Rosy-red was a sweet little girl, with beautiful blue eyes, soft pink cheeks and glorious ruddy-gold hair of the tinge that artists love to paint. Her mother died the day she was born, but her grandmother looked after her with such tender care that Rosy-red regarded her as her mother. She was very happy, was Rosy-red. All day long she sang, as she tripped gaily about the house or the woods that surrounded it, and so melodious was her voice that the birds gathered on the trees to listen to her and to encourage her to continue, by daintily chirruping whenever she ceased.
Merrily Rosy-red performed all the little duties her grandmother called upon her to do, and on festivals she was allowed to wear a delightful pair of red leather slippers, her father's gift to her on her first birthday. Now, although neither she nor her father knew it, they were magic slippers which grew larger as her feet grew. Rosy-red was only a child and so did not know that slippers don't usually grow. Her grandmother knew the secret of the slippers, but she did not tell, and her father had become too moody and too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts and affairs to notice anything.
One day—Rosy-red remembered it only too sadly—she returned from the woods to find her grandmother gone and three strange women in the house. She stopped suddenly in the midst of her singing and her cheeks turned pale, for she did not like the appearance of the strangers.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am your new mother," answered the eldest of the three, "and these are my daughters, your two new sisters."
Rosy-red trembled with fear. They were all three so ugly, and she began to cry.
Her new sisters scolded her for that and would have beaten her had not her father appeared. He spoke kindly, telling her he had married again, because he was lonely and that her step-mother and step-sisters would be good to her. But Rosy-red knew different. She hastened away to her own little room and hid her slippers of which she was very proud.
"They have turned my dear granny out of doors; they will take from me my beautiful slippers," she sobbed.
After that, Rosy-red sang no more. She became a somber girl and a drudge. The birds could not understand. They followed her through the woods, but she was silent, as if she had been stricken dumb, and her eyes always seemed eager to be shedding tears. Also, she was too busy to notice her feathered friends.
She had to collect firewood for the home, to draw water from the well and struggle along with the heavy bucket whose weight made her arms and her back ache with pain. Sometimes, too, her white arms were scarred with bruises, for her cruel and selfish step-sisters did not hesitate to beat her. Often they went out to parties, or to dances, and on these occasions she had to act as their maid and help them to dress. Rosy-red did not mind; she was only happy when they were out of the house. Then only did she sing softly to herself, and the birds came to listen.
And thus many unhappy years passed away.
Once, when her father was away from home, her step-sisters went off to a wedding dance. They told her not to forget to draw water from the well, and warned her that if she forgot, as she did the last time, they would beat her without mercy when they returned.
So Rosy-red, tired though she was, went out in the darkness to draw water. She lowered the bucket, but the cord broke and the pail fell to the bottom of the well. She ran back home for a long stick with a hook at the end of it to recover the bucket, and as she put it into the water she sang:
Now it so happened that a sleeping jinn dwelt at the bottom of the well. He could only be awakened by a spell, and although Rosy-red did not know it, the words she uttered, which she had once heard her granny use, were the spell.
The jinn awoke, and he was so delighted with the sweet voice that he promptly decided to help the girl whom he saw peering down into the water. He fastened the bucket to the stick and, taking some jewels from a treasure of which he was the guardian, he put them inside.
"Oh, how beautiful," cried Rosy-red when she saw the glittering gems. "They are ever so much nicer than those my sisters put on to go to the ball."
Then she sat thinking for a while and a bright idea came into her head.
"I will give these jewels to my sisters," she said. "Perhaps they will be kinder to me."
She waited impatiently until the sisters returned from the dance and immediately told them. For a moment they were too dazed to speak when they saw the sparkling precious stones. Then they looked meaningly at one another and asked how she came by them. Rosy told them of the words she had sung.
"Ah, we thought so," said the sisters, to her horror. "The jewels are ours. We hid them in the well for safety. You have stolen them."
In vain Rosy-red protested. Her sisters would not listen. They beat her severely, told her to hurry off to bed, and then, snatching the bucket, they hurried off to the well. They lowered the bucket and sang the words that Rosy-red had sung. At least they thought they sang; but their voices were harsh. The sleeping jinn awoke again, but he did not like the croaking sound the sisters made.
