lied Neangir, 'I can remember little of the early years of
my life, save that I dwelt in a castle by the seashore with an old
servant. I must have been about twelve years old when one day as we
were out walking we met a man whose face was like that of this Jew,
coming dancing towards us. Suddenly I felt myself growing faint. I tried
to raise my hands to my head, but they had become stiff and hard. In a
word, I had been changed into a copper pot, and my arms formed the
handle. What happened to my companion I know not, but I was conscious
that some one had picked me up, and was carrying me quickly away.

'After some days, or so it seemed to me, I was placed on the ground near
a thick hedge, and when I heard my captor snoring beside me I resolved
to make my escape. So I pushed my way among the thorns as well as I
could, and walked on steadily for about an hour.

'You cannot imagine, my lord, how awkward it is to walk with three legs,
especially when your knees are as stiff as mine were. At length after
much difficulty I reached a market-garden, and hid myself deep down
among the cabbages, where I passed a quiet night.

'The next morning, at sunrise, I felt some one stooping over me and
examining me closely. "What have you got there, Zinebi?" said the voice
of a man a little way off.

'"The most beautiful pot in the whole world," answered the woman beside
me, "and who would have dreamed of finding it among my cabbages!"

'Mohammed lifted me from the ground and looked at me with admiration.
That pleased me, for every one likes to be admired, even if he is only a
pot! And I was taken into the house and filled with water, and put on
the fire to boil.

'For three years I led a quiet and useful life, being scrubbed bright
every day by Zinebi, then a young and beautiful woman.

'One morning Zinebi set me on the fire, with a fine fillet of beef
inside me to cook, for dinner. Being afraid that some of the steam would
escape through the lid, and that the taste of her stew would be spoilt,
she looked about for something to put over the cover, but could see
nothing handy but her husband's turban. She tied it firmly round the
lid, and then left the room. For the first time during three years I
began to feel the fire burning the soles of my feet, and moved away a
little--doing this with a great deal more ease than I had felt when
making my escape to Mohammed's garden. I was somehow aware, too, that I
was growing taller; in fact i