I took his advice, and the more willingly, because none of my suggestions had, hitherto, produced the slightest effect. For immovable obstinacy there is nothing to match the conservatism of an Eastern woman.
I soon became friendly with the little Prince, and trotted him on my knee, or walked about the room with him in my arms. I never kissed him, for I thought it better to consider the religious scruples of the Sultana. Being a Feringhi there was always a chance that I might have eaten pig.
One day he was very merry, and was laughing when I said good-bye and left the room. Immediately one of the old nurses followed me out and begged a hair from my head, so that no evil should result from my having left him while he was laughing. The hair was burnt with due ceremony.
The Dreadful Old Lady and her Suggestion.
This old lady asked me one day if I were not very “dek”—ennuié—living alone in a strange land. She said,
“Why do you not buy a little Kaffir girl with a white skin, and make her your wife?”
I said I was betrothed to an English girl.
“England!” she said, “that is a far journey from here. Take to yourself a wife in Afghanistan, and your English wife can remain in England.”
You wicked old lady! I thought. I said,