Chapter II: Part 2

“You have always been the most conceited camel on the desert,” and another sang clearly to him:--

“You made the mistake of insulting the flamingos when they tried to help you! Now they’re your enemies for life!”

“But I could see the oasis right before me all the time!” the little camel cried out, by this time very near to tears. “It’s so plain anybody can see it if they simply look--” He swung around to point out to them the far waving palms and the birds hovering over the trees against the horizon ahead, and then he stopped short and stared in amazement, for nowhere in sight was there any sign of anything at all. “But--but--what’s happened--but--there was--but--I don’t understand--” he stammered, and with a loud sweet trill of laughter the scores of bright small birds took wing from his back and his tail and from the crown of his head and the tips of his ears and paused a moment with a rush of wings above him.

“There wasn’t any oasis!” one shrill musical bird voice called down to him, and all the other voices sang in chorus together:--

“You saw a mirage! A mirage! You saw a mirage!”

“You’re lost!” cried the first bird’s clear little voice. “You thought you knew better than anyone else, and now you’re lost!”

They all gave another burst of laughter, and then they called out:--

“A mirage, a mirage! You saw a mirage!”

In another instant, the flock of them had risen straight above him and vanished into nothing in the graying sky.

Now that the youngest camel found himself alone in the falling night, he sank down upon his knees in despair. He laid his quivering chin upon his forelegs and sobs shook his bowed little shoulders. He was alone, he was lost, with nothing to eat or drink and not even his harp to comfort him. Which way Aqsu lay he no longer knew, and in his grief he believed that he would never find his mother or any other living thing again.

“Hope, hope, where are you?” he cried out in desperation. But he knew that magic word was powerless now to bring Mohammed’s son to his side. As complete darkness fell around him, his terror grew and he rose to his feet again and stumbled blindly on. “Oh, why, why did I let the sun fall warm on my tail?” he wept aloud. “It was just what he told me not to do.”

_V_

During that night the youngest camel must have dropped in his tracks and fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, for the next thing he knew the sun was shining on his face again. He jumped to his feet quickly in the early day and, as if his life depended on it, he began running towards the rising sun. But in a moment he stopped short, saying to himself:--

“But it wasn’t in the morning when Mohammed’s son said I should run straight in the direction of the sun’s face. Perhaps that makes a difference. Perhaps I should run with the sun behind me now if I want to find my way to the oasis.”

So he turned around and began running as fast as he could in the opposite direction, thinking to himself that everything would surely be all right now. All he need do was to run away from the sun until the noon hour came and it was exactly in the middle of the sky, and then as it came down the other side he would race straight towards it, and perhaps he wouldn’t be too late to catch up his mother and the caravan if they had taken their time about setting out from Aqsu. He was feeling quite comforted by these thoughts, and at the same time he was trying very hard not to feel too self-satisfied because he had worked out the movements of the sun without any help from anyone older and wiser than himself. He was hungry and he wanted a drink very badly, but somehow he was filled with new hope and courage now that another day had dawned.

He kept up his pace for an hour or more without seeing any sign of life either on earth or in the sky, and there was no doubt that he did not mind the nothingness and the loneliness nearly as much as he had the day before. With every step he took, he felt a little bit braver and a little bit surer that he was going in the right direction at last. So when he saw two black shapes on the desert far ahead, he said to himself:--

“I’m certain they’re nice friendly sort of creatures who will tell me how many miles the oasis lies ahead.”

On he went with eager, flying feet, and soon he saw that the two black forms were those of birds. Two enormous birds were apparently seated on the sand having a conversation together, their backs turned to him and their heads nodding and shaking as they talked. But as he came nearer, he ran less quickly towards them, for he saw their heads were bald as ostrich eggs and reddish in color, and that they were not conversing at all but tearing fiercely with their curved beaks and their great claws at something they held between them on the sand.

“Vultures!” thought the youngest camel, and a little tremor of fear went through him, for his mother had told him stories enough of how these creatures lived. He was about to turn to one side and make a curve to avoid them, but then he remembered all that the bright-feathered, sharp-tongued little birds had said to him the night before. “It’s much wiser to be polite to everyone I meet, because one never knows,” he said to himself, and he stepped a little closer to them. “Please,” he began in a timid voice, and both vultures were so startled by the sound that they each gave a squawk and jumped a full yard into the air.

“Snakes alive!” cried one bird as she came down on the sand again and with the claws of one foot seized upon the thing they had been eating. “You ought to give some warning instead of creeping up on people like that!”

“I thought you must have seen me long ago,” said the youngest camel apologetically.

“Not at all,” said the second vulture. “We came down to finish eating this hare in peace and quiet and we had no idea anyone was spying on us.”

As she said this, she snatched up in her vicious claws the other end of what was left of the hare and started tearing at it with her beak.

“I didn’t mean to spy,” said the little camel. “I just wanted to ask you if I am going in the right direction for the oasis and Aqsu.”

