“O benefactors!” replied the Khoja, “since you desire the brute’s life it must be spared.  But it shall have no home with me.  I am about to drive it into the desert, where it may stumble to its heart’s content.”

So the Khoja drove the camel away; but before he did so he tore the furniture and trappings furiously from its back, crying, “I won’t leave you a rag, you ungrateful beast!”

And he pursued his journey on foot, carrying the camel’s furniture as best as he might.

Tale 31.—­An Open Question.

The Khoja wanted vegetables for cooking, so he took a sack and slipped into a neighbouring garden, which was abundantly supplied.  He picked some herbs, and pulled up some turnips, and got a little of everything he could find to fill his bag.  Both hands were full, when the gardener suddenly appeared and seized him.

“What are you doing here?” said the gardener.

The Khoja was confounded, and not being able to find a good excuse, he said, “A very strong wind blew during the night.  Having driven me a long way, it blew me here.”

“Oh,” said the gardener; “but who plucked these herbs which I see in your hands?”

“The wind was so very strong,” answered the Khoja, “that when it blew me into this place I clutched with both hands at the first things I could lay hold of, lest it should drive me further.  And so they remain in my grasp.”

“Oh,” said the gardener; “but who put these into the sack, I wonder?”

“That is just what puzzles me,” the Khoja replied; “I was thinking about it when you came in.”

Tale 32.—­The Spurting Fountain.

One summer’s day the Khoja had come a long way, and was very hot and thirsty.  By and by he perceived a fountain, of which the pipe was stopped up with a piece of wood.

“Now I shall quench my thirst,” said the Khoja, and he pulled out the stopper, on which the water rushed out with vehement force over the Khoja’s head, and drenched him in a moment.

“Ah!” cried the Khoja angrily, “it’s because of your running so madly that they have stuck that stick into you, I suppose.”

Tale 33.—­Well-meant Soup.

One day as the Khoja was returning home he met a party of students walking together.

“Good-evening, Effendis!” said he.  “Pray come home with me, and we will have some soup.”

The students did not think twice about accepting the invitation, and they followed the Khoja home to his house.

“Pray be seated,” said the Khoja, and when they had seated themselves he went to the upper room.  “Wife,” said he, “I have brought home some guests.  Let us give them a good bowl of soup.”

“O Effendi!” cried the wife, “is there any butter in the house?  Is there any rice?  Have you brought anything home for me to make it of, that you ask for soup?”

“Give me the soup-bowl,” said the Khoja.  Then taking the empty bowl in his hand he returned to the students.