"Thus will I battle my life long! Thus will I ever vanquish difficulties through life! And see, the wind is favorable, and I shall get over!"

What he had exultingly shouted to the waves, took place; he got safely over, found the nets in good condition, drew them ashore, and waited on the rock until the storm had somewhat subsided. Really it seemed that Sitta Khadra was right: his agathodaemon watched over him, for, sooner than usual, the tempest calmed down, and the sun broke forth from behind the clouds. It was now a comparatively easy matter for Mohammed to get back to the opposite shore where Omar was awaiting him with several of his comrades. The fisherman's face was angry and lowering. It annoyed him that he had not waited for the storm to go down, instead of making the bargain with Mohammed, for he must now keep his word and pay the boy what he had earned. This day his rich catch of fish gave Omar no pleasure. His face grew darker and darker, while the men were opening the nets and counting the fish. It was well that the shrewd boy had caused Omar to repeat his promise before a witness, and before so highly esteemed a wit ness, for the fisherman would have otherwise refused, in all probability, to share the harvest of his nets with Mohammed.

He was now compelled to yield to the decision of the fishermen, who declared that the half of the fish caught were worth at least four ducats. The boy's eyes sparkled with delight as Omar reluctantly and hesitatingly drew the money from his long leather purse and handed it to him.

"It will bring you no blessing!" growled the fisherman. "You are a greedy, headstrong boy; you deprive the father of a family of half his hard earnings. The ghins will pay you back for what you have swindled me out of."

"I have swindled you out of nothing. I risked my life for four ducats, have earned them honestly, and it does not become you to abuse me for it before these people.--Speak yourselves, you men, am I right?"

"Certainly you are right," they cried with one voice.

"No; no one can abuse you for receiving your well-earned wages,"

said Mr. Lion, beckoning to the boy to follow him.

"You must be exhausted--come with me to my home. You shall dine with me and drink a glass of wine. Your clothes are thoroughly drenched; you shall dry them at the fire."

Mohammed laughed. "Wet I am, to be sure, but the fire that burns in my veins will soon dry the stuff. I will, however, gladly eat a little and drink a glass of wine with you. It was a hard fight with the sea-monsters, they seemed to roar in my ears, 'We will have you, we will pull you down!' And yet it sounded sweetly! There is no finer music than when, the sea-monsters come up from the deep and sing their wild songs."

"You are a strange being," said Mr. Lion, regarding him lovingly. "I rejoice in you, and, if it were not that people would say of me that I wished to convert a Mussulman to my religion, I would gladly adopt you as my son. Tell me, if I should leave this place, would you go with me to the land of the Franks, accept my religion, and become the heir of my fortune?"

"And you ask this? Say that it was a jest! For you surely could not desire that the son of his father should become a renegade! No, Mr.

Lion, a Mussulman who could allow himself to be converted into a Christian dog--pardon me for having uttered this word, it was not intended for you, but--"

"But only for the Christian dog!" said Mr. Lion, smiling. "Let us leave it as it is. You have offended me, and I you. Let us be friends again, and empty a glass with each other."

Mohammed accompanied him to his house and ate with him and drank of the fiery Cyprian wine. After having refreshed and strengthened himself, he turned to Mr. Lion with a merry countenance:

"Now to a little business matter that I have to transact with you; for, if I had not met you below, I should have come up here after you. Look at my four magnificent ducats; I should like to invest them with you."

"You are a shrewd lad, and are disposed to improve your good fortune. That is right, and without so doing, one makes no progress in the world."

"You shall invest them with me, and they shall bear you good interest."

"Not in that way," cried Mohammed. "I have no desire to lay a grain of sand on a mountain, with the expectation that it will bear fruit, whereas it is only lost among the others. No, I wish to buy goods.

You have always been kind and friendly to me, and from me you will certainly not demand as much as from the rich people of the town, or the governor."

"You are right, Mohammed. You shall have the goods at the price they cost me. What will you have?"

"A magnificent silk dress, and a long white veil, such as the ladies of rank wear."

"See, see!" exclaimed the merchant, regarding the boy, whose eyes fairly sparkled in amazement. "You were right, Mohammed, you are no longer a boy. You are in love, and it is assuredly a bride to whom Mohammed wishes to present this love-offering?"

"No, Mr. Lion, no bride, but a love-offering the articles certainly are."

"Only an amorous intrigue, then?" asked the merchant, shrugging his shoulders. "You are beginning early with such things, Mohammed. Yet I am glad you are not about to affiance yourself, as is customary here at your age, with a girl ten years old, whose eyes please you, or who has a good dower; ten years later, after she has been long- veiled, and you no longer know how she looks, you marry her and take a wife to your home, whom to be sure you have often seen and often spoken to, but of whose present looks you know nothing."

"If we do not like her, we send her back to her mother. There is nothing that binds us to keep the woman we do not like, and our prophet has arranged this very wisely--while you Christians must keep the woman, though you sometimes find yourselves very badly deceived. Praise to Allah, and thanks to the prophet!"

"Then it is an amorous intrigue? Well, I will not demand the reason, for the young gentleman certainly knows the first law of love-- discretion," observed the merchant, with a smile.

"I have no use for that law," said Mohammed, proudly. "You shall know. This love-offering is for my mother. She is the only woman I love, and she will also be the only one I shall ever love. Give me a beautiful dress, richly embroidered, and a veil adorned with golden fringe. She shall go no more to the mosque so poorly dressed. She shall be magnificently arrayed, that she may be envied by all other women. Give me something very handsome."

"You shall have it, my boy. Excuse me for calling you so again, but this time it is done to show you my love for your childlike heart.

Come with me to the hall. You shall select the handsomest dress, regardless of the cost."

He led him to the hall in which he kept the magnificent goods from which the ladies in the harems of the Turks of rank were accustomed to select their festal dresses, and spread the beautiful goods out before Mohammed. The boy's eyes sparkled with pleasure as he beheld this costly array. He selected a magnificent piece of purple satin embroidered with silver, and an Indian veil of the finest make, adorned with fringe of real gold. It was a suit that would have delighted the daughters of the sultan at Stamboul, and it did not occur to Mohammed that it was worth at least ten times as much as he had to give for it. Mr. Lion took the four ducats with a smile, and handed him the beautiful goods wrapped in gilt-edged paper.

Mohammed, proud of his bargain, took the package, and ran in breathless haste to his mother.

"Here, mother, I bring you something you will like!" he cried.

"Yourself?" asked Khadra, with a gentle smile. "I need nothing else."

"Yes, Mother Khadra, you do need something else. You need a dress and a veil, such as the other ladies of rank wear. Do not be alarmed, mother, it is honestly acquired. There, take it, and rejoice!" He spread the costly goods out before her, expecting her to cry out with delight. But she only became sad; on her pale cheeks glowed the roses which Death bestows on those whom he is about to call to himself.

"My son!" said she. "This magnificence is not for me!"

"Yes, Mother Khadra, it is indeed for you. Ask the merchant, Lion; I paid for it honestly. You think, perhaps, I have not noticed that the dress in which you go to the mosque is torn and faded? You think, perhaps, I do not know that your head-dress has often been mended? I well know that it has been. I know, too, that the women laugh and say mockingly:--She has not even a Sabbath dress, and appears before Allah in the garb of a beggar!' Therefore, I rejoice at having been able to procure a new dress for you, mother. Have it made, in order that you may appear before Allah in festive attire."

"No my son, it is impossible," said Khadra sadly, as Mohammed held out the costly package.

"Why impossible?" cried he, excitedly.

"Because it does not become the widow of Ibrahim, the poor woman, to array herself in garments of purple, gold-embroidered satin, like the ladies of rank. The women would laugh at and mock me more than ever if I should wear such magnificent garments instead of my faded dress. Neither can I wear the veil. You can preserve all this to give to your bride some day. It does not become old Sitta Khadra to adorn herself thus."

"You are not old, Mother Khadra," said he, in half-tender, angry tones. "You are still young, and when you adorn yourself with these garments, there will be no handsomer woman in all Cavalla than Sitta Khadra. I beg you to put them on; but, to please me, leave the veil a little open, as the other women do, that people may see how beautiful my mother is."

"This is folly, and I, am glad no one else hears your audacious words. No chaste woman opens her veil to permit the gaze of disrespectful men to fall on her, and my son Mohammed does not wish to blush for his mother. My son, take back this package to Mr. Lion.

I cannot wear such clothes."

"You will not take them?" said the boy, hastily seizing the package.

"What my heart's warmest love offers, you reject?"

"I reject it," said she, gently. "I have no need of such clothes."

"Very well," cried he, defiantly. "If you do not need these clothes, I will give them to the mermaids. They, too, like fine clothes, and they will thank me more for that which I have bought with my life.

Yes, I will do this!"

He rushed to the door with such violence that Khadra could hardly recall him. "Where are you going, Mohammed?"

"To the cliffs. What my mother despises I will throw, into the sea."

"Well, if you are about to do that, it shall be as you wish," said the mother, leading him back from the door. "If the mermaids are to have these beautiful things, it is better Mother Khadra should keep them."

"You promise me to wear these clothes?" said he, a smile suddenly illuminating his face.

Khadra seated herself, spread out the beautiful goods, and regarded them with a mournful smile. "It looks like mockery."

"No, not like mockery, but like pure love," said the boy, eagerly.