"Ha, ha!" he laughed. "I will teach you to disturb my sleep with hideous noises and shall punish such pranks played on me. Here are some more croakers," and he filled the bucket with slimy toads and frogs.
The sisters were so enraged that they ran back home and dragged poor Rosy-red from her bed.
"You cat, you thief," screamed one.
"You cheat," exclaimed the other. "Off you go. Not another day can you remain in this house."
Rosy-red was too much taken by surprise to say anything. It was an outrage to turn her out of her father's house while he was away on a journey, but the thought came to her that she could hardly be less happy living alone in the woods.
She had only time to snatch her pretty red slippers, and as soon as she was out of sight of the house she put them on. It made her feel less miserable. The sun was now rising and when its rays shone on her she began to sing. With her old friends, the birds, twittering all about her, she felt quite happy.
On and on she walked, much farther into the woods than ever before. When she grew tired there was always a pleasant shady nook where she could rest; when she became hungry, there were fruit trees in abundance; and when she was thirsty she always came to a spring of clear, fresh water. The magic slippers guided her. All day long she wandered, and when toward evening she noticed her slippers were muddy she took them off to clean. And then darkness fell. It began to rain and she grew frightened. She crouched under a tree until she noticed a light some short distance away. She got up and walked toward it.
When quite close, she saw that the light came from a cave dwelling. An old woman came out to meet her. It was her grandmother, but so many years had passed that Rosy-red did not recognize her. Granny, however, at once knew her. "Come in, my child, and take shelter from the rain," she said kindly, and Rosy-red was only too glad to accept the invitation.
The inside of the cave was quite cosy, and Rosy-red, who was almost completely exhausted, quickly fell fast asleep. She awoke with a start.
"My pretty red slippers," she cried. "Where are they?"
She put her hand in the pocket of her tattered dress, but could only find one.
"I must have lost the other," she sobbed. "I must go out and look for it."
"No, no," said granny. "You cannot do that. A storm is raging."
Rosy-red peered out through the door of the cave and drew back in fear as she saw the lightning flash and heard the thunder rolling. She sobbed herself to sleep again, and this time was awakened by voices. She feared it might be her sisters who had discovered her hiding place and had come to drag her forcibly back home again. So she crept into a corner of the cave and listened intently.
A man was speaking.
"Know you to whom this red slipper belongs?" he was asking. "I found it in the woods."
Rosy-red was on the point of rushing out to regain her lost slipper when her granny's voice—very loud on purpose that she should hear—restrained her.
"No, no, I know not," she repeated again and again, and at length the man departed.
Granny came back into the cave and said, "I am sorry, Rosy-red, but for aught I knew, he might be a messenger from your cruel sisters; and, of course, I cannot let anyone take you back to them."
Next day, the man called again, this time with several attendants. Again, Rosy-red concealed herself.
"I am a chieftain's son, and wealthy," said the man. "I must find the wearer of this shoe. Only a graceful and beautiful girl can wear such a dainty slipper."
Rosy-red did not know whether to be more frightened or pleased, when her granny told her the man was very handsome and of noble bearing.
Day after day he came, each time with more retainers, and, finally, he arrived mounted on a richly caparisoned camel with a hundred and one followers, all mounted as he was.
"The girl I seek is here," he said. "Deny it no longer. My servants have scoured the woods and the whole neighborhood. One is prepared to swear he heard a young girl singing yesterday."
Rosy-red saw that concealment was no longer possible. She liked the man's voice, and she stepped out bravely, wearing her one slipper.
The stranger, bowing low before her, held out the other, and Rosy-red took it and put it on. It fitted perfectly.
"Many girls have tried to put on that shoe," said the young man, "but all have failed. And I have sworn to make the wearer my bride. I am a chieftain's son, and thou shalt be a princess."
So Rosy-red left the cave with her granny, and mounting a camel was led through the woods to her new home where she knew naught but happiness and the days of her sufferings were quite forgotten. And always she wore her magic red slippers.
When Abraham was born, his father, Terah, who was one of the chief officers of King Nimrod, gave a banquet to a large number of his friends. He entertained them most sumptuously, and the merriest of the guests was the chief of the king's magicians. He was an old man, exceedingly fond of wine, and he drank deeply. The feast lasted throughout the night, and the gray dawn of early morning appeared in the sky before Terah's friends thought of rising from the table.
