"How can they ridicule you, my beloved son? " murmured Khadra, regarding him tenderly; "are you not handsomer and stronger than all of these pale, weak boys? Can you not steer a boat and use a gun better than they? Are you not a man among these boys?"

"Not yet, Mother Khadra; but I shall become one," said he, rising from his knees and lifting his head proudly. "Yes, I will become a man among these boys, and they shall all be my subjects. We had laid a wager, and that wager had to be won; and won for you, Mother Khadra," he added with a glad smile.

"For me?" she asked, wonderingly. "How can your victory over these boys be of use to me, except that I rejoice in your greater strength?"

"There is something else, mother," he replied, joyously. "They must pay a tribute, and the finest dates and peaches, and the most beautiful flowers in their gardens, are mine, two days in the week, and for three months--this was the wager. Now you have fruits and flowers. Do you remember how you complained, while we were sitting on the rock looking at the sea, that we had only this poor little hut, and no garden and no field? I said to myself, 'I'll get them for her.' And, mother, you shall have all the rest besides. Now you have fruits and flowers, but, if Allah is gracious, you shall soon have your own garden and your own house, handsomer than all the houses of Cavalla. I will build my mother a palace; she shall have slaves and servants; all shall bow down before her as before their mistress; none shall rule over her but Allah and the prophet."

The mother gazed in wonder at her son's excited countenance; he seemed to her at this moment not a child, but a man, a hero.

"Yes," she murmured to herself," he will make what he says come true: all that the dream announced and the prophetess foretold."

"What is that you are saying, mother?" asked he. "What was that dream, what did the prophetess foretell?"

She gently shook her head. "It will not be well to tell you, my son. Your heart is bold and passionate. And yet," she continued, after a moment, "it may be well that you should know it; for to the daring belongs the world, and Allah blesses those who have a passionate and earnest heart. Sit down at my side, my son, and you shall know all."

"Speak, mother, speak--I am listening. How was the dream?"

"It was more than twelve years ago," said the mother, thoughtfully. "At that time I was a young married woman, and was beautiful--so the people said--for I was so poor that I could not even buy myself a veil, and Allah and the prophets forgave me for going uncovered before men. Then it was that your father, the Boulouk Baschi of the police, saw me; his eye rested lovingly on the poor girl, and he did me the honor to make me his wife, and he covered my face with a veil, that no other man might henceforth see me. It was a great honor for me that Boulouk Baschi considered me worthy to be his wife, even his only wife. For he made no use of the privilege accorded by the prophet and our religion, which allows a man to conduct several women to his harem. He said the one woman of his heart should be the one woman of his house. It was a happy year, my son this first year of our married life. We were not rich, we had nothing but the salary which your father received from the tschorbadji, but it was sufficient; when we are happy we do not need much. You must know, my son, that my heart is not fixed on splendor and show; it was not my own thoughts that conjured up these proud dreams. We lived, as I have said, in quiet bliss, hoping that our happiness might soon be increased by the birth of a child, by you, my son. One circumstance only dimmed our happiness: this was your father's service. A bad service, my son! Bands of robbers infested our peninsula, and it was a dangerous calling to lie in wait for them, and follow them up into the mountains. I always trembled when your father went out with his men in pursuit of robbers, and I had good cause to tremble. Allah had implanted in my soul a foreboding of coming evil. One day, while engaged in preparing our simple repast, I heard heavy footsteps, and a subdued murmur of voices approaching. I knew that some misfortune was impending, and there was. Your father was brought in a bleeding corpse! He had followed the robbers far up into the mountains alone, his men refusing to accompany him. The robbers had surrounded and slain him, disfiguring his dear face so that I could scarcely recognize it."

"What was done with the murderers?" asked Mohammed, fiercely. "Were they punished, executed?"

She shook her head. "There was no one there to witness the deed, and, when your father's successor was appointed, they had probably long since crossed the sea. Their names were not even known, and your father's blood is unavenged to this day."

"Mother!" exclaimed the boy, fiercely, "I will avenge my father! I swear it!"

"Poor boy! You avenge him? You do not even know who his murderers were," said she, gently.

"I will have vengeance on the whole world!" exclaimed the boy. "All my enemies shall suffer for his death! What did you do, mother, when you beheld my father's body? You laid your hand on his eyes, and swore to avenge him, did you not?"