When he said this, both birds stopped fighting over their prey and looked at him with interest.

“Are you lost?” asked the first one in a sharp, rather eager voice.

“Yes, I’m afraid I am,” said the little camel. “But I think by running ahead of the sun until noon and then running towards it all afternoon I’m sure to come to the oasis in the end. At least, Mohammed’s son told me yesterday to keep the sun straight before me--”

“Ah, but yesterday was yesterday,” said the first vulture with a giggle as she gave her sister a sly glance. “Today is today, so of course everything is quite different.”

“I don’t see how the sun can be any different,” said the youngest camel. “The sun always follows exactly the same course, so all I have to do is follow the sun as soon as it is past the noon hour--”

“Where in the world did you learn that the sun always follows the same course?” cried the second vulture. “There’s an idea for you!”

“Why, it never does the same thing twice,” said the other vulture, still giggling behind her wing. “Some days it runs all over the place, getting behind clouds and hiding behind mountains. Yesterday it was going from north to south, just for the fun of it, and today, as you can see for yourself, it’s going from east to west.”

“Don’t imagine you can count on the sun!” said the second sister with great contempt, and she went back to pulling and tugging at the remains of the hare.

“You might just as well become acquainted with us now,” said the first vulture, seizing on one of the best bits for herself. “My name’s Annie and my sister’s name is Mabel, and if you’re really lost you’ll come to know us very well indeed in the end.”

“Yes, I am lost,” said the youngest camel, looking from one to the other of their faces. “I thought perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me which way the oasis lies.”

“I must say he’s quite truthful,” said Annie with a gulp as she swallowed the dead hare’s fuzzy tail.

“I haven’t always been,” said the youngest camel, “but I think I’ve learned my lesson now and I’m trying very hard not to lie any more. But now that you tell me the sun isn’t going the same way today as it did yesterday, I simply don’t know what to do--”

“It would have been better for your sake if you hadn’t told the truth this time,” said Mabel, ignoring his last remark. Then she turned back to the business before them and began slicing the hare’s heart into neat roast-beef-like portions with her beak.

“But why?” asked the youngest camel, rather disgusted at the way the two sisters grabbed and squawked over their meal.

“Well, as long as you’re lost,” said Annie, “then you can’t find the oasis, and if you can’t find the oasis then you’re sure to die in another two or three days--” She paused to pick her teeth reflectively with the yellow claw of one foot. “You’re small but you’re rather well covered with meat,” she said in a moment, and at this the two sisters looked at each other and cackled out loud.

Suddenly, the poor little camel realized what their conversation was all about and he gave a scream of terror. He reared up on his hind legs with fright and spun around, and set off as fast as he could across the desert. He had no idea which way he was going and it didn’t matter much any more whether he was lost or not. He only knew he must get out of sight of the two bald sisters, and out of the sound of their chortling laughter. So he ran at full speed until the midday sun beat down on his head like fire, and then he slowed into a walk. He hoped that walking quietly along would make his heart stop beating so fast and loud with fear, and he tried making up some rhymed poetry so as to steady his nerves. But nothing sounded right to him, neither the sonnet form, nor rondos, nor madrigals, nor pastorals, nor odes. The laments and ballads and elegies were even less successful, so in despair he decided on just trying to write a letter to his mother in verse, but he couldn’t think of a single original or even beautiful line.

“Dear Mother [he began], how in the world am I going to get on without
you?
I miss your hump and your sore hip and everything about you.

“That’s just plain statement of fact. That isn’t poetry,” he interrupted himself severely. “Now see if you can’t think of something really lyrical the way you used to at the oasis at night.”

But the silly, everyday sort of letter went on:--

“I’ve made a fool of myself with every bird that flies
And with Mohammed’s son, and I’ve told so many lies.”

But he couldn’t help adding at the end:--

“One or two things I’ve said are true:
History, Music, Memory,
Are still the invisible three,
And Love, invisible it’s true,
Still has the shape and smell of you.”

He wasn’t at all satisfied with this, and even when he had repeated it over two or three times to himself and once out loud he did not feel the glow of pride which usually suffused his being after he had composed a poem.

“Perhaps it might be better if I tried putting it to music,” he said. But the fact that he did not have his harp with him made the biggest difference, and now when he opened his lips to sing, nothing but a hoarse whisper came from his mouth. By this time, he knew beyond any shadow of doubt that he was neither a poet nor a singer, and he swallowed his pride and said bravely to himself: “Very well, then. Now I have found out the truth about myself. It’s time I did. I cannot write poetry and I cannot sing, but perhaps I can dance.”

He remembered the foolish poem he had made up about dancing for the Shah and the Lamas and the Raj with a tambourine tied to his tail, and now he tried to execute a few dance steps across the burning sand. But he only tottered awkwardly from side to side, and if he hadn’t stopped at once he would certainly have toppled over.

