"HOLD me fast, mamma, when we enter the Khan. I am afraid."

      "Afraid of what, Ebno'l Amed?" Umdhabai exclaimed, turning sharply upon her son.

      The little fellow was only ten years old, but he did not look like one who would be much afraid of anything, as he stood, barefooted on the sand, facing his mother. Those were his words, however, and he was her only child her fatherless boy, in a land where men and boys were valued simply according to their courage.

      "Allah forbid it!" Umdhabai added angrily. "Ebno'l Amed is not a coward."

      Slowly and thoughtfully the boy asked:

      "Is he always a coward who is afraid?"

      Umdhabai nodded her head, and he added, "Then, mamma, I must be a coward, for I am afraid."

      Umdhabai almost dropped the basket of fruit she was carrying, and, dumb with anger and mortification, stood looking down upon the little figure.

      Behind them was the little village where they lived upon the edge of the great desert. They were on their way to a large Khan with a well where caravans encamped for a day when coming or going over that trackless sea.

      At daybreak that morning, they had seen the long black line, twisting and writhing as it crept like a serpent over the glistening sand, indicating that a trailing train of camels, with drooping heads and lagging feet, came out of the desert, and all the villagers gathered baskets of fruit and hurried toward the Khan, sure of a good market day.

      Umdhabai forgot her errand, however, as she stood in silence, looking scornfully down, while Ebno'l Amed asked, "Will papa ever come back to us?"

      "Never!" she replied solemnly. "He has taken the long journey. But he was a brave man. He has gone where the Prophet promised to the brave eternal happiness. No coward will ever follow him."

      Not heeding the taunt, Ebno'l Amed asked:

      "If the famine comes again, mamma, what can you do without papa?"

      "I must sell my jewels," she replied, glancing at the necklace which she wore, in the common custom of her people who carry all of their wealth about them, as ornaments, for want of some safer place to put it. Umdhabai was still very angry, however, and added: "They came from a brave man. Shall they go to keep a coward from starving?"

      Ebno'l Amed's lip quivered, and his eyes were bright with tears; but he went on with his thought: "If the famine lasted longer than the jewels, mamma, couldn't I help some?"

      "A coward is like the south wind; bringing sand instead of rain," said Umdhabai fiercely.

      "If I am near you I can help you," Ebno'l Amed insisted. "Only for that I wouldn't be afraid to go to the Khan alone, to sell the fruit; but I heard men say that the caravan this morning was led by the terrible Abu'l Hasham."

      "Abu'l Hasham!" Umdhabai exclaimed, with a startled shudder. "Come, let us go back."

      "No, no, mamma," the boy pleaded. "Only keep your hand on me. Then he cannot steal me, and I shall not be afraid. I am too small to fight him, and if he carried me far away and sold me for a slave, I could not help you, mamma. Come!" and he tugged upon her sarai.

      After what she had been saying about bravery, Umdhabai did not dare to let Ebno'l Amed see how thoroughly she herself was frightened by that name of Abu'l Hasham — the terror of every tribe and village of North Africa; so laying a trembling hand upon his shoulder, she reluctantly started toward the Khan to sell her fruit in the caravan of the brigand slave-collector.

      It was a miserable desert town they entered; but it boasted a mud wall, with two gates, bearing their names in great letters on the arch: "Gate of the Desert" and "Gate of the Sea."

      Ebno'l Amed was chatting fearlessly enough, now, but his mother's face grew very anxious as the bedlam of voices greeted them from the Khan, where men, women and children, in the inevitable fashion of an Oriental caravan, were shouting and wrangling in different languages, and camels and dromedaries were grunting and groaning as they went through the laborious task of lying down.

      It was not the confusion which disturbed Umdhabai, however, for ordinarily she would have hurried to the noisiest quarter, sure that there the people would be the most wide awake, and in a moment she would have been shouting and wrangling with the rest, selling her fruit faster than any of her neighbors. To-day she would have given it all away rather than go near the place.

      Upon the very outskirts of the Khan she sat down, with the basket in front of her, and one arm about her boy.

      "Why don't you shout, mamma?" he asked; but receiving no reply he, too, lapsed into silence, and sat watching the camels and playing with the silver bands upon his mother's ankle.

