he loved so dearly, died from grief at the loss of her
son. The sheik then bought a ship, fitted it out, and induced the Frank
physician who lives down there by the fountain, to sail with him to the
country of the Franks, to search for young Kairam. They set sail, and
had a long passage before reaching the land of those Giaours, those
Infidels, who had been in Alessandria. But there every thing was in a
horrible tumult. They had just beheaded their sultan; and the pashas
and the rich and the poor were now engaged in taking each other's heads
off, and there was no order or law in the land. Their search for little
Kairam was a vain one, and the Frank physician finally advised the
sheik to embark for home, as their own heads might be endangered by a
longer stay. So they came back again; and since their arrival the sheik
has lived just as he does to-day, mourning for his son. And he is in
the right. Must he not think, whenever he eats and drinks: 'Perhaps at
this moment my poor Kairam hungers and thirsts?' And when he has
arranged himself in costly shawls, and holiday suits, as required by
his office and rank, must he not think: 'He has probably nothing now
with which to cover his nakedness?' And when he is surrounded by
singers, dancers, readers, who are all his slaves, does he not think:
'Now my son may be dancing and making music for his master in the
Frank's country, just as he is ordered?' But what pains him most is the
fear lest little Kairam, being so far from the land of his fathers, and
surrounded by Infidels who jest at his religion, may become separated
from the faith of his fathers, so that he will not at the last be able
to embrace him in the gardens of paradise. This is what makes him so
mild with his slaves, and prompts his large gifts to the poor; for he
believes that Allah will recompense him by moving the heart of his
son's master to treat Kairam with kindness. Also, on each anniversary
of his son's abduction, he sets twelve slaves free."

"I have heard of that," said the writer. "One hears curious stories
floating about; but no mention was made to me of the son. But, on the
other hand, it is said that the sheik is a singular man, and remarkably
fond of stories, and that every year he institutes a story-telling
match between his slaves, and the one who tells the best story is
rewarded with his freedom."

"Don't put any faith in these reports," said the old man. "It is just
as I have told you; it is, howe