ic fate of Isa
and Mussoud, the most narrow escape he had himself from death, and poor
Abdullah's narrow escape from a horrible fate. These were not the best
kind of subjects to dwell in the mind of a boy of Selim's years; but
what aided to soften all these, and did much to lighten his burden, was
his present position, the tender friendship of Kalulu, the company of
the gentle Abdullah, the calm tranquillity of the life he was now
enjoying, and the consciousness--which his perfect trust in the goodness
of God created--that there was a God above, who was both good and great,
and who would bring him in his own good time out of all trouble.

For many days Abdullah suffered from the wounds which the crocodile's
sharp teeth had made in his leg. High fever set in, during which time
he was attended by Simba, and Moto, Kalulu, and Selim.

All sport was at an end for Selim and Kalulu while their friend Abdullah
was thus suffering. Nothing of enjoyment was thought of, nothing could
be thought of but their poor young patient, whose constitution was
battling vigorously against the fever which threatened often to
terminate his life.

And what a time poor Abdullah had! Instead of the soft, silken
counterpane and feathered bolsters, and the fragrance of lime and orange
of his own comfortable home at Zanzibar, here were a mud-hut, low roof
of straw and mud, a goatskin for his bed, a low door of cane-stalks,
through which the white sunlight streamed hot and glaring, voices of a
thousand rats for music, and the bad smells caused by the indecent
habits of savages, for the perfume of ripe orange and cinnamon. All
these aggravated the fever and created hideous dreams at night. For
food he had a thin gruel, which Simba made for him to the best of his
ability; for drink, the muddy water of the Liemba or some pombe-beer.
Despite these, however, his constitution triumphed; the fever left him,
and the wounded leg, carefully bathed each morning by Simba, began to
heal.

When convalescent, Abdullah would leave his hut at evening, pale and
thin as a ghost, leaning on the arm of his true friends, Kalulu and
Selim, to enjoy the mild air, and to listen to the songs of the Watuta,
and the sonorous music of the drums. The sight of the pale and thin
Arab boy touched the heart of many a maternal bosom, and many were the
expressions of condolence which he received from them. He often heard
these dark-faced women utter expressions which he had n