mmitting wrong, and you surely cannot expect me, who am but a boy and
the son of my father, to say anything against my elders. Whatever Amer
bin Osman does is right; at least, so I have heard men say, and shall I,
his son, judge him?"

"Bravely spoken," said the impetuous Khamis, "Bravely said, my brother
Selim; but, instead of speaking to Simba as thou hast done, thou
shouldst have taken thy kurbash (whip) to him, and taught the dog to
watch the doorstep of his master, and not be teaching the son of Amer."

"You are over hasty, Khamis," replied Selim, in a deprecating tone.
"Simba is good and true to me and to my father's household. My father
loves him, and I love him, black though he be, as if he were my brother.
Simba and Moto are worth their weight in the yellow metal which our
women love to adorn their necks with; yet, did it depend on my voice, a
thousand times their weight of gold would not purchase them."

Both Simba and Moto were so affected at this that they both fell on
their knees, and crawled up to their young master to embrace his feet,
thus testifying the great love they bore him; but Selim would not permit
this, and said:

"Nay, my good Simba, and you, Moto, rise. I think you men, not slaves,
and you need not kiss my feet to show me how much you love me. You are
my friends, and I shall ever esteem you as such."

"My good young master," said Simba, in a voice broken with emotion, "we
are your servants, and we are proud of it. Are we not, Moto?"

"Indeed, we are," said Moto.

"What Arab tribe can boast a lad of your years with so much beauty and
heart? Your eyes, young master, are blacker than the richest, ripest
singwe (a species of wild plume) of Urundi, and as large as those of the
sportive kalulu (young antelope); and when they are covered with your
eyelids, we have often compared them while you were asleep, and Moto and
I watched you, to the lotus which hides its beauty at eve from the fell
touch of night. And your flesh, though not white like the bloodless
pale children of the white races, is like the warmer colour of ivory,
and beautiful and clear as the polished ivory ornaments of my people in
Urundi: your limbs, clean and shapely, are firm and hard as ivory tusks.
You are like a young palm-tree in beauty and strength. He is a happy
man who calls you son, and your mother laughs for joy in her sleep when
she dreams of you. Your slaves are proud to call you master."

"Amen, and amen,