o count his worldly possessions.

Carefully and attentively he counted and then recounted his money, and
found that if invested in the ways of Allah it would bring a return of
no less than one thousand piasters.

"Think of it," said the Hodja to himself, "one thousand piasters! One
thousand piasters! Mashallah! a fortune."

So, having dismissed his school, he sallied forth, his bag of money in
his hand, and began distributing its contents to the needy that he met
in the highways. Ere many hours had passed the whole of his savings
was gone. The Hodja was very happy; for now he was the creditor in
Allah's books for one thousand piasters.

He returned to his house and ate his evening meal of bread and olives,
and was content.

The next day came. The thousand piasters had not yet arrived. He ate
his bread, he imagined he had olives, and was content.

The third day came. The old Hodja had no bread and he had no olives.
He suffered the pangs of hunger. So when the end of the day had come,
and his pupils had departed to their homes, the Hodja, with a full
heart and an empty stomach, walked out of the town, and soon got
beyond the city walls.

There, where no one could hear him, he lamented his sad fate, and the
great calamity that had befallen him in his old age.

What sin had he committed? What great wrong had his ancestors done,
that the wrath of the Almighty had thus fallen on him, when his
earthly course was well-nigh run?

"Ya! Allah! Allah!" he cried, and beat his breast.

As if in answer to his cry, the howl of the dreaded Fakir Dervish came
over across the plain. In those days the Fakir Dervish was a terror in
the land. He knocked at the door, and it was opened. He asked, and
received food. If refused, life often paid the penalty.

The Hodja's lamentations were now greater than ever; for should the
Dervish ask him for food and the Hodja have nothing to give, he would
certainly be killed.

"Allah! Allah! Allah! Guide me now. Protect one of your faithful
followers," cried the frightened Hodja, and he looked around to see if
there was any one to rescue him from his perilous position. But not a
soul was to be seen, and the walls of the city were five miles
distant. Just then the howl of the Dervish again reached his ear, and
in terror he flew, he knew not whither. As luck would have it he came
upon a tree, up which, although stiff from age and weak from want, the
Hodja, with wonderful agility, scrambled and,