"No, my son. I sank down by your father's body, kissed his hand, and took leave of him whom alone I had loved. But yet, I did register one oath! I swore that henceforth I would love nothing but the child I bore under my heart--his child. I also swore that the veil with which he had covered my face should never be lifted by another man. Many a one longed to take Ibrahim Aga's widow to wife, for, talkative as love and happiness always are, he had told them of his love and his happiness, and they thought that they, too, might obtain this through me. But I rejected them, though I was poor and possessed nothing but this hut to shelter myself and my child, as yet unborn. For the sake of this child, I rallied my energies and dried my eyes. A mother who has not yet given birth should not weep; her tears would fall on the child and make its heart sick and its eyes dim, and I wished my child to see the world with his father's eyes, to begin life with his father's heart. Therefore I implored Allah to give strength and joyousness to the life that was to be devoted to my child. One night I had a strange, wondrous, and beautiful dream. On a sparkling throne I saw a man in glittering armor, his sword high uplifted, his eyes flaming, his countenance lustrous with beauty. I knew this man, although I had never seen him. His countenance was that of my Ibrahim, and yet it was another- it was his son! In my dream I was distinctly conscious that it was my son I beheld before me. He looked not at me, but out upon the world with an angry eye. At his feet thousands lay extended upon the ground in deep reverence. Far behind him I saw a strange landscape, such as I had never before beheld. On a wide, yellow waste of sand, stood towering proud and mighty structures of wondrous form, their summits glittering in the sunshine. And, strange to say, afar off, on a magnificent palace, I saw the same man I had before beheld, his sword again uplifted, and above his head shone the crescent with the three stars. All at once the man became transformed into a child that shone like an angel, and this angel stretched out its arms and flew toward me. In my dream I extended my arms toward this vision, and cried, 'My son-my son!' This cry awakened me. On the following day you were born. When I saw and greeted you with Allah's blessing, I was startled to find the child I held in my arms the same as the angel that had flown to me in my dream! Oftentimes since I have thought of this dream, and endeavored to interpret it, for the agathodaemon that watches over men, and protects them from the ghins and their evil pinions, sometimes sends dreams to the unhappy to announce to them the future. I thought my agathodaemon had sent me this dream, "One day some gypsies came to Cavalla on a ship that landed here to procure provisions. They remained here several days, and made a business of fortune-telling. I went to an old woman, said to be the greatest prophetess, held out my hand, and demanded that she should announce the future of myself and my son. The old woman gazed at me with a strange look, and said: --You wish your dream interpreted?'

"This startled me, for I had rarely spoken of my dream, and the old woman could not have heard of it. She had been in Cavalla but two days, and who should have told her of the poor, obscure woman, Sitta Khadra? But this question startled me to the very soul, and it seemed to me that this woman must tell me the truth. I motioned to her to tell me my dream. She related the entire dream with every circumstance, and interpreted it."

"How did she interpret it?" asked Mohammed, in breathless suspense.

"She said to me: 'Your son will one day become a prince and a hero; he will see a whole nation bowed down at his feet; he will wield the sword over this people, and bring them under his yoke. Your son shall be a ruler; palaces shall be his, and among the mighty he shall be the mightiest. Destiny announced this to you through the man transformed into the angel that flew to you, and who is your son. All hail, Khadra, for you shall be the mother of the mightiest, of the master of the earth!'"

"Is this true? Am I to be a prince, a mighty ruler?" asked Mohammed, in ecstasy. "I am to behold nations at my feet? Repeat it again, what did she say?"

"Yes, she said this: --A prince shall he become, nations shall he behold at his feet, and the whole world shall talk of and praise him.'"

"I swear to you, mother, that she shall have told the truth! I swear to you, by the spirit of my father, by Allah and by the prophets, I will make the old woman's prophecy the truth! I shall be a prince, a great ruler, and whole nations shall bow down in the dust before me. I thank you, mother, for having foretold my future, and I only implore that Allah may graciously permit my mother to live to see the fulfilment of the prophecy. Now I know what I have to do, and, when the boys ask me again what is to become of poor Mohammed, I shall tell them: --I will make of him a prince, a hero, a king.' Yes, I will speak thus to them, and thus it shall be! And with them I shall begin! These cowardly boys shall be my subjects, and woe to them if they do not pay the tribute! O mother, beautiful days are in store for you!"

"My dear, foolish boy," said the mother, regarding him tenderly, "you dream of a brilliant future, but it is impossible to realize this dream. We are poor, and Fortune seldom resides with the poor."

"I will make us rich!" exclaimed the boy; "yes, I will make us rich, though as yet I know not how I am to do it. But do you know who shall assist me in doing so?"

"I think I do," replied the mother, smiling, "you will ask your good friend Mr. Lion?"