When he had finished speaking the Cadi solemnly revoked the curse he had put upon his son’s head, and taking Zoraida’s hand he placed it in that of Mustapha. “Take her,” he said, “as a reward for your unwearied perseverance, and take also the blessing of your aged father, whose earnest wish is that our city may never lack men who, like you, combine tender brotherly affection with wisdom and perseverance.”
THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK.
IN Nicea, which is my native place, there once lived a little man, named Mouk. I remember him very well indeed, although I was but a youngster at the time, for I once received a good sound thrashing from my father on his account.
In spite of the fact that he was already an old man, he was but three or four feet in height, and presented a most extraordinary appearance, for although his body was small and delicate he carried a head upon his shoulders that was larger than that of any full-grown man.
Little Mouk.
He lived quite by himself and did all his own work. Had it not been for the fact that every mid-day the smoke rose in thick volumes from his chimney, folks would scarcely have known if he were alive or dead, for he left his house but once in four weeks. It is true that he walked up and down upon the flat roof of his house most evenings, but he was so short that his body could not be seen, and so the story got about that it was his head alone which promenaded upon the house-top.
I am afraid that I and my playmates were bad boys who loved to tease and worry anyone we could, and we reckoned it rare fun when the time came round for little Mouk to take his monthly walk abroad. We waited outside his house for him, and as soon as his big head, surmounted by an enormous turban, appeared, we threw our caps in the air and shouted for joy. The head and turban always came out first, and the tiny little body which followed was clad in a shabby little cloak, wide trousers and a broad girdle; attached to the latter was a long dagger, so much out of proportion to the size of his body that it was difficult to tell at a first glance whether Mouk was fastened to the dagger or the dagger to him.
In spite of the fact that we naughty boys danced round him like young maniacs, Mouk always bowed to us with great gravity, and walked down the street with a dignified air, dragging his poor little feet, encased in huge loose slippers, laboriously after him.