Suddenly the old magician jumped to his feet.
"See," he cried, excitedly, pointing through the open door to the sky. "See yon bright star in the east. It flashes across the heavens."
The others looked, but said they could see nothing.
"Fools," shouted the old man, "ye may not see, but I do. I, the wisest of the king's magicians and astrologers, tell you it is an omen. See how the brilliant star darts across the sky! It has swallowed a smaller star, and another, even a third, yet a fourth. It is an omen, I say, a portent that bodes ill. And, moreover," he added, growing still more excited, "it is an omen connected with the birth of the little son of Terah."
"The big fellow here got angry, beat the others and smashed them to bits." (Page 95).ToList
"Talk not to me of nonsense," said the magician, sternly. "I must hasten to inform the king."
Hurriedly he left the house of Terah, followed by the other magicians, some of whom now said they also had seen a star swallow four others. They did not think it wise to contradict their chief, although he had drunk a great deal of wine and could not walk steadily.
King Nimrod was awakened from his sleep, and his magicians appeared before him.
"O King, live for ever," said the chief, by way of salute. "Grave indeed is the news that has led us to disturb thee in thy slumbers. This night a son has been born unto thy officer, Terah, and with the coming of the dawn a warning has appeared to us in the skies. I, the chief of thy magicians, did observe a brilliant star rise in the east and dart across the heavens and swallow four smaller stars."
"We observed it, too," said the other magicians.
"And what means this?" inquired the king.
"It means," said the chief magician, mysteriously, "that this star-child will destroy other children, that his descendants will conquer thine. Take warning. Purchase this child from thy officer, Terah, and slay it so that it may not grow up a danger to thee."
"Thy advice pleases me," said the cruel king.
In vain Terah protested. King Nimrod would not disregard the warning of his magicians, but he consented to give Terah three days in which to deliver up the child. Sad at heart Terah returned home, and on the second day told his wife the terrible news.
"We must not allow our little son, Abraham, to be slain," she said. "If he is to become great he must live. I have a plan. King Nimrod will not be satisfied unless a child is slain. Therefore, take thou the child of a slave to him and tell him it is Abraham. He will not know the difference. And so that the trick shall not be discovered, take our child away and hide it for a time."
Terah thought this an excellent idea, and he carried it out. The sick child of a slave, which was born only a few hours before Abraham, was taken to King Nimrod who killed it with his own hands, and Terah's little boy was secretly carried by his nurse to a cave in a forest. There Abraham was carefully nurtured and brought up.
From time to time Abraham was visited by his father and mother, and not until he was ten years old did they think it safe to bring him from the cave in the forest to their home. Even then they deemed it best to be careful. Their elder son, Haran, was a maker of idols and Abraham became his helper without Haran being told it was his brother.
Abraham, the star-child, was a strange little boy. He did not believe in the idols.
"I worship the sun by day and the moon and the stars by night," he said to Haran.
"There are times when you cannot see the sun by day, nor the moon and stars by night," said Haran, "but you can always have your idol with you."
This troubled little Abraham for a while, but one day he came running to his brother and said, "I have made a discovery. I shall no longer worship the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars. There must be some mighty power behind them that orders them to shine, the sun by day and the moon and stars by night. That great power shall be my God."
Abraham asked all sorts of queer questions of his father. "Who made the sun and the moon and the stars?" he asked.
"I know not," replied Terah.
"I have asked all your idols, your gods, and they answer not," said Abraham.
"They cannot speak," said Terah.
"Then why do you pray to them and worship them?" persisted the boy.
Terah did not answer. Abraham asked his mother, but she could only tell him that the gods who created everything were with them in the house.
"But Haran made those silly things of wood and clay," said Abraham, and at last they refused to answer his awkward questions.
Mostly he stood at the door of the house, gazing at the sky as if trying to read the secrets behind the sun and stars.
"Thou shouldst have been placed with an astrologer," said Haran to him one day. "Thou art a child of the stars."
Terah heard this and was angry with Haran, for he feared that the secret of the child's birth might be betrayed.
