would sing to her harp, or
the prince would tell her tales of his own country.

One evening a man in a strange garb, with a face burnt brown by the
sun, arrived at court. He asked to see the bridegroom, and falling on
his face announced that he was a messenger sent by the queen of Egypt,
proclaiming him king in succession to his father, who was dead.

'Her Majesty begs you will set out without delay, and your bride also,
as the affairs of the kingdom are somewhat in disorder,' ended the
messenger.

Then the young man hastened to seek an audience of his father-in-law,
who was delighted to find that his daughter's husband was not merely
the governor of a province, as he had supposed, but the king of a
powerful country. He at once ordered a splendid ship to be made ready,
and in a week's time rode down to the harbour, to bid farewell to the
young couple.

In spite of her grief for the dead king, the queen was overjoyed to
welcome her son home, and commanded the palace to be hung with
splendid stuffs to do honour to the bride. The people expected great
things from their new sovereign, for they had suffered much from the
harsh rule of the old one, and crowds presented themselves every
morning with petitions in their hands, which they hoped to persuade
the king to grant. Truly, he had enough to keep him busy; but he was
very happy for all that, till, one night, the Arab came to him, and
begged permission to return to his own land.

Filled with dismay the young man said: 'Leave me! Do you really wish
to leave me?' Sadly the Arab bowed his head.

'No, my master; never could I wish to leave you! But I have received a
summons, and I dare not disobey it.'

The king was silent, trying to choke down the grief he felt at the
thought of losing his faithful servant.

'Well, I must not try to keep you,' he faltered out at last. 'That
would be a poor return for all that you have done for me! Everything I
have is yours; take what you will, for without you I should long ago
have been dead!'

'And without _you_, _I_ should long ago have been dead,' answered the
Arab. '_I_ am the Golden-headed Fish.'

(Adapted from _Contes Armeniens_. Par Frederic Macler, Paris. Ernest
Leroux, Editeur.)

_DORANI_

Once upon a time there lived in a city of Hindustan a seller of scents
and essences, who had a very beautiful daughter named Dorani. This
maiden had a friend who was a fairy, and the two were high in favour
with Indra, the