard at the king's head.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing.

"That is the royal crown," answered Pharaoh.

"No it is not; it is only a funny hat," replied Moses.

"Beware," chimed in Bilam, solemnly.

"Let me put the hat on," said Moses, reaching up his little hands, and before they could stop him, he had taken the crown from the king's head and had put it on his own.

Princess Bathia and the queen laughed merrily, but Bilam looked very grave.

"Your majesty," he said, in a voice trembling with passion, "this is not the foolish play of a babe. This child, remember, is not as other children. Came he not from the river? There is meaning in his action. Already does he seek to rob thee of thy royal crown. 'Tis a portent of evil."

Pharaoh thoughtfully stroked his beard.

"What sayeth Reuel?" he asked, turning to his second chief magician.

"I say the child is but a babe and that this action means nothing," answered Reuel.

The queen and the princess agreed with Reuel, who was their favorite, but Bilam would not allow the matter to pass lightly.

"I, Bilam, am chief of thy counselors," he said, "and deeply learned in the mysteries of signs and portents. There is a meaning in all things. Remember, O King, this child is of the Hebrews, and escaped thy decree. This play of his hath a meaning. Should he be permitted to grow up, he will rebel against thee and seek to destroy thy rule. Let him be judged, O king."

"Thy words are wise," said Pharaoh, who was himself annoyed with Moses, and he ordered three judges to try the child for his offence.

Moses thought it was a new game and he clapped his hands gleefully when they took him to the court of justice and stood him in front of the judges. He heard Reuel plead on his behalf, but he did not understand it.

"I say he is but a babe and does things without meaning," Reuel exclaimed. "Put him to the test, and see if he knows the difference between fire and gold. Place before him a dish of fire and a dish of jewels and gold. If he grasps the jewels, it will prove that he is no ordinary child; if he places his hand to the fire, then shall we be assured he is merely a foolish babe."

"So be it," said Bilam, "and if he grasps the jewels let his punishment be instant death."

Pharaoh and the judges agreed, and two dishes, one containing burning coals and the other gold and precious stones were brought in and placed before Moses. Everybody looked on keenly as Moses stared at the dishes. Princess Bathia made signs to him, but Bilam ordered her to cease and it was Reuel who comforted her and dried her tears.

"Take my magic staff," he said, handing to her a stick that seemed to be made of one large precious stone. "This was given to Adam when he left the Garden of Eden and has been handed down to me through Enoch and Noah, through Abraham and Jacob unto Joseph who left it in my keeping. Take the staff and Moses will obey whatsoever be thy wish."

The princess took the staff and pressed it to her lips.

"I wish," she said, "that my little water-babe shall seize the burning coals."

Moses thrust his fingers into the fire and pulled out a glowing coal. With a cry, he put his fingers in his mouth to ease the pain and burned his tongue with the coal. Ever afterward he lisped.

The princess snatched Moses and pressed him tightly to her bosom.

"Give me the magic stick," she said to Reuel, "so that I may guard and protect the child."

"Canst thou read this word?" asked Reuel, pointing to a word engraved on the staff.

"No," said the princess.

"Then it cannot be thine," answered Reuel. "Whosoever reads this name can understand all things, even the thoughts of animals and birds. Fear not for Moses. In years to come this staff shall be his."

And so it came to pass. Years afterward, when Moses was a man and fled from Egypt, he married a daughter of Reuel who became a Hebrew and took the name of Jethro. Reuel planted the staff in his garden and Moses saw it. He read the magic word, and touching the staff it came out of the ground into his hands. With this staff Moses performed the wonderful things in Egypt when he delivered the children of Israel from bondage, as is related in the Bible.

Sinbad of the Talmud

"Rabba, Rabba, silly, silly Rabba, have you caught another whale to-day?"

With this strange cry a number of children followed an elderly man through the streets of a town in the East. Their parents looked on in amusement and some of them called after the man as the little ones did. Rabba, however, took no notice, but walked straight on with a faraway look in his eyes, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Presently, on turning the corner of a street, he nearly ran into an Arab coming in the opposite direction. As soon as the children saw the Arab they turned and fled.

