'We had reached that point, my masters, where the injured husband, having seen the remnant of the cow, said to his wife: "Now, I am going to walk this world until I find one filthier than thou art; and if I fail to find one filthier than thou art I shall go on walking till I die." Well, he walked and he walked—for months, some people say, and others years—until he reached a village in Mount Lebanon—a village of the Maronites renowned for foolishness. It was the reputation of their imbecility which made him go there.'
'What was his name?' inquired Rashîd, who liked to have things clear.
'His name?' said Suleymân reflectively, 'was Sâlih.'
'He was a Muslim?'
'Aye, a Muslim, I suppose—though, Allah knows, he may perhaps have been an Ismaîli or a Druze. Any more questions? Then I will proceed.
'He came into this village of the Maronites, and, being thirsty, looked in at a doorway. He saw the village priest and all his family engaged in stuffing a fat sheep with mulberry leaves. The sheep was tethered half-way up the steps which led on to the housetop. The priest and his wife, together with their eldest girl, sat on the ground below, amid a heap of mulberry boughs; and all the other children sat, one on every step, passing up the leaves, when ready, to the second daughter, whose business was to force the sheep to go on eating. This they would do until the sheep, too full to stand, fell over on its side, when they would slaughter it for their supply of fat throughout the coming year.
'So busy were they in this occupation that they did not see the stranger in the doorway until he shouted: "Peace upon this house," and asked them for a drink of water kindly. Even then the priest did not disturb himself, but, saying "Itfaddal!" pointed to a pitcher standing by the wall. The guest looked into it and found it dry.
'"No water here," he said.
'"Oh," sighed the priest, "to-day we are so thirsty with this work that we have emptied it, and so busy that the children have forgotten to refill it. Rise, O Nesîbeh, take the pitcher on thy head, and hasten to the spring and bring back water for our guest."
'The girl Nesîbeh, who was fourteen years of age, rose up obediently, shaking off the mulberry leaves and caterpillars from her clothing. Taking up the pitcher, she went out through the village to the spring, which gushed out of the rock beneath a spreading pear tree.