“We are great lovers,” said Father Stork, when he had settled; “so well known that all the lovesick youths of Moorish cities ask us to give their messages to the well-beloved. They stand in the white street below and sing to us.”
Once again Mother Stork sat on three eggs, once again Father Stork stood on one leg by the nest-side, his beak upon his breast, and helped in all love and loyalty to fetch the food when the babies came. The weeks hurried towards the summer, the birds were nearly fledged, and one morning when they were feeding in the gardens Father Stork came back hurriedly with another of his tribe. They talked vigorously upon the roof-top and then the newcomer went his way, leaving Father Stork angry and disturbed.
“What is the matter?” asked Tsamani uneasily. He felt sure that trouble was brewing, that some disaster was at hand.
“Matter enough!” said Father Stork gravely. “My companion came to give me and my wife notice that we must join in battle with the ravens on the fourth day from now.”
“Why are you ill friends?” asked the boy.
“That is a secret of stork and raven life that I cannot attempt to explain,” replied Father Stork. “We must fight them and prevail, or must leave this city. The battle will be a few miles from the Dukala Gate. I think we shall win and return. You will soon know.”
All through the third day Tsamani watched and waited, seeing no grown stork on roof or in street, straining eyes and ears in vain. Even the townsfolk were alarmed, and crowded the Mosques, and prayed devoutly.[[3]] On the following morning he rose when the Mueddin called for the first prayer, and the guardian of the hareem allowed him to pass the door and to climb the steep steps to the roof. He saw the sun come up from the East and he heard the camels’ bells as the caravan moved out to cross the desert, carrying salt, that it might return with slaves. He was listening to the earliest notes of stock-doves in the gardens, when with swift flight a stork swept over the Dukala Gate. He was one of the younger birds of that year’s brood.
“We have won!” he cried. “We have won! The ravens are in full flight. The storks will return to Marrakesh; and my parents sent me to bid you good-bye.”
“Are they well and safe?” cried Tsamani, sorely afraid, for he was old enough to know that he had no other friends.