“Well,” said the master, “what do you want, old woman?”
“Oh, my master,” cried she, “Keejeepaa is sick!”
The mistress started and said: “Dear me! What is the matter with him?”
“All his body pains him. He is sick all over.”
“Oh, well,” said the master, “what can I do? Go and get some of that red millet, that is too common for our use, and make him some gruel.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed his wife, staring at him in amazement; “do you wish her to feed our friend with stuff that a horse would not eat if he were ever so hungry? This is not right of you.”
“Ah, get out!” said he, “you’re crazy. We eat rice; isn’t red millet good enough for a gazelle that cost only a dime?”
“Oh, but he is no ordinary gazelle. He should be as dear to you as the apple of your eye. If sand got in your eye it would trouble you.”
“You talk too much,” returned her husband; then, turning to the old woman, he said, “Go and do as I told you.”
So the old woman went downstairs, and when she saw the gazelle, she began to cry, and say, “Oh, dear! oh, dear!”