"I know not why my father keeps thee here," said Haran afterward to Abraham. "Thou art becoming lazy. I have worked enough this day and will go out to the woods to watch the hunting. Stay thou here. Perchance a purchaser may come. Be heedful and obtain good payment for the idols."
Not long after Haran left, an old man entered the shop and said he wished to buy an idol.
"I dropped my idol on the ground yesterday and it broke," he said. "I must have a stronger one."
"Certainly thou must have a god so strong that naught can break it," answered Abraham. "Tell me, how old art thou?"
"Full sixty years, boy," replied the man.
"And yet thou hast not reached years of wisdom," said Abraham. "See how easy it is to break thy gods," and he took a stick and smashed one of the idols with a single blow.
The old man fled from the shop horrified.
Next, a woman entered.
"I am too poor to have an idol of my own," she said. "Therefore, I have brought a little food as an offering to one of the many gods here."
"Offer it to any idol that pleases thee," said Abraham, with a laugh.
The woman placed it before the smallest idol.
"This idol is small and surly," said the boy. "It does not accept thy offering," and he raised his stick and smashed it.
"Try a bigger idol with thy offering," he said, and the woman did so.
"Thou also hast no manners," said Abraham, addressing the god; "eat, or I shall smash thee to pieces."
The idol, of course, did not eat, and so Abraham broke it, and the woman rushed out into the street in great alarm.
Abraham tried all the idols in turn with the food, and as each was unable to eat, he broke them all except the largest. Before this idol, which was as tall as a man, he paused. Then, laughing loudly, he placed the stick which he had used in the idol's hand.
By this time, a crowd, attracted by the cries of the old man and the woman, had gathered at the door.
"What hast thou done?" they demanded, angrily.
"I? Nothing," answered Abraham. "See, the largest idol holds in its hand a big stick. It seems to me that he has been angry and has killed all the others. Ask him why he did this."
The people stood bewildered until Terah and Haran returned.
"What is the meaning of this?" they asked, pointing to the broken idols.
"Oh! Such fun," replied Abraham. "There has been a fight here. A woman brought a food offering to the gods, and they quarrelled because they all wanted it. So the big fellow here got angry, and, taking up the stick which you see he still holds, he beat the others and smashed them to bits."
"Absurd!" cried Haran. "The idols cannot do these things."
"Ask the big fellow to strike me if I have told lies," returned Abraham.
"Cease your nonsense," commanded his father.
"What funny gods yours are," said Abraham, musingly, standing before the big idol. "Do you think he will hit me if I smack his face?"
Before anybody could stop him, he smacked the idol's face and then knocked off its head with the stick.
Some of the people ran off to the palace, and soon came an order from King Nimrod that the idol-breaker should be brought before him. Abraham, Haran and Terah were seized by the guards and marched off to the palace.
"Which of you broke the idols?" asked the king, angrily.
"I did, because they were rude and would not accept the offering," said Abraham. "How can they be gods if they have no sense?"
"Not altogether a foolish remark," said Nimrod, smiling. "If idols please thee not, then worship fire which has the power to consume."
"Fire itself can be quenched by water," replied Abraham.
"Then worship water," returned Nimrod.
"But water is absorbed by the clouds," said the boy.
"And clouds are blown by the wind," said Nimrod.
"Man can withstand the force of the wind," said Abraham.
"So he will talk all day long, this child of the stars," exclaimed Haran.
"Child of the stars!" said the chief magician. "Now I understand. O king, this must be no other than the child of Terah against whom, at his birth, we warned your majesty. The message of the stars has come true. He has dared to destroy our gods. Soon he will destroy us."
"Is this, in truth, the child of the stars?" asked Nimrod, of Terah, but the latter did not answer.
"It is in truth, your majesty," said Haran. "I have long suspected it."
"Then why didst thou not inform me?" exclaimed the king in a rage. "I will test this star-child with the power of my god, fire. And thou, Haran, for thy neglect, must also suffer. Guards, let them be bound and cast into the furnace to which I pray daily. Terah, thou art their father. I can forgive thee; thou wilt suffer sufficiently in losing both thy sons to my god."
