He had forgotten that! His mother thrust it on him.
Gathered up into a bunch and tied, not folded, it in shape resembled a
charged distaff of unusual size. With it tucked beneath his arm, the
youth escaped at last into the rosy sunlight.

Up on the well-marked road which runs out to the Mission from the town
he encountered Costantin, the missionary's servant, driving a donkey
burdened with two jars of water up towards the house. Costantin
remarked upon his finery, and asked where he was going. He showed an
amiable inclination to stop and talk. But Iskender hurried on, merely
explaining that he was going to be a great painter in the land of the
English. Costantin stood scratching his head and staring after him.

The road soon left the sandhills and meandered through thick
orange-groves, full of shade and perfume and the hum of bees. Here he
advanced with circumspection, and at a turn of the way stood still to
reconnoitre.

From that point he could see a Christian village, dignified in the
distance by two palm-trees put up like sunshades over its squat mud
hovels. The tiny church stood apart, quite overshadowed by an ancient
ilex. It was there that he had been pelted yesterday; but at present
all looked safe. Only two human beings were in sight--the priest, one
Mitri, eminent in black robe and tower-like headdress, sat in thought
beneath the oak-tree, and a child in a sky-blue kirtle sprawled at play
upon the threshold of one of the houses. The coo of doves and cluck of
hens, the only voices, sounded peaceful in the sun-filled air.
Iskender moved on, trusting hard in Allah to save his Sunday clothes
from base defilement.

The priest Mitri, seated in the shade, was playing an innocent game
with two pebbles, which he threw into the air and caught alternately,
when Iskender, approaching humbly, wished him a happy day. He returned
the greeting mechanically, then, seeing who it was, let fall his
playthings and stared solemnly at the disturber. Iskender became
uncomfortably conscious of his festive raiment, more especially of the
umbrella, which seemed to fascinate Mitri.

For release from the embarrassment of being silently devoured by eyes
as fierce and prominent as a bull's, he paused before the priest and
asked his blessing. At that the staring orbs betrayed amazement; their
owner raised a hand to stroke his long black beard. The child in the
sky-blue shift had left its play to observe the encounter. S