’The following morning, as was fixed, the travellers rose to take leave of their benevolent host and his attentive wife; each as he embraced the Arab, had some grateful word to add, for the good they had received at his hands.  The last of the pilgrims, having embraced the Arab, was walking from the tent, when the dog belonging to the host seized the man by his garment and held him fast.  “What is this?” inquired the Arab, “surely you must have deceived me; my dog is wise as he is trusty,—­he never yet lied to his master.  This labaadhar of yours he has taken a fancy to it seems; but you shall have my coat of better-looking stuff for your old chintz garment.  We will exchange labaadhars,[12] my friend,” said the Arab, throwing his own towards the hesitating traveller.  His fellow-pilgrims, hearing altercation, advanced, and with surprise listened to the parley going on between the host and guest.—­“I have a veneration for my chintz, old as it is,” said the pilgrim; “it has been my companion for many years, brother; indeed I cannot part with it.”  The dog held fast the garment, and the Arab, finding persuasion was but loss of words, cast a frown of deep meaning on the travellers, and addressed them:—­“Ye came to me beggars, hungry and fatigued; I believed ye were poor, and I sheltered ye these two days, and fed ye with my best; nay, more, I even killed my useful camel, that your hunger might be appeased.  Had I known there was money with any of ye, my poor beast’s life might yet have been spared; but it is too late to repent the sacrifice I made to serve you,” Then, looking steadfastly at the chintz-robed traveller, he added, in a tone of sharp authority, “Come, change garments!—­here, no one disputes my commands!”

’The trembling pilgrim reluctantly obeyed.  The Arab took up the garment and proceeded with it to where the fire was kindled.  “Now we shall see what my trusty dog discovered in your tattered chintz,” said the Arab, as he threw it on the fire.  All the pilgrims hovered round the flames to watch what would result from the consuming garment, with intense anxiety.  The Arab drew from the embers one hundred gold mohurs, to the surprise and wonder of all the travellers, save him who owned the chintz garment; he had kept his treasures so secretly, that even in their greatest distress he allowed his brother pilgrims to suffer, with himself, want and privations which, owing to his lust for gold, he had no heart to relieve.

’The Arab selected from the prize he had obtained, by the exchange of garments, ten gold mohurs, and presented them to the owner with a sharp rebuke for his duplicity, alluding to the meanness he had been guilty of in seeking and accepting a meal from a Bedouin, whilst he possessed so much wealth about his person; then adding,—­“There is nothing hidden from God; I killed my sole treasure to give food to the poor hungry travellers; my deed of charity is rewarded; deceit in you is punished by the loss of that wealth you deserved not to possess.—­Depart, and be thankful that your life is spared; there are some of my tribe who would not have permitted you to go so easily:  you have enough spared to you for your journey; in future, avoid base deceptions."’