The chiefs around me talked of harvests and the price of land, but, most of all, of horses, since it was a horsey day.

The screaming of a stallion came persistently from the meydan--a naughty screaming which foreboded mischief.

I recognised the voice.

The culprit was my own Sheytan.

The screams were so disturbing, so indecent, that several of the great ones round me frowned and asked: 'Whose horse is that ?' in accents of displeasure.
I was ashamed to own him.
At length the lord of the castle called a servant to his side and whispered, pointing with his hand in the direction whence the screams proceeded.