      There had only been a few customers when Ebno'l Amed felt the arm tighten about him and tremble, and, looking up, he saw a tall Moor, with a white beard and a scar on one side of his face. The man paused, and asked the price of all the fruit left in the basket.

      "Take it without money. It has no price," Umdhabai replied, pushing the It was the same form which the Prophet basket toward him with her foot. Isaiah used, and which one hears every day in the East, where there are venders of anything. The usual meaning is that the purchaser is expected to be particularly liberal; but for once in her life Umdhabai would have been glad to be taken at her word.

      The Moor placed the basket on his shoulder, simply asking, "Where shall I send the money?"

      "To the house nearest to the Gate of the Desert," Umdhabai replied in a faint voice as she rose to her feet, and taking Ebno'l Amed by the hand whispered, "Come, we must hurry."

      Faster and faster she walked, till the boy was obliged to run. They passed the house by the gate, then the gate, and still hurried on over the sand toward the village.

THE CARAVAN IN MOTION.

      At first Ebno'l Amed wondered why his mother had sacrificed the price of her fruit rather than tell the Moor truly where she lived, but as they hurried on he looked up and asked:

      "Mamma, was that Abu'l Hasham?"

      Umdhabai did not answer, for, in truth, no one had told her that it was he; but Ebno'l Amed knew well enough. that he was right, and shuddered as he thought that he had looked, for a moment, into the face of Abu'l Hasham, the slave-dealer.
 

      All day long the mother's eyes were kept upon her boy. Ebno'l Amed realized it, and was glad of it; for he had heard many a story of the mysterious ways by which Abu'l Hasham stole whom he would, carried them off, and sold them as slaves.

      He tried to make himself think that he was not a coward, and was not afraid, but he knew very well that he was afraid.

      Ebno'l Amed slept upon a mat, close to his mother, upon the earth floor of the one little room in their hut; but above that room, and close under the roof, his father had constructed a low, dark loft, where they often stored their fruit when it was ripening too fast, and, though it was not a comfortable place to sleep, Ebno'l Amed obeyed without a word, when his mother directed him to take his mat up there for the night.

      It seemed as though he could never go to sleep. The moment he shut his eyes, he found himself looking straight into Abu'l Hasham's face again. When he did sleep, however, he slept very soundly, and it was so dark in the loft that he slept very late.

      Through a crack in the palm-leaf roof he could see that it was broad day-light when he opened his eyes, and, wondering that his mother had not called him to say his prayers at sunrise, he crept to the opening into the room below.

      Looking down, he started back in terror, and his heart stood still. All was confusion there. The mat upon which his mother slept was torn, and Umdhabai was nowhere to be seen.

      Gathering courage, at last, he dropped to the floor, and hurried to the open door. No. She was not anywhere. Looking toward the nearest huts, he saw at once that something very serious had happened.

      A few old men and women were sitting on the ground, before the doors, wailing and moaning as they did at funerals. It could not be that his mother was dead, or they would be at his door, instead. Yet she could not be alive, or she would surely be there, wailing and moaning with the rest.

      While he stood, wondering, in the door, he caught one name which the mourners pronounced louder and more frequently than all the rest. It was "Abu'l Hasham."

      Then he knew it all; and dropping upon the ground, with his back against the mud wall, all alone Ebno'l Amed began to wail and moan like the rest.

      In a sort of spontaneous poetry, to which the Arabic is particularly adapted, he put his thoughts into words and sang them, in a low, sad chant.

      "Abu'l Hasham, the terrible, came to my home, last night," he moaned. "My mother feared his coming, and she thought only of me. She hid me away from him. But he came. But he came. Oh! he came. While I slept in safety, he came in the night. Yes, he came and he took my mother — the light of my eyes — the breath of my body — the blood of my heart. He has carried her away. He will sell her for a slave, far, far away from her people. O, Umdhabai, Mamma Umdhabai! why did I sleep? Why did I" —

      He suddenly stopped the chant, and sat looking at his little hands, as he slowly clasped and unclasped them.

      "Is Ebno'l Amed a coward?" he asked himself. "Is he like the south wind, which brings the sand and no rain? If I can help my mother, it will be by being where she is."

      He sprang to his feet, and entered the hut. A moment later he came out, wrapped up in a long white sarai, a badge of mourning, and leaving the village walked directly toward the town.

