minded; but, somehow--a king and all--well, it
doesn't seem quite right to sacrifice a king.' And with that he jumped
up and with his jewelled dagger cut the badshah's cords, and marched
with him out of the temple back to the palace.

After having bathed and refreshed his guest, the rajah loaded him with
gifts, and himself accompanied him with a large escort as far as the
frontier between their kingdoms, where, amidst salutes and great
rejoicings, they tore up the old agreement and drew up another in
which each king promised welcome and safe conduct to any of the
other's people, from the least to the greatest, who came over the
border on any errand whatever. And so they embraced, and each went his
own way.

When the badshah got home that very evening he sent for his imprisoned
wazir.

'Well, O wazir!' he said, when the old man had been brought before
him, 'what think you has been happening to me?'

'How can a man in prison know what is happening outside it?' answered
the wazir.

Then the badshah told him all his adventures. And when he had reached
the end he added:

'I have made up my mind, as a token of gratitude for my escape, to
pardon you freely, if you will tell me why you gave thanks when I cut
off the tip of my finger.'

'Sire,' replied the old wazir, 'am I not right in thinking that it
was a very lucky thing for you that you _did_ cut off the tip of your
finger, for otherwise you would certainly have lost your head. And to
lose a scrap of one's finger is surely the least of the two evils.'

'Very true,' answered the king, touching his head as he spoke, as if
to make quite certain that it was still there, 'but yet--why did you
likewise give thanks when I put you into prison?'

'I gave thanks,' said the wazir, 'because it is good always to give
thanks. And had I known that my being in prison was to prevent the god
Devi claiming me instead of your majesty, as a perfect offering, I
should have given greater thanks still.'

(Punjabi story.)

_SAMBA THE COWARD_

In the great country far away south, through which flows the river
Nile, there lived a king who had an only child called Samba.

Now, from the time that Samba could walk he showed signs of being
afraid of everything, and as he grew bigger he became more and more
frightened. At first his father's friends made light of it, and said
to each other:

'It is strange to see a boy of our race running into a hut at the
trumpeting of an elep