Selim then rose up to put this filthy piece of torn cotton cloth around
his waist; but as he was about to put it on, he saw his friends Abdullah
and Mussoud looking wistfully up; and their colour, as well as his own,
made them look all too nude for a country where all skins were black.
Without saying a word he measured the cloth in three equal pieces, and
tore it into three equal strips, one of which he presented to Abdullah,
another to Mussoud, and the other he reserved for himself. The two boys
rose up, blushing gratefully, and Abdullah said to Selim:

"Thy heart is as soft as fine gold. The cloth is not six inches wide,
but I feel more grateful to thee than ever I did when I received fine
daoles (rich gold-worked cloth) at the hand of my father, Mohammed, whom
may God preserve! A pure heart like thine will not long go unrewarded
at the hand of Allah."

"Thou mightest have given me a piece," said Isa to Selim, in a
complaining tone.

"How can you talk so, Master Isa?" asked Niani. "Your skin is as black
as mine; sure, you look as though you were clothed already. You should
be happy in having a black skin, instead of wanting a piece out of
nothing."

"A truce to your insolence, Niani, or I will come and break every bone
in your body," said Isa, angrily.

"You had better not, Isa, because I am a slave of Ferodia, the Mtuta
chief; and if you kill me, Ferodia will kill you," answered Niani.

"Well, then, hold your tongue, and don't torment me. I am sick of life
already, and sick in mind and body," said Isa.

"Dost thou suffer much, lea?" asked Selim.

"Indeed I do. My head aches as if it would split, and all down my back
run sharp pains. They are not the pains which that savage dog Tifum
made, but something else. I think there is something serious the matter
with me," moaned poor suffering Isa.

"I hope not," said Selim. "Cheer up, lea, my friend; we have only to
reach Katalambula to have rest. This march cannot last for ever."

"I shall never reach the country of the accursed Watuta," said Isa. "My
illness is too serious."

"Why, what can the matter be with thee, my friend?"

"Don't start, Selim, and don't curse me when I tell you that I have the
_jederi_ (the small-pox)."

"The small-pox! What makes thee think that?" Selim asked.

"I have seen it often enough, and have seen the men die on the road from
it, and I fear I shall die too," said Isa, mournfully.

The next morning Isa was very