"Ali Rabba is coming," they cried to one another in warning, and as fast as their legs would carry them they made off to their homes.

The Arab shook his fist threateningly after the children. Then he turned to the man whom they had followed.

"It is a shame," he said, hotly, "that the impudent ragamuffins of the town should be allowed to cast words of disrespect in the public streets at my sainted master, Rabba bar Chana, the man of profound learning and the famous traveller--"

"Be gentle, good Ali," interrupted Rabba. "Remember they are little more than babes and have not full understanding. And how can they be respectful when their parents, who should have wisdom and faith, accept not our stories of the many adventures we have had? Yesterday, I told them of the day when our ship had been surrounded by five thousand whales, each a mile long, and they jeered and cried 'Impossible!'"

"Impossible!" echoed Ali, in a rage. "Was I not there with thee, my master? Did I not count every single whale myself? Who dares to doubt my word? Have I not, for years, been thy faithful guide on thy marvelous journeys? Bah! What know these town fools, whose lives are no wider than the narrow streets in which they dwell, of the wonders of the vast world beyond the seas? Fools, ignorant fools, every one of them, my good master. Why stay you here with them and brook their insults and their sneers? Let us journey forth again this very day. A good ship waits in the harbor."

Ali's voice grew louder as his rage became stronger and a crowd was collecting. Rabba hurried him away and together they made for the harbor. There they were soon engaged in earnest conversation with the captain of a vessel that had come from a distant land.

"I shall be glad to have two such famous travelers on my ship," said the captain. "I have heard of your adventures, and in my country 'tis said that only those meet with wonders who dare to seek them and believe in them. I, too, would see the wonders of the world, and gladly will I give you passage on my ship."

Next day Rabba and Ali stood on the deck of the vessel as the sail was hoisted, and it moved slowly from the harbor to the accompaniment of cheering and some laughter from a crowd on shore.

"Silly Rabba and Ali Rabba, don't forget to bring back the moon," they cried. "Find out where it goes when it is not here."

Soon the land was out of sight, and scudding before favorable breezes the ship made good progress. In ten days it had reached a sea in which no vessel had ever sailed before. Ali said he could tell this because the fishes behaved queerly. They poked their heads out of the water to gaze at the ship and then darted swiftly out of sight again. It was quite plain that they had never before seen a ship, and they evidently mistook it for some strange sea monster. Every day the fishes grew larger, but no land was sighted until another five days had passed. Then a desert island appeared straight ahead, and the captain steered toward it. A few blades of grass grew here and there, and Rabba determined to land and explore the island.

Accompanied by his faithful Ali, he entered a small boat and was rowed to the shore. They found a few vegetables growing that they had never seen before, and so, collecting twigs from the short, stumpy bushes, they made a fire to cook them. While the vegetables were cooking they looked around.

"It seems a vast land," said Rabba, "and yet over there, about three or four miles away, I think I see water."

"I think so, too," said Ali. "This must be the width of the land, but in the other directions I can see no end. But hark! What sound is that?"

"'Tis like the rumbling of an earthquake," said Rabba, "and I am sure I felt the ground move. Indeed, it seems to me as if it is heaving up and down, like a living thing."

A shout from the boat caused them to look in that direction, and they saw their comrades pointing wildly and calling upon them to come back. Looking in the direction indicated, they saw the land rise up like a huge mountain and a tremendous stream of water gush forth.

"This is not land; this is a whale," cried Rabba, in alarm. "Our fire has wakened it from slumber. Let us hasten to the ship before the monster plunges and drowns us."

They hurried back to the boat and boarded the ship just as the whale began to move. It sank below the waves to quench the fire on its back, but it rose again, and then the vessel found itself in a new danger. It was lying between the body of the monster and one of its fins.

"Let me take command," said Ali. "I know best how to act in times of danger like this. We must avoid being struck by the fin, or we shall be destroyed. We must find which way the monster is moving and go in the opposite direction; otherwise we shall be wrecked when we come to the place where the fin joins the body."

