"There is the bazaar, papa. I can see it on the hilltop beyond us."
It was an immense building of a brownish gray colour. You might almost call it a city in itself.
As Osman and his father began to climb the hill, they made their way between many stands and tiny booths where goods were for sale. Everything looked inviting, and Osman saw several things he wished to buy.
"See those lovely grapes, papa. I should like to carry some of them home," said the boy. But his father would not stop.
"We will not buy anything till we reach the bazaar," he said. "You will see enough there to tempt you, I do not doubt."
They passed on, and soon reached the entrance of the great building. It was quiet and dark inside, and there were many narrow little streets or passages, through which hundreds of people were moving. Each narrow passage was given up to the sale of some special thing.
The shopkeepers were from many different countries. There were shrewd Armenians, wily Greeks, Persians with big caps on their heads, and Turks with long beards, squatting comfortably by their counters.
The high roof was over all. Light was given by great numbers of little domes shining in every direction through this city of shops.
It was very pleasant to Osman. He liked to watch the crowds and look at the many lights. He enjoyed the strange odours of the East. He never grew tired of looking at the rich and beautiful goods for sale,—the goods of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Three continents seemed to meet in the great bazaar of Constantinople.
"Oh, papa, please look at these lovely stones. I should like to buy that necklace for mamma, she is so fond of amber."