“My father,” answered the boy, boldly.
“For what reason?”
“Because I will not learn to read.”
We did not believe him, but a town Arab who was present confirmed what he had said.
“Have you worn it long?”
“Three years,” he answered, smiling bitterly.
We thought it all a lie. But the Arab again confirmed it, adding that the boy slept with the bar upon him, and that all Alkazar knew him. Then the ambassador, moved with compassion, made him a little speech, exhorting him to study, to get rid of that shame and torture, and not to dishonor his family; and when the interpreter had repeated it, he was asked what his answer was.
“My answer is this,” replied the boy, “that I will wear the iron all my life, but that I will never learn to read, and that I will die before I yield.”
The ambassador looked fixedly at him, but he sustained his glance with unflinching eye.
“Gentlemen,” said the ambassador, turning to us, “our mission is over.” We returned to the camp, and the boy with his iron bar re-entered the city.