“Oh, a poor shepherd boy like me? They knew well enough that I hadn’t a penny. But you, you see, you’re the son of the rich Boghos Effendi; it would be worth their while to put themselves out for such good pickings.”
“Pshaw, they wouldn’t know who I am. I’ll put on old clothes, and any one would have to be pretty sharp to recognize me. All right, then, that’s settled for to-morrow; come and wake me up to make sure. I’ll get our lunch ready.”
The thought of this adventurous ride had restored Archag’s good humor. He stood up, gave his comrade a slap on the back, and ran away from him, calling out:
“Catch me if you can!”
He was more nimble than Jakoub, and soon disappeared in the farm-yard.
At four the next morning, he awoke with a start at the sound of a servant’s rap on the door. In an instant he was on his feet, and had rolled up his mattress and coverlets, and stuffed them into a cupboard. His father was still in bed when Archag went into his room to speak to him.
“Pariluis hairick (Good morning, papa),” he said, kissing his father’s hand. “Jakoub and I are off for a ride. It’s so hot we want to start early.”
“Tschatkeretsick (Very well),” replied Boghos Effendi. “Be careful, and don’t be too late in coming home this evening.”
These last words were lost on Archag, who had already left the room. Jakoub was waiting for him in the kitchen:
“I’ve saddled the horses; everything is ready.”