“Only,” said Archag, “I am very thirsty, and I should very much like to have something to drink.”
The brigands burst out laughing, and one of them offered Archag his gourd, with a friendly slap on the shoulder. Archag thanked him, and then the two boys put spurs to their horses and went off at full gallop. When, after a time, they slackened their pace, Kara Dagh was far behind them.
“If that wasn’t a scrape!” cried Archag. “Whatever will my father say?”
Jakoub shrugged his shoulders in reply, and they rode on in silence.
When our friend caught sight of his father, who was anxiously watching for them at the entrance to the farm, he jumped down from his horse, gave the reins to Jakoub, and ran to meet him and to ask forgiveness.
“My son,” replied Boghos Effendi, “your imprudence might have cost you your life. You know that when I go on a journey I never take more money with me than is absolutely necessary. If I had not sold three horses the other day to that Persian from Tabriz, I should not have been able to pay for your ransom, and then you may be sure the robbers would have listened to none of your cries or tears; they would have kept their word and killed you. God has had compassion on us, and He has given you a salutary lesson. Never forget what anxiety you have caused your father to suffer, nor the money your folly has cost me, hard-earned money on which I was depending for this winter’s expenses; and try to be more discreet in the future.”
Archag promised, and was in tears as he kissed his father’s hand. He no longer felt himself a hero, but realized that he was only a little boy come home from a mad escapade. He never thought of this adventure afterward without a blush of shame.