“The geese of our country are one-legged,” replied Nasr-ed-Deen, with much gravity.  “If your Majesty does not believe me, be good enough to let your eyes be informed of the truth of what I say by looking at the geese at yonder spring.”

As it happened there were a number of geese at the fountain, and they were all standing on one leg.

The King could not help laughing, but he called to his drummers and said, “March towards yonder fountain, and lay your drumsticks well about your drums.”

The drummers forthwith began to drum, and they rattled away so heartily that all the geese put down their legs and ran off in alarm.

“O Khoja!” cried Timur, “how is this?  All your geese have become two-legged!”

“It is the effect of your Majesty’s wonderful drumsticks,” replied the Khoja.  “If you were to eat one of them, you yourself would undoubtedly become four-legged.”

Tale 47.—­The Khoja Rewards the Frogs.

Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi had been riding his donkey for some miles.  It was very hot, and the Khoja dismounted to ease his beast.  At this moment they came within sight of a pond, and the donkey smelling the water set off towards it as hard as he could canter.

The side of the pond was very steep, and in its haste the donkey would probably have fallen in, but that the frogs set up such a terrific croaking at its approach that the beast, in alarm, turned sharply round, and was caught by its master.

The Khoja was not wanting in grateful and liberal feelings.

“Well done, my little pond-birds!” said he, throwing a handful of coins into the water.  “Divide that among you to buy sweetmeats with.”

Tale 48.—­The Khoja reproaches his Cock.

Once upon a time the Khoja was carrying his fowls in a cage to the city for sale.

As he went along he began to feel sorry for them.

“O my soul!” said he, “these poor fowls are sadly imprisoned.  I will let them go a little.”  So he opened the cage, and the birds scrambled out.  One ran one way, and another another; but the Khoja contrived to keep up with the cock, which he drove before him with his stick, the poor bird waddling hither and thither, and fluttering from side to side with distress and indecision pitiable to behold.

On seeing this the Khoja began to reproach him.  “You never thought it would come to this, my fine bird, did you?” said he.  “And yet what a wiseacre you are!  You know when it’s day better than the sun himself, and can crow loud enough for all the world to hear your wisdom.”

The poor cock made no reply, but waddled on with hoarse cries and flapping wings.

“You’re a poor prophet!” said the Khoja.  “You know that it is morning in the middle of the night:  how is it you could not foresee that you were to be driven to market?  Thus—­and thus!” And turning him at every corner by which he would escape, the Khoja drove the distracted cock into the city.