There was no sleep for the crew that night. Everyone watched carefully, for the least false move may have meant instant disaster. Luckily the whale began to move on the surface of the sea against the wind, so that the ship, traveling in the opposite direction, had the wind behind it. Swiftly flew the ship before the breeze, but the fin seemed to have no end, although the whale was traveling fast, too. Three days and three nights the ship continued before it came to the end of the fin. Then everyone on board breathed more freely.

"That was a lucky escape," said the captain to Rabba.

"Speak not too soon," replied the latter. "I have fears yet. We must hasten to get completely away from this monster, but the wind does not favor any alteration of our course."

Even as he spoke there was a great commotion in the water, and the whale began to move backward at so fearful a speed that they could scarcely see it. The water was violently agitated and the ship was tossed about as if it were a mere cork. A whole day this lasted. Then the motion grew slower as the head of the whale came past the ship.

"See," cried Ali, excitedly. "A small fish has stuck in the nostril of the monster. That is the cause of this commotion. The monster will surely be killed."

The agitation of the water now died down, and it was seen that the whale was beginning to turn over.

"The monster is dead," said Rabba. "It will float on the waves like a vast desert land and will be a danger to ships."

For several days the vessel was compelled to follow the dead whale. Whenever an attempt was made to move away, the current or the wind changed and the carcass of the monster followed the ship. The captain did not like this at all, for it was dangerous in the extreme. He was afraid that the dead whale would strike the vessel and wreck it.

At last land was sighted. Not even Rabba and Ali could recognize the country. They said they had never seen it before. Beautiful cities dotted the shore, but to everybody's alarm, the body of the whale began to float toward the land.

To make matters worse, a storm arose, and the monster rose and fell with each motion of the angry waves.

"The cities will be destroyed if the whale strikes them," cried Rabba, "and it is impossible for us to warn the people."

Nearer and nearer the whale was driven, while the captain of the ship did his utmost to keep away so as not to be struck by the backwash.

At length, with a tremendous crash, the monster was flung by the waves, which had increased to a great height, against the shore. Above the shrieking of the wind could be heard the noise of falling buildings and the wild cries of the people. A huge wave caught the ship and carried it a mile out to sea and then whirled it back again at a speed that made the crew hold their breath in awe.

It seemed certain that the vessel would be dashed to pieces on the land, and the crew, with cries of warning and alarm, made haste to lash themselves to the masts. The mighty wave swept over the land, over the ruins of the towns, carrying the ship with it, and finally deposited it among the trees of a dense forest a mile from the shore.

"At least we are safe for the present," said Rabba, when he had recovered from the shock and the surprise. "We are more fortunate than the poor people who have been overwhelmed by this strange disaster."

"I should like to know how I am going to get my ship back to the sea," said the captain. "I never heard of such a predicament before."

Rabba merely shrugged his shoulders, and with Ali he walked to the shore. An extraordinary sight met their gaze. Thousands of people were rushing madly to the forests. Everywhere was ruin and desolation. All the towns along the coast, sixty in number they learned afterward, had been destroyed by the stranding of the monster and the tidal wave that followed, and what had not been leveled and swept out to sea had been carried inland to the forests and beyond. All along the coast, as far as the eye could see, lay the body of the whale like a mountain range, and hundreds of people ran up and down, weeping bitterly and wringing their hands.

Rabba gathered as many of them as he could together and addressed them.

"Good people," he said, "ye are the victims of a terrible calamity that has robbed you at one cruel blow of your homes, and many of you of your families. But ye that have survived have duties to yourselves and to the future. In this hour of grief, despair not. There lies the fearful monster that has been your destruction. It shall also be your salvation. Its body can supply you all with food. What you cannot eat, you can salt and store for the future. Thousands of casks of oil can be obtained from its blubber, and with this ye can trade. Then, too, its bones are valuable."

The people thanked Rabba for his good advice, and immediately they set about doing what he bade them. They told him this was a bewitched land, the country of Kishef, abounding with terrible monsters both on land and in the sea, and ruled over by a malignant jinn, named Hormuz, who gave them no peace. They asked Rabba to try and kill this sprite who said that only a stranger to the land could do him harm, and so Rabba and his faithful Ali, mounted on horses, set forth on their adventures.

