no housing for me, nought to operate upon.  I was the lean dog that lieth in wait for offal.  It seemeth certain, O old woman, that a curse hath fallen on barbercraft in these days, because of the Identical, whose might I know not.  Everywhere it is growing in disrepute; ’tis languishing!  Nevertheless till now I have preserved my tackle, and I would descend on yonder city to exercise it, even for a livelihood, forgetting awhile great things, but that I dread men may have changed there also,—­and there’s no stability in them, I call Allah (whose name be praised!) to witness; so should I be a thing unsightly, subject to hateful castigation; wherefore is it that I am in that state described by the poet, when,

          “Dreading retreat, dreading advance to make,
          Round we revolve, like to the wounded snake.”

Is not my case now a piteous one, one that toucheth the tender corner in man and woman?’

When she that listened had heard him to an end, she shook her garments, crying, ’O youth, son of my uncle, be comforted! for, if it is as I think, the readers of planets were right, and thou art thus early within reach of great things—­nigh grasping them.’

Then she fell to mumbling and reciting jigs of verse, quaint measures; and she pored along the sand to where a line had been drawn, and saw that the footprints of the youth were traced along it.  Lo, at that sight she clapped her hands joyfully, and ran up to the youth, and peered in his face, exclaiming, ’Great things indeed! and praise thou the readers of planets, O nephew of the barber, they that sent thee searching the Event thou art to master.  Wullahy! have I not half a mind to call thee already Master of the Event?’

Then she abated somewhat in her liveliness, and said to him, ’Know that the city thou seest is the city of Shagpat, the clothier, and there’s no one living on the face of earth, nor a soul that requireth thy craft more than he.  Go therefore thou, bold of heart, brisk, full of the sprightliness of the barber, and enter to him.  Lo, thou’lt see him lolling in his shop-front to be admired of this people—­marvelled at.  Oh! no mistaking of Shagpat, and the mole might discern Shagpat among myriads of our kind; and enter thou to him gaily, as to perform a friendly office, one meriting thanks and gratulations, saying, ’’I will preserve thee the Identical!’’ Now he’ll at first feign not to understand thee, dense of wit that he is! but mince not matters with him, perform well thy operation, and thou wilt come to great things.  What say I? ’tis certain that when thou hast shaved Shagpat thou wilt have achieved the greatest of things, and be most noteworthy of thy race, thou, Shibli Bagarag, even thou! and thou wilt be Master of the Event, so named in anecdotes and histories and records, to all succeeding generations.’