"It is good to be outdoors in the bright sunshine," said Osman, as he walked down the street with his father. They came in sight of the mosque at last. It was not beautiful to look at, but it was very, very large.
"Once there were no minarets rising from this mosque toward heaven," the boy's father told him. "Only the great dome reached upward from the roof. That was when the Christians ruled over our city and worshipped in this building. But when it came into our hands, many changes were made."
"Why do we call it 'Agia Sophia,' papa?"
"It is sacred to 'Wisdom,' my child. The way to wisdom must be through prayer. But here we are at the doorway."
Osman and his father hastily took off their shoes and put on the big, soft slippers handed them by an attendant. Other people, who were about to enter, did the same thing.
There was a good reason for this. The dust of the street must not be brought in to soil the floor or carpets. They must be kept clean. During the service the people bow their heads to the floor itself many times.
"It always makes me wish to be quiet when I go there," Osman once told his mother. "I wonder how men could ever build such a great, great place of worship."
There were no altars, no images, no seats. But along the walls, there were slabs of marble of all sorts and colours. Pillars of rare and beautiful stones held up the roof.
"They have been polished so they shine like mirrors," thought Osman, "and they are as beautiful as gems."
The floor of the mosque was strewn with prayer-rugs. They were arranged so the people who came to worship might all kneel toward the sacred city of Mecca.