"I think I know this country," said Ali. "I believe I landed once on the other shore. We cannot be far from the wilderness in which the Israelites wandered."

For several days they journeyed through forests and across plains and nothing happened. At last they came to a broad, high wall which barred their progress. They could find no opening through which to pass, and while they were wondering what to do, a strange figure suddenly appeared on the wall. One of his legs was longer than the other, and his arms were also of different length. His ears and eyes were also unequal, and he hopped and bounded along the wall at amazing speed.

"My name is Hormuz," he cried. "Who are ye?"

"Strangers," called Rabba, and as soon as he heard the word, the sprite darted swiftly off along the top of the wall. But although the horses ran at topmost speed, they could not overtake him, and he quickly disappeared. Where he was lost to sight, however, there was a hole in the wall, and through this Rabba and Ali just managed to take their horses. A vast wilderness lay before them.

Ali picked up two clods of earth and smelt them.

"As I thought," he said, "this is the wilderness of the Israelites. Come, I will show thee strange sights."

Before nightfall, they came to a place where the bodies of a large number of men lay strewn on the ground.

"These men must have been giants," said Rabba, as Ali, with his spear uplifted, rode under the raised knee of one of the bodies. "These must be the bodies of the Ephraimites who left Egypt before the rest of the children of Israel and were slain."

He cut off a portion of a garment that still covered one of the bodies, but when he tried to move he could not. He seemed to be rooted to the spot. Nor could his horse move.

"Oh, oh," cried Ali, "my horse has lost its power to move. Thou must have taken something from the dead. Return it, good master, or we shall be held fast here until we perish."

Rabba returned the piece of garment, and they were able to move again. They hurried from the place and came to a chasm in the ground from which smoke was rising.

"This is the pit in which Korah and his children were swallowed," said Ali.

"That must have been a wonderful sight," said Rabba. "I have heard that the pit became like a funnel and that the air all about eddied and sucked in everything that belonged to Korah. Even the things that people had borrowed from him, such as dishes, rolled along the ground from a distance and into the pit. Come, let us hasten away."

They continued their journey for many days, but could not see the demon again. One day the desert ended and they came to the sea. They encamped for the night, and when morning broke Rabba was surprised to find that the basket, in which they kept their provisions, had disappeared.

"I think I can explain," said Ali. "No thieves have been here, but this is the end of the world, the edge of the earth. Here, once in every twenty-four hours, the sky and the earth in their revolution, scrape together. The sky must have caught up your basket and carried it away. It will be returned at the same hour tomorrow morning."

Rabba awoke next morning before the sunrise and saw his basket floating down to earth on a cloud. Both he and Ali were overjoyed when they recovered it, for they were very hungry. While they were eating, the sky grew dark, and looking up they saw what appeared to be a great cloud above their heads. Out of the sea a mighty tree seemed suddenly to have grown. They moved cautiously forward to investigate.

"Take heed," cried a voice of thunder. "I am a bird standing in the water. It is so deep, with such swift currents, that seven years ago an axe fell in and has not yet reached the bottom."

Rabba and Ali crouched on the ground in great fear, until at last Rabba called: "Mighty bird, we seek your help. We are anxious to find the wicked jinn, Hormuz, and slay him so that people shall be free."

"Follow me," answered the bird, and like a spreading cloud it flew along the coast. Rabba and Ali followed on their horses.

"Look," cried Ali, suddenly, pointing out to sea.

A huge snake and dragon were fighting, and at last the sea-serpent, which was almost as big as the whale that had destroyed the towns, swallowed the dragon. No sooner had it done so, however, than the giant bird swooped down and gobbled up the snake.

"That was a good fat worm for breakfast," called the bird. "Now I shall rest."

It flew toward a gigantic tree which now appeared. So tall was it that its upper branches were lost in the clouds. The bird perched on a branch of the tree.

"Proceed along the coast until you come to two bridges," said the bird. "There you will find Hormuz. Give him two cups of wine to drink, then you can slay him. But be sure you take the diamond from his cap. I, the ziz, give you this warning."

