‘Well, I suppose I ought to do my part too,’ thought the merchant’s son, so he went and bought sky-rockets, squibs, Catherine-wheels, Roman-candles, and all kinds of fireworks conceivable; put them all into his trunk, and flew up into the air, letting them off as he flew.
Hurrah! what a glorious sky-rocket was that!
All the Turks jumped up to look, so hastily that their slippers flew about their ears; such a meteor they had never seen before. Now they might be sure that it was indeed the prophet who was to marry their Princess.
As soon as the merchant’s son had returned in his trunk to the wood, he said to himself, ‘I will now go into the city and hear what people say about me, and what sort of figure I made in the air.’ And, certainly, this was a very natural idea.
Oh, what strange accounts were given! Every one whom he accosted had beheld the bright vision in a way peculiar to himself, but all agreed that it was marvellously beautiful.
‘I saw the great prophet with my own eyes,’ declared one; ‘he had eyes like sparkling stars, and a beard like foaming water.’
‘He flew enveloped in a mantle of fire,’ said another; ‘the prettiest little cherubs were peeping forth from under its folds.’
Yes; he heard of many beautiful things, and the morrow was to be his wedding-day.
He now went back to the wood, intending to get into his trunk again, but where was it?
Alas! the trunk was burnt. One spark from the fireworks had been left in it, and set it on fire; the trunk now lay in ashes. The poor merchant’s son could never fly again—could never again visit his bride.