The fire was made so hot that the men who endeavored to cast Abraham and Haran into the flames were caught and burned to death. Twelve men in all perished before Terah's sons were thrown into the furnace. Haran was burned to ashes at once, but to the surprise of the vast crowd that stood at a safe distance, Abraham walked unharmed in the flames, the fetters which bound him having been consumed.
When King Nimrod saw this, he trembled.
"Come forth, boy," he cried to Abraham, "and I will pardon thee."
"Bid your men take me out," he answered.
All who approached the terrific fire, however, were burned to death, and at last when Nimrod said he would bow down before Abraham's God the boy came forth unharmed.
All the people bowed down before the boy who told them to rise, saying, "Worship not me, but the true God who dwells in Heaven beyond the sun and the stars and whose glory is everywhere."
King Nimrod loaded the boy with presents and bade him return home in peace.
There was not in the whole city of Bagdad a greedier man than Abi Fressah, and you may be sure he was not popular. It was not that he was rich and refused to give heed to the needs of the poor. He was, in truth, a merchant in moderately affluent circumstances, and he did not withhold charity from the deserving; but he was a man of enormous appetite and did not scruple to descend to trickery to secure an invitation to a meal.
So skilful, indeed, did he become in wheedling these favors from his friends and from those with whom he traded, that he devoted the major portion of each day to feeding and left himself little time to attend to his business affairs. Moreover, he grew unpleasantly fat. His face was red and bloated with much wine drinking. He was not a nice person to look upon at all, and those who had aforetime been his friends came to the conclusion that the day had arrived when he should be taught a severe lesson.
And so it came to pass that when Abi Fressah was standing in the bazaar at the hour of the mid-day meal and eagerly scanning the crowd to discover some acquaintance whom he could induce to ask him to dinner, he saw Ben Maslia, one of the wealthiest and most generous of men in Bagdad.
"Ah, my excellent friend," Abi cried, warmly greeting Ben Maslia, "'tis almost an eternity since my unworthy eyes were cast upon thy pleasant countenance. Peace be on thee and thine unto the end of days."
"Also to thee," returned Ben Maslia.
"And whence comest thou? And whither goest thou, oh most hospitable friend?" Abi Fressah asked these questions hastily, his beady eyes searching the other's face hungrily for a sign upon which he could seize to invite himself to a meal. "It is the hour of the mid-day meal. Goest thou, perchance, to thy pious home?"
"Thither go I," said Ben Maslia.
"My path lies in the same direction," said Abi Fressah. "It will be pleasant to walk together. Come," and he grasped Ben Maslia by the arm.
"It is kind of thee, friend Abi Fressah," rejoined the other, "but I have built me a new abode on the other side of the city."
Abi Fressah's face fell for a moment, but he was clever enough to take advantage of the news.
"A new dwelling erected by the wealthy Ben Maslia," he said, winningly, "must be a building of magnificence, worth seeing."
"Indeed it is as thou sayest," cried the other enthusiastically, and forthwith he launched into a lavish description of his residence.
Abi Fressah grew impatient when Ben Maslia began to describe each room in detail, his hunger increased when, in glowing words, his friend painted the gorgeous dining-room, and his mouth watered at the information that the cellars were stocked with a thousand bottles of wine.
"Blessings on thee and thy wine-cellar and thy house," murmured Abi Fressah, when he could get in a word. "I have no business of consequence to transact this afternoon. I could not pay thee a better compliment than to spend it examining thy treasures."
"Of a certainty thou couldst not," assented the other, to his great glee.
"Then let us proceed," said Abi Fressah.
So they set out, Ben Maslia still continuing his glowing account of his wonderful house.
"It must be as spacious as a palace," put in Abi Fressah.
"Thou speakest truth," agreed Ben Maslia. "I will illustrate to thee the vast expanse of my new residence."
He stopped in his walk, measured one hundred paces in the street, and intimated that this represented the width of the central courtyard.
Abi Fressah was overwhelmed with surprise, but he was growing momentarily hungrier, and it was with difficulty he could restrain his impatience.
"Yes, yes," he said, "I would fain gaze upon the outer door of thy dwelling."
"Such an outer door," said Ben Maslia, "hast thou never seen. Its width...." and again he began to measure the street to indicate its dimensions.