Rabba thanked the bird for its information, and with Ali continued on his journey. After three days they came to a river crossed by two bridges, and with one foot on each stood Hormuz.

As soon as he saw them he began to run, but Rabba called after him, "We bring thee an offering of good wine," and he promptly returned. Rabba filled the two cups which he had from a leathern bottle, and Hormuz took a cup in each hand, smacking his lips as he did so.

"See," he said, and he tossed the wine into the air, and the wine from the right hand cup fell into the left hand cup and that from the left hand cup into the right and not a drop was spilt. Then he swallowed them both at one gulp.

Almost immediately he fell down in a stupor, and Rabba stabbed him again and again with his spear. Yet, when he seemed quite dead, he jumped up again.

"The diamond," cried Rabba, excitedly, and Ali snatched it from the cap of Hormuz. Then the demon fell dead.

"We can return now," said Rabba, and they set out at once, taking the body with them. They halted only to take food, and the first time they did so a funny thing happened. Ali had killed an animal and Rabba had caught some fish, and, while these were cooking, Rabba took the jinn's diamond from his pocket and examined it. At once the fish and the animal came to life again, jumped out of the cooking pot and made off.

"This is a magic diamond," said Rabba, "that has the power to bring dead things to life. We keep it covered when we wish to eat."

They did so, and after long journeying they came in sight of the great wall and at last reached the place from which they had started. They had been away twelve months in all, and the people were heartily glad to see them, especially when they heard that Hormuz had been killed and saw his body. They had worked hard on the carcass of the huge whale and were rebuilding the sixty towns and villages that had been destroyed, with the bones of the monster, using the skin as coverings for their tents.

With the help of the magic diamond, Rabba called the ziz, and it took the ship which had been carried into the forest in its beak and flew with it to the sea. Gathering their old comrades, Rabba and Ali set sail for home.

All the inhabitants stood on shore and cheered as long as the ship was in sight. They were sorry that Rabba was gone, but they felt certain now that Hormuz was dead, that nevermore would they be troubled by monsters which brought them such terrible disasters.

The Outcast Prince

There lived a king who had an only son, on whom he doted. No one, not even his oldest tutor, was permitted to utter a word of correction to the prince whenever he did anything wrong, and so he grew up completely spoiled. He had many faults, but the worst features of his character were that he was proud, arrogant and cruel. Naturally, too, he was selfish and disobedient. When he was called to his lessons, he refused, saying, "I am a prince. Before many years I shall be your king. I have no need to learn what common people must know. Enough for me that I shall occupy the throne and shall rule. My will alone shall prevail. Says not the law of the land, 'The king can do no wrong'?"

Handsome and haughty, even as a youth, he made the king's subjects fear him by his imperious manner. His appearance in the streets was the signal for everyone to run into his house, bar the doors, and peer nervously through the casements. He was a reckless rider, and woe betide the unfortunate persons who happened to be in his way. Sparing neither man, woman, nor child, he callously rode over them, or lashed out vindictively with the long whip he always carried, laughing when anyone screamed with pain.

So outrageous did his public conduct become that the people determined to suffer in silence no longer. They denounced the prince in public, they petitioned the king himself to restrain his son, and his majesty could not disregard the complaints. At first he was merely annoyed, then he was indignant, but when he saw that the people were thoroughly aroused and threatened revolt, he deemed it wise to inquire into the charges against his son.

A commission of three judges was appointed to investigate. They made fullest inquiry and finally laid a document before the king summarizing what they did not hesitate to declare the "infamous actions of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince."

The king's sense of justice and righteousness at once overcame his foolish pride.

"My people stand justified in their attitude which at first I thought only disrespectful to my royal person," he said. "I owe them an apology and recompense. I shall atone. And my son shall atone, too. He shall not escape punishment."

He summoned his son to appear before him, and the prince entered the royal justice chamber with the air of a braggart, smiling contemptuously at the learned judges who were seated to right and left of his majesty, and defiantly cracking his whip.

"Knowest thou why thou hast been bidden to stand before the judges of the land?" asked the king.

