"These embankments are very well built," remarked some one, when they were again moving up the creek.
The boatman told them they were built by Nassir, a powerful Sheik; that he made a general levy of laborers for the purpose, without pay, although, to be sure, the villages around were compelled to provide food. The laborers made a strike for regular pay, whereupon Nassir built a few of the refractory men into the embankment, and declared he would construct it all of the bodies of the strikers if they did not at once go on with their work. There the strike ended. "As well it might, with such an employer," said the Captain. "And now," he added, "we'll turn around, for if you propose to start for Bagdad to-morrow, Tom, you'd better have a rest."
[JOB'S TURKEY.]
BY J. R. GALBRAITH.
"De ole speckle hane's done gone en keel ober, missus. Wot's we gwine ter do wid de young turkey?"
These words were addressed to me one fine spring morning by a small and very black boy, whose name was Job. Job always took a great interest in the poultry, and, indeed, was of no little assistance to me in its care. To be sure, he sometimes caused a great deal of trouble, when the chickens were hatching, by his great anxiety to know how they were getting on. He would lift up the hens to see if the little chicks were all out of their shells, and would even try to assist them in breaking the latter open, by which kind-hearted operation he invariably caused their death.
The speckled hen to which he referred that morning had been so unfortunate as to lose all her brood of young turkeys except one, and now she herself was dead. What to do with the young turkey was indeed a puzzling question. It was too young to take care of itself, and none of the other hens would take it, because their broods were not of the same age.
"Well, Job," I said, "I really do not know what we will do with the poor little thing: there is no mother for it."
"Dat's so," said Job; "but it make me feel moughty bad ter see dat leetle turkey a-cryin' roun' de dade hane. De ole rooster-cock he go er crowin' roun' jes ez big ez ef nuffin ain't done gone en happen. Oh, he's a precious vilyen, is dat same ole rooster-cock!"