“I am a camel without any gifts of any kind,” he told himself in a stern voice. “Everything I have believed about myself has been blind, empty vanity. I have no talent as a poet, nor as a singer, nor as a dancer, and now that I am much too weak to carry a load and walk in a caravan with other camels, I am no good to anyone on earth and I might as well be dead.”

Indeed this might very easily have been the end of the youngest camel, for there seemed no reason at all why he should not have sunk down there under the blistering heat and quietly breathed his last. And in another day or two Annie and Mabel would have come flapping along and smiled sideways at each other as they wheeled above him, and after circling over him a few times they would have descended and begun their meal. Only this isn’t at all what happened, for now that the little camel admitted that he no longer thought his own voice so beautiful and his own poetry so fine, and no longer longed for a full-length mirror so that he could see how lovely he looked while he danced, he seemed to be able to hear other voices which he had never dreamed existed. The air that passed his ears seemed now to have the power of speech, and as he walked he listened.

“There is an oasis in every camel’s desert of despair,” said one particle of air to him, and another murmured:--

“It cannot be far now, for you have come a long way.”

“Keep a stiff upper hump,” said the soft warm air in his ears. “Be armed with patience, lamblike, quiet as a mouse, cool as a cucumber.”

“I’ll try,” said the youngest camel meekly, although he was feeling very hot.

Even the sand under his feet seemed to be endowed with speech now, for as it ran through his hoofs he heard it whispering:--

“The wind is coming, the wind is coming.”

“The wind is coming,” murmured one grain of sand to another all over the desert, and the others whispered:--

“In a little while we shall have to rise and dance.”

Before the little camel had gone much farther, he saw a white cloud of wind advancing rapidly across the clear blue sky, and in another minute he heard it wailing:--

“Here I am, ow-oooo-ow--oooooo! Here is your master, ow-ooo! Arise, slaves! A-r-i-i-i-i-se!”

Here and there across the desert the sand began to rise in spirals, whirling and turning and swaying its arms in the frantic dance. Wild, ghost-like figures of sand spun up around the youngest camel, reaching taller and taller above him.

“Dance! Dance!” screamed the wind as he lashed them, and in an instant the little camel was almost blinded by the gritty veils which were flung into his eyes. Nothing could he see to the east or the west or the north or the south except the dervish-like white figures which spun around him. The sun seemed to have been blown from the sky, and the gray of twilight closed upon them. As the little camel staggered blindly on through the swirling skirts of flying sand, he heard the voices speaking secretly in his ears.

“Close your eyes,” whispered one sand dervish as the wind thrust her fiercely upon him.

“Close your lips,” said another as the wind blew her savagely against the little camel’s tender nose.

“Do not breathe deeply,” whispered a third, and still another murmured:--

“Do not struggle. You will only wear yourself out.”

The force of the wind had blown every thought from his head, and now he closed his eyes and his lips as the sand dervishes had bade him and he let himself be guided by their gentle hands. How many hours passed like this he never knew. All around him spun the tireless dancers, torn this way and that by the wind’s screaming fury, and when they came near they whispered words of hope and courage to him.

“When you find the pathway between the winds, you will be saved,” one sand dervish murmured in his ear, and another one whispered:--

“Believe in us. We will show you the way.”

All through that afternoon, perhaps, and through the night that followed, the youngest camel staggered blind and spent through the storm. But now there seemed to be no longer any division of time, no night or day, no sun or moon, no heat or cold. But finally, when he thought he could go no farther, the voice of a sand dervish whispered to him:--

“Now we have brought you to the pathway between the winds. Go quietly ahead. Farewell.”

Almost at once the gale’s force grew less and less about him and the screams of the wind grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing to be heard except a last long parting wail. Then a perfect calmness fell upon the earth and air around the little camel, and in another moment he ventured to open his eyes. And there he stood blinking in bewilderment, for he saw he was no longer on the desert, nor was there any sign of sand or a distant horizon to be seen. His feet lay on a carpet of fresh green grasses, and a little rivulet ran chattering through the rocks beside him. All about stood luxuriant fruit trees with their boughs laden, and through their thick foliage he saw the sun was rising. Delicate birds with bright exotic plumage winged from branch to branch above his head, and shy wood animals moved swiftly in the glades.

Now that his eyes grew accustomed to these unexpected wonders, he saw that a few steps before him, just at the edge of the wood, a silk tent was pitched. Its brocaded doors were caught back with brooches of shining stones and a thin thread of incense smoke was drawn languidly upward from its opening onto the quiet air. The youngest camel looked in amazement about him, and then he fell joyfully on his knees at the stream’s brink and lowered his head toward the cool running water. But before he had time to drink, a rather lazy, indolent voice called out to him from inside the tent.

“Not so fast, not so fast, young camel. Listen first to what I have to say. You have passed through the third and last night of your ordeal of loneliness,” it said, “but the third day is just dawning. Twelve hours lie ahead of you before you may safely eat or drink. The day which is just being born is the Day of Temptation. Some camels consider it the most difficult day of all.”

