Once there was a great Emir or Prince who had a very abject and obsequious servant named Deeb (Wolf).  One day Deeb brought to the Emir for his dinner a dish of stewed badinjan, which pleased the Emir so much that he complimented Deeb, and told him that it was the best dinner he had eaten for months.  Deeb bowed to the earth and kissed the feet of the Emir, and said, “may God prolong the life of your excellency!  Your excellency knows what is good.  There is nothing like the badinjan.  It is the best of vegetables.  Its fruit is good, its leaf is good, its stalk is good, and its root is good.  It is good roasted, stewed, boiled, fried, and even raw.  It is good for old and young.  Your excellency, there is nothing like the badinjan.”  Now the Emir was unusually hungry, and ate so bountifully of the badinjan that he was made very ill.  So he sent for Deeb, and rebuked him sharply, saying, “you rascal, you Deeb, your name is Wolf, and you are rightly named.  This badinjan which you praised so highly has almost killed me.”  “Exactly so,” said Deeb, “may your excellency live forever!  The badinjan is the vilest of plants.  It is never eaten without injury.  Its fruit is injurious, its leaf is injurious, its stalk is noxious, and its root is the vilest of all.  It is not fit ‘ajell shanak Allah,’ for the pigs to eat, whether raw, roasted, stewed, boiled or fried.  It is injurious to the young and dangerous to the old.  Your excellency, there is nothing so bad as the badinjan!  Never touch the badinjan!”—­“Out with you, you worthless fellow, you Deeb!  What do you mean by praising the badinjan when I praise it, and abusing it when it injures me?” “Ah, your excellency,” said Deeb, “am I the servant of the badinjan, or the servant of your excellency?  I must say what pleases you, but it makes no difference whether I please the badinjan or not.”

The wedding party is now over, and the guests are departing.  Each one on leaving says, “by your pleasure, good evening!” The host answers, “go in peace, you have honored us.”  The guests reply, “we have been honored, Allah give the newly married ones an arees,” (a bridegroom).  They would not dare wish that Shaheen and Handumeh might some day have a little baby girl.  That would be thought an insult.

We will walk up the hill to our mountain home, passing the fountain and the great walnut trees.  Here comes a horseman.  It is Ali, who has been spending a month among the Bedawin Arabs.  He will come up and stay with us, and tell us of his adventures.  He says that the Sit Harba, the wife of the great Arab Sheikh ed Dukhy, taught him a number of the Bedawin Nursery Songs, and although he is weary with his journey, he will repeat some of them in Arabic.

They are all about camels and spears and fighting and similar subjects, and no wonder, as they see nothing else, and think of nothing else.

    To-morrow is the feast day,
    We’ve no “henna” on our hands;
    Our camels went to bring it,
    From far off distant lands;
    We’ll rise by night and listen,
    The camel bells will ring;
    And say a thousand welcomes
    To those who “henna” bring.