      Another caravan was in the Khan. Abu'l Hasham, with his captives, had left during the night, by the Gate of the Sea. As the sun was setting, the second caravan roused itself and started in the same direction. Among the motley collection of followers who often form a large, unmounted company behind a great caravan, they noticed a little atom of humanity so completely covered with a mourning sarai, that it was hard to say if it were a boy or girl. It was no one's concern where it came from or whither it went. The grand Mussulman law of hospitality provided the little stranger with food and shelter, but beyond that the national lack of curiosity allowed him to follow his own course, unmolested.

      As the caravan entered the gate of the great city on the sea, there was excitement and consternation everywhere. Some British soldiers were posting a notice upon the arch, stating that the English government had discovered a plot to injure her subjects between the desert and the sea, and to rise in insurrection. The man who was at the head of it was known to be in that region, and a large reward was offered for him, dead or alive. He was Abu'l Hasham.
 

      Ebno'l Amed left the caravan, and turned into the first narrow alley which they passed. He, alone, knew that Abu'l Hasham must have entered that same gate, only a few hours before; but he had no one to whom he could go for advice. Instinct told him that as soon as Abu'l Hasham saw those notices he would make his escape, and that if he was to do anything to rescue his mother he must do it quickly.

      He wanted to be alone, to see if he could not think out what should be done. He turned into one narrow alley after another, pulling the soiled sarai closer about him, and slowly walking along the damp and slimy pavement — so different from his own desert sand — without so much as noticing it, though it was the first time in his life that he had ever been in a city.

EBNO'L AMED AND THE WATER-CARRIER. "The man filled his cup and Ebno'l Amed looked up to find himself face to face with Abu'l Hasham."

      While he was wandering on, a water-carrier passed him. He noticed the skin water-bag, and, being very thirsty, he turned round and called to the man, asking him for a drink. He called twice, but the man seemed little inclined to heed him; but, turning, Ebno'l Amed ran after him, caught him by the arm, and shouted: "Water! In Allah's name, give me water!"

      Then the man paused and filled his cup, and Ebno'l Amed, while he waited, looked up at him, to find himself face to face again with Abu'l Hasham.

      He was too thoroughly frightened to utter a sound. He even took the water and drank it, without knowing what he did; but the whole situation was unfolding itself in the boy's mind. He realized that, disguised as a water-carrier, Abu'l Hasham was stealing down those deserted alleys intent upon escaping from the city. He knew that if he let him go he would escape, and all hope of saving his mother would be lost. As the water-carrier hurried on, Ebno'l Amed tried to throw off the fright, and as it was all he could do, he fixed two bright, black eyes upon the retreating figure, determined not to lose sight of him.

      On and on they went, twisting about in the narrow lanes, till the water-carrier suddenly turned to the right. While Ebno'l Amed was wondering why, and hurrying to catch up with him again, he almost ran into the very officers whom he saw at the gate, putting up the notice.

      Even in the excitement of the moment he wondered why he had not thought of them before, and, though he could not speak a word except Arabic, he caught the nearest one by the coat, and pointing down the alley, eagerly repeated that one name," Abu'l Hasham!"

      Fortunately, that was all that was wanted, and Ebno'l Amed ran after them as they chased the water-carrier and took him prisoner.

      There was great excitement at the British headquarters when it was known that the Government had secured its prize in less than an hour after publishing its offer. Ebno'l Amed was a very small boy to possess so much money, but the reward was fairly won, and they prepared to fulfill the promise.

      When they told him of the wealth that would be his, however, he simply shook his head, and replied:

      "I don't want it. What could I do with it? What could I do with it? I want my mamma. Abu'l Hasham stole her away from me, and brought her to sell her as a slave, and I followed him to get her back. I want my mamma."

      This was still greater news to the officers who were working hard to suppress slave-stealing. The captives were found, and were all set free, while the servants of Abu'l Hasham were arrested.

      That was a grand day for Ebno'l Amed. Umdhabai clasped him in her arms the proudest mother of the bravest boy among all the Arabs; and when the rest of the captives saw who had set them free, they made a royal palanquin out of their arms and shoulders, and in a grand, triumphal procession they bore him, day after day, all the way from the sea to his desert home.

Abd el Ardavan.