If anyone had said this to the little camel the week before, he would have paid no attention at all, but would have gone right ahead and drunk his fill at the brook. Then he would have jumped up and run to the big trees and started pulling the fruit hungrily down from the heavily laden boughs. But so much had happened to him in the past two days that now he rose obediently without so much as wetting his parched lips, and turned respectfully towards the beautiful silk tent.

“Well, I must say you’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble,” the voice went on, and the youngest camel stood listening to it with lowered head. “If you hadn’t done what I told you, all this would have vanished in the twinkling of an eye and you would be right back in the middle of the sandstorm again and this time the sand dervishes would never have helped you to get out.”

“I thought the storm was over, master,” said the little camel, not daring to lift his eyes towards the tent.

“Oh, it never stops,” the lazy voice went on. “It’s always there for other camels to get lost in the way you did. It’s always blowing just as hard as when you were in it, only you can’t hear it any more because the sand dervishes showed you the pathway between the winds.”

“Why were they so kind as to help me, O master?” asked the little camel respectfully, and the sleepy voice answered:--

“Probably because you admitted in that poem you made up yesterday that you were really very conceited and had made a fool of yourself with everybody you met. The herons and the flamingos gave a very bad report on you, but apparently you got a little more sensible later. If you manage to get through today without being childish, you ought to be having a nice champagne supper somewhere with your mother this evening.”

The youngest camel felt a tremor of joy go through him at these words, and he felt himself strong enough now to resist any temptation that might come along. He almost jumped straight up into the air with delight, but his knees were so weak under him from lack of food and weariness that he decided not to make any unnecessary movements. Instead he called out in an enraptured voice:--

“Oh, I know I can get through today all right! I’m absolutely certain I’ll do everything the way I should!”

“You don’t know anything about it,” said the voice, and it sounded now as if its owner were stifling a yawn. “You mustn’t start out by being so sure of anything. Come in and pay reverence to me and I’ll explain things to you more fully. Come along in, don’t be bashful,” it said as the little camel hesitated and teetered on one foot near the open door. “All you have to do is pay homage to me and then you have nothing to fear.”

The little camel took another uncertain step towards the tent, and then he halted again and said:--

“Please, I’m afraid I don’t know how to pay homage. You see, nobody ever taught me how.”

“Oh, just bow down a few times and strike your forehead once or twice on the floor, and kiss my big toe if you feel like it,” said the sleepy voice. “It doesn’t really matter what you do as long as you feel inferior to me inside. It’s just part of the rigamarole and the sooner you get it over with the better. Some camels are so arrogant they absolutely refuse to do it, and then it’s really such a bore for everybody. They have to go right back to Annie and Mabel and be torn to pieces for dinner.”

When he heard this, the little camel made haste to enter the tent, and there he fell promptly on his knees and struck his forehead three times on the richly carpeted floor. After he had done this, he advanced with lowered head to embrace the unknown person’s toe. The smell of incense was strong and sweet on the air, and when his eyes had become accustomed to the dim light he saw that it was a spotlessly clean gold hoof he kissed. He glanced quickly up and looked shyly and curiously at the owner of it, and lo! it was an enormously fat and incredibly ancient camel with a coat as white as snow.

The great kingly camel was lolling back on a divan covered with silk cushions of every color of the rainbow, and with one hand he lazily fanned himself with a soft peacock-feather fan. A necklace of opals as big as alligator eggs hung around his shoulders, and elaborate earrings of opals and tiny bright diamonds studded his hairy ears. But it was his eyes which held the youngest camel entranced--they were big and brown, and heavy lids hung over them like white velvet curtains. Every time the white velvet curtains seemed about to close completely over his eyes, the old camel would snap them up again, and then slowly, sleepily, they again began falling, until the final moment when he jerked them back. This happened several times before he spoke.

“Stand up,” he said with a yawn. “You don’t have to overdo it. It’s just as bad to be too humble as it is to be too self-satisfied. There’s certainly no need to call me master, although I don’t mind at all your revering and worshiping me.” He leaned up on one elbow, slowly fanning himself, and examined the youngest camel. “You wouldn’t be bad-looking if you learned how to carry yourself better,” he said at last. “You let your head hang down as if you were ashamed of something, and you have a rather silly smile.”

“I’m sorry,” said the little camel, standing contritely before him.

“Oh, it doesn’t really make any difference,” said the white camel dreamily, and he raised his fan to hide his yawn behind the peacock feathers. “Everyone has different ideas about things. Men try to make their children sit up straight so they won’t have humps on their backs and mother camels do all they can to make their children hump themselves for fear their backs will turn out straight. It’s just a matter of preference. But now you mustn’t keep us dawdling here any longer, for it’s getting late and we must set out on our journey. Oh, in case you didn’t recognize me,” he added, “I’m the leader of the caravan of white camels that circles the earth and we must be getting started.”

