he maid tugged away at the comb, when that
wretched kite, with its prey, went soaring overhead; and, as luck
would have it, the camels gave an extra kick just then, the kite lost
his hold, and the whole hundred and one camels dropped right into the
princess's left eye!'

'Poor thing!' said the farmer; 'it's so painful having anything in
one's eye.'

'Well,' said the bunniah, who was now warming to his task, 'the
princess shook her head, and sprang up, clapping her hand on her eye.
"Oh dear!" she cried, "I've got something in my eye, and how it _does_
smart!"'

'It always does,' observed the farmer, 'perfectly true. Well, what
did the poor thing do?'

'At the sound of her cries, the maid came running to her assistance.
"Let me look," said she; and with that she gave the princess's eyelid
a twitch, and out came a camel, which the maid put in her pocket--'
('Ah!' grunted the farmer)--'and then she just twisted up the corner
of her headcloth and fished a hundred more of them out of the
princess's eye, and popped them all into her pocket with the other.'

Here the bunniah gasped as one who is out of breath, but the farmer
looked at him slowly. 'Well?' said he.

'I can't think of anything more now,' replied the bunniah. 'Besides,
that is the end; what do you say to it?'

'Wonderful,' replied the farmer, 'and no doubt perfectly true!'

'Well, it is your turn,' said the bunniah. 'I am so anxious to hear
your story. I am sure it will be very interesting.'

'Yes, I think it will,' answered the farmer, and he began:

'My father was a very prosperous man. Five cows he had, and three yoke
of oxen, and half a dozen buffaloes, and goats in abundance; but of
all his possessions the thing he loved best was a mare. A well bred
mare she was--oh, a very fine mare!'

'Yes, yes,' interrupted the bunniah, 'get on!'

'I'm getting on,' said the farmer, 'don't you hurry me! Well, one day,
as ill-luck would have it, he rode that mare to market with a torn
saddle, which galled her so, that when they got home she had a sore on
her back as big as the palm of your hand.'

'Yes,' said the bunniah impatiently, 'what next?'

[Illustration: THE BUNNIAH'S STORY]

'It was June,' said the farmer, 'and you know how, in June, the air
is full of dust-storms with rain at times? Well, the poor beast got
dust in that wound, and what's more, with the dust some grains of
wheat, and, what with the dust and the heat and the wet, that wheat
sprou