"And further," he added, calmly, either failing to notice, or deliberately overlooking Abi Fressah's growing distress, "its shape and design are...!" and he dragged the other through several streets until he found a door to which he could point as being not altogether unlike his own.
"But I weary thee," he said, suddenly, as if regretful of the time he had wasted.
"Nay, nay, not at all," Abi Fressah assured him, although he was inwardly fuming at the delay. "Thy descriptions delight me immeasurably. Thou hast not yet unfolded to me the wonders of thy dining-room."
Thereupon Ben Maslia took up the tale of the dining-room and its furniture, and he dragged his companion half a mile out of their path to show him the furniture emporium where he had purchased the tables and the couches. Then he retraced his steps to point out a building from which he had borrowed certain ideas of decoration.
Abi Fressah's fat body was unused to such exertion. He perspired freely, his legs tottered beneath him, and his tongue was parched. He was really very uncomfortable, and the pangs of hunger from which he suffered were not lessened when Ben Maslia stopped outside a restaurant to speak to a friend who was just going in.
The conversation was prolonged, and all the time Abi Fressah's nose was tickled by the smell of the cooking. He endured agonies, especially when the friend invited Ben Maslia to dine with him, and Ben Maslia, after a few moment's hesitation, firmly declined.
"I must apologize to thee for this delay," said Ben Maslia, when at length he left his friend, "but the matter was urgent. I will make up to thee by the magnificence of the feast."
Abi Fressah thanked him cordially for his consideration, but his pain was intense when Ben Maslia insisted on giving him fullest particulars of all the dishes he would enjoy.
"Yes, yes," Abi kept saying, but Ben Maslia stayed his interruptions.
"Thy dwelling is far from the center of the city," Abi Fressah managed to say at last.
"That is a virtue," commented Ben Maslia, and he followed it up with the advice given to him by a renowned physician that a house was healthiest when it stood alone, away from the busy haunts of men. To all this and more, Abi Fressah was compelled to listen. His whole fat body ached with weariness, he was tortured by a raging thirst, and he fancied he felt himself growing thinner—so fearfully hungry was he.
The sun was sinking when at last they reached the house, and Abi Fressah was afraid for a moment that his host would enlarge upon its architecture. To his relief, however, they entered straightway, and Ben Maslia said to him, "Thou must be fatigued after thy walk. Rest awhile."
Abi Fressah was truly grateful, and taking off his shoes he stretched himself on a comfortable couch. He dozed for a while, but was awakened by the noise of clattering dishes and the smell of savory cooking. He almost forgot his unpleasant afternoon in the prospect of the coming feast, but Ben Maslia came not. Abi Fressah soon felt angry. He could not restrain himself from banging a big brass gong to summon a servant. But although he banged several times, no servant answered the call. Abi Fressah nearly shed tears in his despair.
Suddenly Ben Maslia appeared before him.
"I thought I would give thee ample rest," he said suavely. "Come, we must perform our ablutions."
Abi Fressah would have preferred to have dispensed with this ceremony, but he could not offend his host by declining to conform to the custom of the period. Ben Maslia led the way to the bath-chamber, and there they spent quite an hour. Then, thoroughly refreshed, the host said, "Now I will show thee the wonders and beauties of my domain."
Abi Fressah was almost stupified with hunger, but he had to permit himself to be led through each room and to hear again the praises that had already been poured into his ears all the afternoon. Only the smell of the cooking fortified his spirit and enabled him to undergo the ordeal. He seemed to wake up from a stupor when his host opened a door and exclaimed, "This is the feasting-chamber."
A scene of splendor burst upon the eyes of Abi Fressah. He rubbed his hands in glee and was ready to forget and forgive the discomforts of the past few hours. The dining-room presented a magnificent appearance, with its gorgeous hangings, its many lamps, and its marble floor. But these things Abi Fressah scarcely noted. His gaze was promptly directed on the table.
It was spread with the most sumptuous repast that ever he had seen. There were dishes upon dishes of tasty sweetmeats, huge platters of luscious fruits, many bottles of wine, and covered bowls from which arose the most appetizing aroma. Abi Fressah's mouth began to twitch and his eyes glowed. He moved forward to a seat.
"Good friend," said his host, "let me first introduce to your notice my staff of servants."
