Cease not to carry up the leaves and stuff him with them, lest all the good work done be lost through negligence." 'In anger the priest strode out through the village to the spring.

But all his wrath was changed into amazement when he saw the crowd of people sitting on the ground, convulsed with grief, around the members of his family.
'He went up to his wife and asked the matter.
'She moaned: "I cannot speak of it.

Ask poor Nesibeh!" 'He then turned to his eldest daughter, who, half-choked by sobs, explained: '"I am a big girl now." '"That is so, O my daughter." '"A year or two, and you and mother will provide me with a husband." '"That is possible." '"Another year, and I shall have a little son!" '"In sh' Allah!" said her father piously.
'"Again a year or two, and my son runs about.

His father makes for him a pair of small red shoes.

He came down to the spring to play with other children, and from that overhanging bough--how shall I tell it ?--he fell and broke his darling little neck!" Nesibeh hid her face again and wailed aloud.
'The priest, cut to the heart by the appalling news, tore his cassock up from foot to waist, and threw the ends over his face, vociferating: '"Woe, my little grandson! My darling little grandson! Oh, would that thou had lived to bury me, my little grandson!" And he too sank upon the ground, immersed in grief.
'At last the stranger wearied of the work of stripping off the mulberry leaves and carrying them up the staircase to the tethered sheep.