zement he found that there were a hundred and twenty!

"If I say as much as this," thought the Khoja, "they will call me a
fool. Even half would be more than could be believed."

So he went back to the Bazaar and said, "It is the full forty-fifth of
the month, quite that."

"O Khoja!" the neighbours replied, "there are only thirty days in a
complete month, and do you tell us to-day is the forty-fifth?"

"O neighbours!" answered the Khoja, "believe me, I speak with
moderation. If you look into the vase, you will find that according to
its account to-day is the one hundred and twentieth."

_Tale_ 8.--The Khoja and the Thief.

One day a thief got into the Khoja's house, and the Khoja watched him.

The thief poked here, there, and everywhere, and after collecting all
that he could carry, he put the load on his back and went off.

The Khoja then came out, and hastily gathering up the few things which
were left of his property, he put them on his own back, and hurried
after the thief.

At last he arrived before the door of the thief's house, at which he
knocked.

"What do you want?" said the thief.

"Why, we are moving into this house, aren't we?" said the Khoja. "I've
brought the rest of the things."

_Tale_ 9.--The Bird of Prey and the Piece of Soap.

One day the Khoja went with his wife to wash clothes at the head of a
spring.

They had placed the soap beside them on the ground, and were just about
to begin, when a black bird of prey swooped suddenly down, and snatching
up the soap, flew away with it, believing it to be some kind of food.

"Run, Khoja, run!" cried the distracted wife. "Make haste, I beseech
you, and catch that thief of a bird. He has carried off my soap."

"O wife!" replied the Khoja, "let him alone. He wants it more than we
do, poor fellow! Our clothes are not half so black as what he has got
on."

_Tale_ 10.--The Khoja and the Wolves.

"Wife!" said the Khoja one day, "how do you know when a man is dead?"

"When his hands and feet have become cold, Khoja," replied the good
woman, "I know that it is all over then. The man is dead."

Some time afterwards the Khoja went to the mountain to cut wood. It was
in the winter, and after he had worked for an hour or two his hands and
feet became very cold.

"It is really a melancholy thing," said he; "but I fear that there can
be no doubt that I am dead. If this is the case, however, I have no
business to be on my feet, much less to b