“But my mother told me the caravan of white camels didn’t exist!” exclaimed the youngest camel in surprise.

“Of course we exist,” said the white leader, and instead of making any move towards rising he sank farther back into his cushions and gave a tremendous yawn. “Everything exists somehow, either in the imagination or really or only at night or simply in the daytime.” His lids sank so low over his eyes now that the little camel thought the great white leader had finally fallen asleep. But just at the last moment he jerked them up again and went on talking. “What was I saying? Oh, yes. Now, you mustn’t hold us up any longer, for we really have to get started.”

“Where are we going?” asked the young camel respectfully when he saw the white leader was making no move to rise.

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” the old camel answered. “We just go round and round and try to make you give in to one temptation after another. It’s not at all amusing for us because we have to go through it so often. You’re the only one who gets any fun out of it because it’s all new to you. Only if you give in to a single temptation, that’s the end. You have to go all the way back to the first night when the camel drivers tied you out in the desert, and once you’re out there bound up again you die of fright.”

The old camel gave such a terrific yawn at this that his servants must have thought they were being called, for at the sound of it two sleek white camels with brocaded bands around their shoulders came in through the door of the tent and kneeled before their leader.

“Very well,” he said, closing his fan. “Let’s get going.”

Immediately the two servants rose and slipped their bands under the two ends of the old camel’s divan and lifted him, cushions and all, and bore him out of the tent into the light of the softly dawning day.

“I hate getting up so early,” said the old white camel as he adjusted the cushions behind his head with one lifted arm. The youngest camel trotted along beside him and respectfully nodded his head. “Why don’t you speak frankly to me?” the old camel asked him dreamily. “You were thinking I wasn’t at all up, weren’t you? You felt like saying that I was really more down, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” admitted the little camel. “I was thinking that.”

As soon as he had said this, he saw that a beautiful pure-white camel had suddenly appeared behind them and was following close behind the litter on which the drowsy leader stretched at his ease. His hoofs, too, were of finest gold and he wore a halter of spun gold. When the old camel saw the youngest camel staring with admiration at the new arrival, he said:--

“That’s Fourteen Carat. He’s the first always to join the caravan and that means you’ve passed safely through one temptation.” They were moving out from under the green trees now onto the desert sands. “Of course, you were tempted to lie when I asked you what you were thinking.”

“Just for politeness’ sake,” said the youngest camel, contritely.

“Well, most camels do lie when I ask them that, so as not to hurt my feelings,” the old white leader said. “And then it’s the end of them. They simply vanish into thin air, like a puff of smoke. Every time you resist a temptation,” he went on, trying hard not to yawn, “you’ll notice that another camel joins our caravan.”

_VI_

So, hour after hour as they traveled across the desert, the ordeal of temptation went on.

After the temptation to tell a lie for politeness’ sake came the temptation to rest by reclining on the beautiful litter which camels brought and set down before him.

“You might as well take it easy the way I’m doing,” said the old white camel. “My servants are quite used to carrying people, and if you rest now you won’t be nearly so tired at the end of the day. We have a long, long journey before us and--”

“Oh, no, thank you!” said the youngest camel. “I’m quite used to walking by this time.”

And no sooner were the words out of his mouth than he saw a second white camel spring up behind Fourteen Carat and join the caravan. Then came the temptation to crunch the bones which were served on platters within an inch of his nose; and then the temptation to drink from the copper basins which they carried to him filled with sparkling water and lemonade, but all this he resisted. Then the white leader reached indolently up from his litter as they jogged along, and drew down the weather and showed the little camel that it was actually a fan with two sides to it. One side was good weather and the other was bad, and he strongly advised the little camel to accept it as a gift.

“No,” said the little camel. “Thank you very much, but I think I’d better not.”

“You’re very silly if you don’t,” said the old white leader, opening the fan to show him how nice it was. “Think how useful it would be to your mother. You could take it to her as a present this evening, and from then on she could always have exactly the kind of weather she wanted.”

The little camel considered seriously for a moment, and the desire to take it grew stronger and stronger as the white leader went on talking to him in a slow, dreamy voice.

“Your mother would never be too cold or too hot ever again,” he was saying to him. “She wouldn’t have to get drenched by storms any more or covered with snow on the steppes during the bad season. I can’t imagine why you hesitate like this.”

But at last the little camel made a great effort and he set his fuzzy chin firmly and replied:--

“No, thank you, I don’t think I will after all. But thank you just the same.”

And as soon as he had said this, another snow-white camel sprang up in the caravan.

Next came the temptation to flee before a great wall of fire which rose suddenly before them, but this too he resisted, and as he passed through it with his eyes tightly closed he did not even feel its heat; and then the temptation to cry out with fright and swoon at the sight of three dead llamas stretched out on the lonely sands; and then the temptation to sob aloud when the old camel spoke for a long time to him about his mother, and how hard she had worked all her life, and how tired she was of carrying the burdens of men. But all these he resisted, and each time he did so he saw to his joy that another beautiful white camel joined the growing caravan.

