Children's stories, English; Fairy tales; Short stories, English
Then the diver came up for the last time, and the pearl that he brought
with him was fairer than all the pearls of Ormuz, for it was shaped like
the full moon, and whiter than the morning star. But his face was
strangely pale, and as he fell upon the deck the blood gushed from his
ears and nostrils. He quivered for a little, and then he was still. The
negroes shrugged their shoulders, and threw the body overboard.
And the master of the galley laughed, and, reaching out, he took the
pearl, and when he saw it he pressed it to his forehead and bowed. ‘It
shall be,’ he said, ‘for the sceptre of the young King,’ and he made a
sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor.
And when the young King heard this he gave a great cry, and woke, and
through the window he saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at
the fading stars.
* * * * *
And he fell asleep again, and dreamed, and this was his dream.
He thought that he was wandering through a dim wood, hung with strange
fruits and with beautiful poisonous flowers. The adders hissed at him as
he went by, and the bright parrots flew screaming from branch to branch.
Huge tortoises lay asleep upon the hot mud. The trees were full of apes
and peacocks.
On and on he went, till he reached the outskirts of the wood, and there
he saw an immense multitude of men toiling in the bed of a dried-up
river. They swarmed up the crag like ants. They dug deep pits in the
ground and went down into them. Some of them cleft the rocks with great
axes; others grabbled in the sand.
They tore up the cactus by its roots, and trampled on the scarlet
blossoms. They hurried about, calling to each other, and no man was
idle.
From the darkness of a cavern Death and Avarice watched them, and Death
said, ‘I am weary; give me a third of them and let me go.’ But Avarice
shook her head. ‘They are my servants,’ she answered.
And Death said to her, ‘What hast thou in thy hand?’
‘I have three grains of corn,’ she answered; ‘what is that to thee?’
‘Give me one of them,’ cried Death, ‘to plant in my garden; only one of
them, and I will go away.’
‘I will not give thee anything,’ said Avarice, and she hid her hand in
the fold of her raiment.
And Death laughed, and took a cup, and dipped it into a pool of water,
and out of the cup rose Ague. She passed through the great multitude,
and a third of them lay dead. A cold mist followed her, and the
water-snakes ran by her side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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