“You always bullied creatures smaller than yourself.”
“You were wrong not to do what Mohammed’s son told you,” whistled another, and still another trilled:—
“You were always a coward except when you were with your mother.”
“You were so pleased with yourself you wouldn’t listen to the herons,” sang the next, and one, swinging far back on the youngest camel’s tail, chirped:—
“You have always been the most conceited camel on the desert,” and another sang clearly to him:—
“You made the mistake of insulting the flamingos when they tried to help you! Now they’re your enemies for life!”
“But I could see the oasis right before me all the time!” the little camel cried out, by this time very near to tears. “It’s so plain anybody can see it if they simply look—” He swung around to point out to them the far waving palms and the birds hovering over the trees against the horizon ahead, and then he stopped short and stared in amazement, for nowhere in sight was there any sign of anything at all. “But—but—what’s happened—but—there was—but—I don’t understand—” he stammered, and with a loud sweet trill of laughter the scores of bright small birds took wing from his back and his tail and from the crown of his head and the tips of his ears and paused a moment with a rush of wings above him.
“There wasn’t any oasis!” one shrill musical bird voice called down to him, and all the other voices sang in chorus together:—
“You saw a mirage! A mirage! You saw a mirage!”
“You’re lost!” cried the first bird’s clear little voice. “You thought you knew better than anyone else, and now you’re lost!”