s his love for me.
He is my soul; how then should I defraud him? I shall buy for him as
for myself; he shall admire my honesty--it is the virtue most esteemed
among the Franks--and be assured that in the end he will reward it."

His mother sighed profoundly, and spread out her hands.

"Thou art young, O my son, nor hast thou my experience. It is true
that the Franks hate guile or any cleverness; but I never heard of one
of them rewarding honesty. For them it is a thing of course,
unnoticed. I warrant thou wilt get no credit for it. Moreover, Allah
knows thou needest money; for, if the missionary's wrath goes on
increasing, I cannot keep thee here. I must either turn thee out or
lose a good appointment which enables me to lay by something every year
for thy future fortune. They grow to hate thee so that soon they will
refuse to send their dirty garments to be washed where thou dost dwell.
. . . Wouldst leave me now already, when I have not seen thee for
three days? May thy house be destroyed! Stop, in the name of Allah;
stop, I say! Was ever mother cursed with such a son?"

But by then Iskender had passed through the cactus hedge, and was
running down into the sandy hollow. The clear, cool air at once
restored his exultation, and his mother's words became a buzz of flies
which he had left behind. The sky was dreamy blue; the sandhills rose
against it shapely like the backs and flanks of couchant lions. The
red roof of the Mission on its ridge seemed placed there by some
childish whim--a thing incongruous. As Iskender fixed his gaze on it,
he saw a figure coming thence with speed--a figure in dark Frankish
clothes beneath the red tarbush, which he recognised as that of Asad
son of Costantin. A minute later he was called by name, and saw the
same shape running fast towards him.

"O my soul!" cried Asad, panting, as he drew near. "What are these
tidings that we hear of thee? Why wilt thou show thyself to
disadvantage?" Pausing to gather breath, he caught Iskender's hand and
pressed it to his heart. "What is this talk of thy friendship with the
priest Mitri? Wouldst thou for ever forfeit the goodwill of those
above?" He jerked his head towards the Mission, hidden from where they
stood by the brow of the sandhill. "Only think! To whom in all the
land can we look for support and encouragement unless to these people
who have brought us up? The Orthodox have neither wealth nor
influence. Wert thou t