Then came the temptation of the sun, which the white leader plucked lazily out of the sky and smashed in pieces like a ripe melon on a salver which camel servants held before him.

“You see it’s a pineapple with its skin taken off,” the old camel remarked dreamily, as if it were of no importance at all. “It has a wonderful flavor--not like real fruit, of course, because it comes from heaven.”

“It looks awfully good,” said the youngest camel, and he felt his mouth watering.

“Well, there’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t have a piece. I’m going to,” said the old white camel, and he indolently chose the biggest, juiciest bit and put it in his mouth. The little camel stood watching him enviously as he chewed, and licked his own parched lips thirstily.

“I don’t think I’d better,” he said. “My mother told me it wasn’t true about the sun being a pineapple, so perhaps there’s something queer about it.”

“Oh, mothers have so much on their minds that they can’t remember any more what things are real and what aren’t,” said the old camel while the juices dribbled down his chin. “If you just take a piece you’ll see it’s true enough. It’s very refreshing and much better than anything you’ve ever tasted before. It’s rather like ice cream, only a great deal nicer.”

He selected another ripe, golden piece and conveyed it lazily to his lips, and the little camel turned his head away.

“I don’t think my mother would want me to,” he said, and immediately another white camel joined the procession which was beginning to reach almost out of sight across the sands.

Then came the temptation to run like a coward from a flock of vultures which swarmed about him, the blood still bright on their beaks; and then the temptation to gather up some of the fine false teeth which appeared like shells by the dunes, and put them in his pocket for his mother; and then the temptation to take the way through the grassy, fertile valley under the shade of trees, as the old leader advised him to do, instead of stumbling across the barren badlands. All these and many more temptations he resisted, and now the caravan of white, golden-hoofed camels stretched far beyond the horizon.

As they went slowly on, he caught sight of a group of young camels like himself who were romping and playing together on the edge of an oasis not far away. He could hear their happy shouts of laughter, and his sad, weary heart was suddenly made glad.

“Oh, look!” he cried out, and the old white camel seemed to start from sleep at the sound of his voice.

“Eh, what?” he mumbled, leaning up on his cushions and rapidly blinking his eyes. “What did you say?”

“Look at those other children over there!” the youngest camel cried out in excitement. “Do you see them? They seem to be having such a good time!”

“Oh, well, run along and join them for a bit,” said the old white camel, lolling back on his cushions and stifling a yawn. “We can’t stop long, but we’ll excuse you for a few minutes while you get acquainted.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried the little camel, and with a skip and a jump he was off towards the green oasis where the other young camels were playing leapfrog in the shade. He felt like a brand-new, happy, well-fed little camel just from seeing such happiness and such carefree antics after all the experiences he had been through.

So as fast as his legs would go he trotted towards them over the sand, thinking of nothing but how wonderful it would be to play with children like himself again. But suddenly the wind began to rise, and its wailing filled his ears. And now he saw a white cloud coming swiftly across the sky. In another instant, the sand dervishes sprang up in spirals before him, and whirled and spun wildly in his path.

“Go back, go back!” whispered one as the wind flung her against him.

“Turn around, turn around before it’s too late!” murmured another, and the little camel stopped short in surprise.

“Go back to the caravan!” another breathed in a hushed voice in his ear as she threw her sandy arms around his neck. “This is one of the temptations! Run back to the white leader as quickly as you can!”

The youngest camel’s knees went weak beneath him as he realized the terrible thing he had almost done, and now he turned and began tottering back to the caravan. No sooner had he taken the first step than the wind’s voice died away and the sand dervishes sank down motionless about him on the desert. In another moment he was back beside the litter on which the old white camel lay.

“Well, you changed your mind in time,” said the leader with a yawn.

“Yes, I did,” said the little camel in a trembling voice, and although he could not see it, another snow-white camel took its place at the end of the caravan miles and miles away.

“Time’s getting on,” said the old white leader as the litter began to move forward again. “Nearly all our companions are with us now. After another few temptations, the circle around the earth will be complete and then you will join your mother. But, of course, the hardest things have been saved up till the end.”

Next came the temptations of salt and tobacco, and the little camel looked at them with longing eyes. For a moment he could not make up his mind what to do, because his mother had always told him since his earliest days that salt and tobacco were so rare and so tasty that never, under any conditions, must he dream of refusing them. She said they were part of the daily fare of rajahs and pashas and kings, and if a poor camel ever had the luck to get near them, he should snatch them up as quickly as he could.

“This is just a little pick-me-up to give you the strength to keep on going until evening,” said the white leader casually, and he held the nice assortment out under the youngest camel’s sensitively quivering nose. “They’re something like Turkish delight, only ever so much better. Anyway, they’re not a real meal in any sense of the word, and it can’t possibly do any harm if you try a little. Just lick a bit of the salt to see.”

