u thought!" she snapped. "It may be, I served the
oligarchy and the noble houses--before I was fool enough to run away
with a no-good fisherman--and I can see she is a lady. Well, she can
trust in me."

"They say," the deacon hinted, "that if one went to Tarog, and
inquired at the proper place, there would be a reward."

The little old woman chilled him, she looked so deadly.

"Deacon Homms!" she hissed. "If you sell this poor little girl to Scar
Balta, your hypocritical white eyes will never roll again, because
I'll tear them out and feed them to the fish. Understand?"

Considerably shaken, the deacon said he understood.

* * * * *

But the next morning, on the placid bosom of the canal, he forgot her
warning. The fleshpots of Tarog called him. Tarog, where he had spent
youth and money with a lavish hand. Tarog, where a reward awaited him.

He hauled in his anchor, gave the unwieldy boat to the current and
bent to the oars.

Back in the hut, unsuspecting of treachery, Mrs. Homms and Sira were
rapidly striking up a friendship. A shrewd judge, of character
herself, Sira did not hesitate to admit her identity, and without any
prying questioning the old woman soon had the whole story. It thrilled
her, this review of the life she had once seen as a servant.

"I wonder if I will ever see Tarog again!" she sighed wistfully.

"You shall!" Sira promised, "if you help me."

"I will do what I can gladly."

"I need a workingman's trousers and blouse, and a sun-hat that will
shade my face. I have a plan, but I must get to Tarog. Can you get me
these things?"

"I have no money, but wait!" She rummaged with gnarled fingers in a
chink in the wall, withdrew a small brooch-pin of gold, with a pink
terrestrial pearl in its center.

"My last mistress gave me this," she said smiling sadly. "I will row
to the trading boat and buy what you need. There will be a little
money left to buy your passage on a freight barge."

And that was why, when the deacon arrived at the head of a squad of
soldiers that evening, there was no girl of any description to be
found. Ignoring the cowering and unhappy reward seeker, the old woman
delivered her dictum to the sergeant in charge.

"Princess? Ha! The deacon, sees princesses and mermaids in every mud
bank. His imagination grew too and crowded out his conscience. No,
mister, there ain't any princess here."

CHAPTER VIII

_In the Desert_

Mellie