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 everyone 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 in a few minutes I was a man again.

'After the third hour of prayer Mohammed and Zinebi both returned,
and you can guess their surprise at finding a young man in the kitchen
instead of a copper pot! I told them my story, which at first they
refused to believe, but in the end I succeeded in persuading them that
I was speaking the truth. For two years more I lived with them, and was
treated like their own son, till the day when they sent me to this city
to seek my fortune. And now, my lords, here are the two letters which
I found in my turban. Perhaps they may be another proof in favour of my
story.'

Whilst Neangir was speaking, the blood from the Jew's wound had
gradually ceased to flow; and at this moment there appeared in the
doorway a lovely Jewess, about twenty-two years old, her hair and her
dress all disordered, as if she had been flying from some great danger.
In one hand she held two crutches of white wood, and was followed by
two men. The first man Neangir knew to be the brother of the Jew he
had struck with his sword, while in the second the young man thought
he recognised the person who was standing by when he was changed into a
pot. Both