"I know not and I care not," was the haughty answer. "The foolish chatter of the mob interests me not."

The king frowned. He had not seen the prince behave in this fashion before. In the presence of his father, he had always been respectful.

"Thou hast disgraced thy honored name and thy mother's sacred memory, foolish prince," exclaimed the monarch angrily. "Thou hast humiliated thyself and me before the people."

Still the prince tried to laugh off the matter as a joke, but he quickly discovered that the king was in no mood for trifling. Standing grave and erect, his majesty pronounced sentence in a loud and firm voice.

"Know all men," he said, while all the judges, counselors, officers of state and representatives of the people stood awed to silence, "that it having been proved on indisputable evidence that the prince, my son, hath grievously transgressed against the righteous laws of this land and against the people, my subjects, on whom he hath heaped insult, I have taken counsel with my advisers, the ministers of state, and it is my royal will and pleasure to pronounce sentence. Wherefore, I declare that my son, the prince, shall be cast forth into the world, penniless, and shall not return until he shall have learned how to Count Five. And be it further known that none may minister unto his wants should he crave assistance by declaring he is my son, the prince."

The prince stood astounded. What did the mysterious sentence mean? None could tell him. The only answer to his inquiries was a shrug of the shoulders, for nobody would speak to him.

In the dead of night, with only the stars gazing down on the strange scene, the prince, clad in the cast-off garments of a common laborer, with his golden curls cut off and not a solitary coin in his pocket, was conducted outside the palace grounds and left alone in the road.

He was too much dazed to weep. He told himself this was some horrible dream from which he would waken in the morning, to find himself in his own beautiful room, lying on his gilded bed under the richly embroidered silken coverlet.

When dawn broke, however, he found himself hungry, tired, and his body painfully stiff, under a hedge. He knew now it was no dream but a reality. He was alone and friendless, with no means of earning his food. He understood then what hardships the poor were compelled to undergo, and he began to realize how he had made them suffer, and how, in turn, he was now to pay a heavy price for his brutal treatment of the people.

All that day he wandered aimlessly, until, foot-sore and exhausted, he sank down at the door of a wayside cottage and begged for food and shelter. These were given to him, and next day he was set to work in the fields. But his hands were not used to labor, and he was sent adrift, his fellow workers jeering at him. With a heavy heart, and his pride humbled, he set forth again to learn the mystery of how to Count Five.

Long days and endless nights, through the heat of the summer, through the snows of winter, the autumnal rains and cold blasts of early spring, he wandered.

A whole year passed away, and he had learned nothing. In truth, he had almost forgotten why he was aimlessly drifting from place to place, farther and farther from his home.

Hunger and thirst were more often than not his daily portion, and the cold earth by night was frequently his couch. Time seemed to drag along without meaning, and oft-times for a week he heard not the sound of a human voice.

He was a beggar, generally accepting gratefully what was given to him, sometimes with harsh words, often with kindly expressions. When he could, he worked, doing anything for small coins, for a rabbi, who had taken compassion on him, had said, "Do any honest work, however repugnant it may at first seem, rather than say haughtily, 'I am the son of a rich father.'"

For a moment he wondered whether the rabbi had guessed his secret, but the learned man said to him he was but repeating a maxim from the Talmud.

Exactly a year from the date of his sentence, as well as he could keep count, the prince found himself in a strange land on the outskirts of a great city. There he fell in with a beggar who hailed him as a brother.

"Come with me," said the beggar. "I know the lore of our fraternity as few do. I know where to obtain the best food and shelter for naught. Here, in this city, a beautiful and noble princess has established a place where all wayfarers may rest and refresh. None are turned away. I will take you thither."

The beggar was as good as his word, and the prince enjoyed the best meal and the most comfortable shelter since he had been an outcast. Overcome with emotion at the thoughts which were conjured up, he retired into a corner and wept. Suddenly he heard a voice of entrancing sweetness say, "Why do you weep?"

He looked up and beheld the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever seen. Instinctively, he rose and bowed low, but made no answer.

"The princess speaks. It is your duty to answer," said another voice, that of an attendant.