He went out into the desert and came to the city of the ogress.  He entered, and found her ready to grind some wheat.  He said to the ogress, “Show me the apple whose color gives eternal youth to the old man who smells it.”

“You are in the family of ogres,” she said.  “Cut a hair from the horse of their King.  When you go into the garden cast this hair into the fire.  You will find a tree, from which you must pick five fruits.  When plucking them do not speak a word, and keep silence on your return.  It is the smallest fruit that possesses the magic power.”

He took the apple and went back to the city, where he found his companions.  He concealed in his breast the wonderful fruit, and gave the others to his brothers-in-law, one to each.  They entered the palace of the King, who was overjoyed to see them, gave them seats, and asked them, “Have you brought it or not?”

“We have brought it,” they answered.

He said to the eldest, “Give me your apple first.”

He took a mirror in his left hand, and the fruit in the right hand, bent down, and inhaled the odor of the apple, but without results.  He threw it down upon the ground.  The others gave him their apples, with no more success.

“You have deceived me,” he said to them.  “The apples do not produce the effect that I sought.”

Addressing, then, the stranger, he said, “Give me your apple.”

The other son-in-law replied:  “I am not of this country.  I will not give you my fruit.”

“Give it to me to look at,” said the King.  The young man gave it to him, saying, “Take a mirror in your right hand and the apple in your left hand.”

The King put the apple to his nose, and, looking at his beard, saw that it became black.  His teeth became white.  He grew young again.  “You are my son,” he said to the young man.  And he made a proclamation to his subjects, “When I am dead he shall succeed me on the throne.”  His son-in-law stayed some time with him, and after the death of the King he reigned in his place and did not marry the other daughters of the King to his companions.

POPULAR TALES OF THE KABYLES

[Translated by J. Riviere and Chauncey C. Starkweather]

ALI AND OU ALI

Ali and Ou Ali were two friends.  One day they met at the market.  One of them bore ashes and the other carried dust.  The first one had covered his goods with a little flour.  The other had concealed his merchandise under some black figs.  “Come, I will sell you some flour,” said Ali.

“Come, I will sell you some black figs,” answered Ou Ali.

Each regained his own horse.  Ali, who thought he was carrying flour, found, on opening his sack, that it was only ashes.  Ou Ali, who thought he was bearing black figs, found on opening his sack that it was nothing but dust.  Another day they again greeted each other in the market.  Ali smiled.  Ou Ali smiled, and said to his friend: