routed, and there was none
left to oppose him.

THE SON OF THE SOAP SELLER

PERSIAN FAIRY TALES

The Son of the Soap Seller

Cleverly proving that a princess with a necklace can frustrate the
intentions of a Ghool, and that every king should have near his person
the owner of a crystal cup.

THERE once dwelt a poor but worthy man named Abdullah in Meshed, the
Holy City, the place of pilgrimage, whose beautiful mosque with the
golden dome is the glory of the kingdom of Persia. He barely managed to
get a living by the sale of soap.

All day long, from sunrise to sunset, he tramped the city, crying out:
"O brothers, buy my pure soap. There is none better in the city, as
every one knows. Even the little babes would say so if they could but
speak."

Still, if you looked closely at it, you would never guess it to be
soap; it was black and coarse, and more like wood than anything else.
If any unlucky pilgrim used it on his face or hands, it would make his
skin burn like fire. But this did not often happen, for the people in
Persia do not use much soap on themselves, or their clothes, and sand
does very well for cleaning cooking pots and pans. So it was that there
were many days when poor Abdullah did not sell enough to buy sufficient
bread for himself and his little boy Ahmed.

At such times, the father would creep sadly into his wretched mud-built
hovel, and bury his face in his hands, so that he might not see his son
trying to keep back the tears caused by hunger. The little fellow,
however, now ten years of age, would comfort his father by saying:

"Inshallah"--if God wills--"to-morrow you will sell more soap than you
have done for weeks past." And the father, looking into the bright,
open face of his boy, would take courage, and pray that this might be
so.

But the days went on and things became blacker and blacker, when one
day an adventure befell little Ahmed. He was on his way to school, and
as the sun was very hot, he sought the shelter of the big plane-trees
that lined the banks of the stream flowing down the center of the
principal street.

Women were filling their water jugs, or washing clothes; a string of
camels were drinking; several donkeys were rolling playfully over and
over in the water, and some dyers were wringing out newly-dyed
garments, causing waves of many colors to flow past.

Just as Ahmed had stopped to look, a dervish, leading a fine lion by a
chain, and some runners w