Mohammed, proud of his bargain, took the package, and ran in
breathless haste to his mother.
"Here, mother, I bring you something you will like!" he cried.
"Yourself?" asked Khadra, with a gentle smile. "I need nothing
else."
"Yes, Mother Khadra, you do need something else. You need a dress
and a veil, such as the other ladies of rank wear. Do not be
alarmed, mother, it is honestly acquired. There, take it, and
rejoice!" He spread the costly goods out before her, expecting her
to cry out with delight. But she only became sad; on her pale cheeks
glowed the roses which Death bestows on those whom he is about to
call to himself.
"My son!" said she. "This magnificence is not for me!"
"Yes, Mother Khadra, it is indeed for you. Ask the merchant, Lion; I
paid for it honestly. You think, perhaps, I have not noticed that
the dress in which you go to the mosque is torn and faded? You
think, perhaps, I do not know that your head-dress has often been
mended? I well know that it has been. I know, too, that the women
laugh and say mockingly:--She has not even a Sabbath dress, and
appears before Allah in the garb of a beggar!' Therefore, I rejoice
at having been able to procure a new dress for you, mother. Have it
made, in order that you may appear before Allah in festive attire."
"No my son, it is impossible," said Khadra sadly, as Mohammed held
out the costly package.
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