He clapped his hands, and immediately, in quite startling fashion, a dozen servants stepped from behind the hangings which had hidden them and bowed before their master. With a dozen attendants to wait upon him, Abi Fressah saw that he was going to enjoy a meal worthy of the occasion. He looked upon the slaves with satisfaction.
"Note, my worthy Abi Fressah," said Ben Maslia, "that this is no ordinary retinue of servants. Each one comes from a different part of the known world. Rosh, the big man there, head of them all, is the only native of Bagdad. He has an interesting history. He has been in my service since his birth. His father was likewise in the service of my sainted father, and his grandfather.... But let that suffice. I would not imprison thy appetite longer. Sheni—that is the second servant, the big black Nubian there—bring hither the first dish."
Sheni took up one of the dishes from the table and placed himself by the side of his master.
"Stands he not well?" asked Ben Maslia, in admiring tones. "He is a descendant of kings. In ancient days his ancestors sat on a throne and ruled over a huge territory beyond the deserts of Africa. I obtained him during my journey in that country. And on that occasion I discovered this beautiful rug in a shop in Cairo."
Saying which, Ben Maslia rose from his seat and fingered lovingly one of the hangings of the room. Abi Fressah did not rise. He was trying to keep his temper. The dish which Sheni held so tantalizingly under his very nose made him mad with hunger and desire.
But Ben Maslia took no heed. He began to dilate upon the virtues of another piece of tapestry.
"This," he said, "I bought in the famous bazaar of Damascus. It is hundreds of years old. And in that city, too, I became possessed of my third servant, Shelishi there, a true-born son of the Holy Land and the keeper of my camels. Our meeting was an adventure...."
Abi Fressah was not listening. This was beyond endurance. He felt that soon he would collapse in a faint on the floor. And still Ben Maslia droned on. There was a servant from China and also a cunningly wrought vase from that land; a brown page boy in a red turban from India from which land his host had also brought the lamp standing in the center of the table and some of the flowers which adorned the room.
"You would not guess," he was saying, "that many of these blooms are not natural. They are artificial but mixed so skilfully with the real that even experts would be deluded."
By this time Abi Fressah was beyond the power of speech. Two or three times, he tried to speak but could not. He was really too weak. Never in his life before had he been so hungry, so tortured. It was some time, however, before Ben Maslia noticed his plight.
"Art thou ill?" he exclaimed. "That grieves me. But, fortunately, I have in the house an experienced apothecary who can apply leeches and relieve thee of foul blood."
"No, no," pleaded the unhappy Abi Fressah, finding his tongue at this dismal prospect.
"Perchance a glass of rare cordial will revive thee," said Ben Maslia, taking one of the bottles from the table.
Abi Fressah managed to gasp the word "Yes," and Rosh held a goblet into which Ben Maslia poured a rich, red fluid.
"Drink this," he said kindly, holding the cup to his guest's lip.
"At last," thought Abi Fressah, as he opened his mouth.
The next moment he sprang from his stool with astonishing agility, spluttering and cursing. The liquid was bitter in the extreme, the taste it left in his mouth most horrid.
"Now I know I have been hoodwinked," he screamed in rage, and he dashed toward the outer door.
"Stay, stay—what ails thee?" cried Ben Maslia.
"Stop, stop," echoed the servants, as Abi Fressah commenced to run.
The cry was taken up in the street by those who saw a fat man panting along in the darkness, pursued by a number of servants.
"Stop thief!" was the cry of one man in his excitement. The town guards heard, and without any ado they seized Abi Fressah and hauled him off to the jail. In vain he begged for mercy and struggled for freedom.
"If thou wilt not behave, we shall use force," the guards said, and they beat him with staves.
At the jail, Abi Fressah was flung into a cell, and there, on a bed of straw on the ground, he spent a horrible, sleepless night. He ached in every bone in his body, he was bruised all over, and his hunger was such that he felt he had never eaten in his life. His reflections were sad, as you may well imagine, and they led him to a vow that never again would he seek the hospitality of his friends. He realized at last that he had made himself obnoxious and had been cleverly and deservedly well punished.
Even yet his sufferings were not at an end, for next morning, when he was released and sent for his physician, the latter prescribed a diet of gruel and barley water for a whole week!