you suppose I am trying to deceive people?” “No,” said the noodle.  “But what must I say, then?” “If you will cry properly, say as I do, ’Pearls, in the name of the Prophet!’” He next passed by the shop of a merchant from whom some pearls had been stolen, and his manner of crying, “Pearls!” etc., which was not nearly so loud as usual, appeared to the merchant very suspicious.  “The man who has stolen my pearls,” thought he, “has probably recognised me, and when he passes my shop lowers his voice in crying the goods.”  Upon this suspicion he ran after Xailoun, and stopping him, said, “Show me your pearls.”  The poor fool was in great confusion, and the merchant thought he had got the thief.  The supposed seller of pearls was soon surrounded by a great crowd, and the merchant at last discovered that he was a perfect simpleton.  “Why,” said he, “do you cry that you sell pearls?” “What should I say, then?” asked Xailoun.  “It is not true,” said the merchant, not listening to him.  “It is not true,” exclaimed the noodle.  “Let me repeat, ‘It is not true,’ that I may not forget it;” and as he went on he kept crying, “It is not true.”  His way led him towards a place where a man was proclaiming, “In the name of the Prophet, lentils!” Xailoun, induced by curiosity, went up to the man, his mouth full of the last words he remembered, and putting his hand into the sack, cried, “It is not true.”  The sturdy villager gave him a blow that caused him to stagger, saying, “What d’ye mean by giving me the lie about my goods, which I both sowed and reaped myself?” Quoth the noodle, “I have only tried to say what I ought to say.”  “Well, then,” rejoined the dealer, “you ought to say, as I do, ’Lentils, in the name of the Prophet!’” So our noodle at once took up this new cry, and proceeded on his way till he came to the bank of the river, where a fisherman had been casting his net for hours, and had frequently changed his place, without getting any fish.  Xailoun, who was amused with every new thing he saw, began to follow the fisherman, and, that he should not forget his lesson, continued to repeat, “Lentils, in the name of the Prophet!” Suddenly the fisherman made a pretence of spreading his net, in order to wring and dry it, and having folded in his hand the rope to which it was fastened, he took hold of the simpleton and struck him some furious blows with it, saying, “Vile sorcerer! cease to curse my fishing.”  Xailoun struggled, and at length disengaged himself.  “I am no sorcerer,” said he.  “Well, if you are not,” answered the fisherman, “why do you cause me bad luck by your words every time I throw my net?” “I didn’t mean to bring you bad luck,” said the noodle.  “I only repeat what I was told to repeat.”  The fisherman then concluded that some of his enemies, who wished to do him an ill turn without exposing themselves, had prevailed upon this poor fellow to come and curse his fishing, so he said, “I am sorry, brother, for having beaten you, but you were wrong to pronounce