But the little camel set his chin firmly and shook his head.

“Thank you very much, but I think I’d rather not,” he said, and instantly another white camel with golden hoofs joined the end of the caravan almost twenty thousand miles away.

Temptation after temptation followed this, and the little camel bravely resisted them all. There was the temptation to pick up his harp when he saw it lying before him on the sand, and the temptation to send a message to his mother by a bird of paradise who flew down close to him and said he knew just where she was and that he could take it to her without any trouble. And then, just as the sun was sinking beyond the desert’s horizon and the little camel believed he had really come to the end of his strength at last, he saw something so marvelous just ahead that he thought he must be dreaming. Yes, it was. No, it couldn’t possibly be. But still it _was_. Yes, surely, it was. The more he looked the more convinced he became, and suddenly he jumped straight up into the air with joy.

“My mother! I can see my mother over there!” he cried out, and the old white camel lifted himself lazily on one elbow on his cushions to see.

“Well, I must say it rather looks like her,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I wonder what she’s doing wandering about like that alone?” He sank back on his litter again and picked up his peacock-feather fan. “Perhaps she’s strayed from her caravan and is wandering around in despair.”

“Perhaps she’s looking for me!” cried the little camel in great excitement, but the white leader only yawned again. She was jogging along just ahead of them with her moth-eaten tail hanging down behind, and the youngest camel cried out: “It must be my mother! I know it’s my mother!”

“No one ever said it wasn’t,” said the old camel, and this time it really sounded as if he were falling asleep. “But you can’t possibly be sure at this distance whether it’s your mother or just a striking likeness--”

“But I couldn’t mistake my own mother, could I?” asked the youngest camel, almost tearfully. “I know the way her elbows look from the back, and the way her hump humps--”

“Well, there’s only one way of finding out for certain,” said the white leader, with his heavy head nodding drowsily. “You’d better skip along and catch her up.”

“Oh, would you excuse me for a minute while I do?” asked the little camel, so excited that he could scarcely wait.

“Run along,” said the old white camel. “Anything’s better than having you hemming and hawing like this, but please don’t loiter on the way.”

The old leader gave a terrific yawn at this and stretched himself out as if for a long sweet sleep, and without waiting another minute the youngest camel started off in a gallop across the hot stretches of sand. Faster and faster he went, stumbling over his own feet, gasping and choking for breath, and still he seemed to come no nearer to her.

“Mother!” he cried out. “Mother! Wait, I’m coming.”

At the sound of his voice, she turned her head over her shoulder and looked back at him and smiled.

But just as it seemed he must reach her side at last, a sudden burst of bright-feathered little birds descended between them and set about his eyes and ears like a swarm of bees. They were all chattering wildly, and try as he would he could no longer see to pass them.

“Oh, let me go! Please let me go,” he pleaded, but his words were drowned out by the whistling and scolding of the scores and scores of birds.

Now that he had stopped, they settled at once on his head and on his hump, while others flew furiously before his eyes. If he turned in desperation to the right or to the left, they pursued him, chattering, while still others swung like tiny sharp-clawed monkeys on his tail. He spun around, but they were everywhere, increasing in numbers and in fury with every instant that passed. Finally one single brilliant bird poised herself before him on the air and spoke these words:--

“Listen to us once again. You have lost a great deal of your conceit since we last met, and you have almost entirely ceased to lie. Moreover, you have learned to be polite to everyone you meet.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” trilled all the birds in chorus.

“You are much braver now, as well,” the single bird’s voice went on, “and much humbler than you ever were before.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried all the shrill little voices again.

“So now, go back,” warbled the bird as she dipped and winged before him on the air. “Go back, go back before the white leader wakes up and sees.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried all the little birds at once, and suddenly the youngest camel’s knees began to shake under him as he asked himself if it was true that this was just one more temptation which had been put to him.

“But--but--but I’m sure--I’m sure--I’m sure I saw my mother,” he protested, and as he said this all the birds rose up from his back and from his head and from his tail with a great rush of tiny wings.

“Look, four-footed child!” sang the single bird’s voice to him. “Look ahead and look well at her. She’s nothing. She’s just a reflection on the mists of evening. Can’t you see she’s a mirage like the oasis you followed?”

“Yes, a mirage, a mirage, a mirage!” trilled the hundreds of birds around him.

The youngest camel looked very hard at the figure of his mother jogging along ahead, and now it seemed to him indeed that there was something rather hazy and misty about her such as he had never noticed before. He turned in his tracks, with just enough breath left to call out his thanks to the birds, and then he made his way back to the caravan as quickly as he could. His knees were still quaking under him when he reached the litter’s side, and from there he saw the flock of tiny bright birds disappear like a sunset cloud into the sky.

“So here you are after all!” exclaimed the old white camel as he woke up with a start. “So you came around to my way of thinking in the end?”

“Yes, I did,” said the little camel, so tired by this time that he could hardly stand. And as soon as these words had passed his lips, the last pure-white camel with golden hoofs joined the caravan and the sun set with a jerk and a thousand torches suddenly sprang alight the whole length of the magic caravan. He could see the endless line of camels girdling the earth with the torches carried flaming on their heads and their gold hoofs shining wondrously across the sand.

“It’s rather effective, isn’t it?” said the old white leader, looking rather pleased at the whole display. There were four tall torches lit about him now, two at his head and two at his feet, and the diamonds in his ornaments glittered in their light. “This is the part I like the best of the whole business because it’s so near the end,” he said.

The old white camel put his peacock-feather fan aside and fumbled in his cushions for a moment, and then he drew forth the most beautiful necklace the youngest camel had ever seen. All the beads of it were of different colors and they were strung together on a solid-silver string. There was the bright red one, and the clear green one, and the moonstone, and the diamond, and looking closer he could make out the tiny lettering which was carved in the center of each one. The little camel could scarcely believe his eyes, and he stepped closer to the litter and peered into the brilliance of the torches’ and jewels’ light. And now he saw that the jade bead had written inside it: “I am the green valley you long for. You may live in me forever.” And the topaz had written within it: “I am a silk tent to protect you from sandstorms and from winter and from the midday sun.” And the ruby came next, and then the ivory bead, and the amethyst, and the sapphire, and all the others, exactly like the story he had told his mother.

“These are magic beads,” the old camel said, holding them up to the light. “They’re the most valuable possession anyone can possibly have, because they’re practically impossible. You see, if they belong to you, then you can always have everything you want.”

“Oh, yes, I know, I know!” cried the little camel, clapping his hands together.

“How could you know about them?” asked the white leader, just managing to swallow his yawn. “I’m the only person in the world who knows about them.”

“Have you ever tried them? Do they work?” asked the youngest camel eagerly, and the old white camel answered:--

“Of course they do.”

“Well, then, excuse me,” said the little camel, “but why don’t you live in a green valley forever the way the jade bead says you can do?”

“Because I prefer to travel on a litter,” said the white leader. “It’s much more restful and I see more of the world this way, too. There’s nothing I dread so much as being bored, and I know I’d be awfully bored lying in a valley without any change of scenery.”

“Yes, of course,” said the youngest camel, doubtfully, and after a moment he said: “If you’ll excuse me again, I hope you won’t think I’m rude, but I should like to know why you don’t press the sapphire against your forehead for an instant and have all your years drop from you?”

“You mean turn myself young again?” asked the big white camel in amazement. “Do you really imagine I’d like to start way back at the beginning again and do all the silly things I did over, and not have people in every country of the world paying me homage, and not be the leader of the caravan of white camels any more?” He sank back in his pillows again and gave a weary sigh. “I never heard anything quite so silly in all my life,” he murmured, lifting one hand to hide his gaping mouth. “I can’t imagine anything more stupid.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” said the youngest camel, and he stood looking with longing eyes at the necklace he had never dreamed could really be. “But then I should think if you have no more use for the necklace you wouldn’t mind giving it away, or at least lending it to people sometimes?”

“Naturally, as long as I have everything I want, I haven’t the slightest use for it,” said the old white camel. “But so many people wanting it makes it very valuable indeed. That’s why it’s kept till the very end like this. Now that you’ve resisted all the temptations, you’re allowed to have a choice.”

He held the necklace up towards the flaming torchlight again, and the little camel clasped his hands together.

“Do you mean to say--do you mean I can choose--” he stammered.

“Now don’t get excited,” said the old leader, with a yawn. “This is the final test, remember. You are allowed to choose between this string of magic beads and--” he made a gesture towards a great bulging sack which servants had just placed on the sand beside his litter--“and this bag,” he said. “I do hope you’re not going to make a mistake at the last minute,” he added dreamily.

“What’s in the bag?” asked the little camel in a cautious voice, and the old leader answered:--

“Ashes. Nothing but ashes.”

“But I can’t see there’s any choice at all!” the little camel cried out. “Of course, I’ll take the--”

“Now, don’t be in too much of a hurry to make up your mind,” said the old white camel. “Remember greed never got anybody anywhere at all. Don’t forget that things are never what they seem, and appearances are frequently deceiving. Keep in mind that there are always a lot of wolves in sheep’s clothing about, even right here on the desert. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll consider long and carefully before you--” The youngest camel stood reflecting deeply while the old white leader went on: “I’m sure your dear mother must have told you all about fair faces hiding false hearts, and I’m absolutely certain you don’t want to act like a greedy little pig just when everything seems to be turning out so nicely for you.”

“No,” said the little camel gravely, “but I want the necklace. I don’t want the sack of ashes. I want the necklace more than anything else in the world.”