"I meant only to borrow them. And I put the bag in a safe place, saying that as soon as I could replace the ten pieces, I would return all to my lord Al Mansour. With much hard labor and careful management I have saved only five little silver pieces. But, as I came to your palace this morning, I kept saying to myself, 'When our lord Al Mansour learns just how it was that I borrowed the gold, I have no doubt that in his kindness of heart he will forgive me the debt.'" Great was the caliph's surprise when he heard the poor man's story. He took the bag of money and handed it to the merchant. "Take the bag and count the money that is in it," he said. "If anything is lacking, I will pay it to you." The merchant did as he was told. "There is nothing lacking," he said, "but the ten pieces he has told you about; and I will give him these as a reward." "No," said Al Mansour, "it is for me to reward the man as he deserves." Saying this, he ordered that ten gold pieces be given to the merchant in place of those that were lacking. Then he rewarded the gardener with ten more pieces for his honesty. "Your debt is paid. Think no more about it," he said. THE COWHERD WHO BECAME A POET I In England there was once a famous abbey, called Whitby. It was so close to the sea that those who lived in it could hear the waves forever beating against the shore. The land around it was rugged, with only a few fields in the midst of a vast forest. In those far-off days, an abbey was half church, half castle. It was a place where good people, and timid, helpless people could find shelter in time of war. There they might live in peace and safety while all the country round was overrun by rude and barbarous men. One cold night in winter the serving men of the abbey were gathered in the great kitchen. They were sitting around the fire and trying to keep themselves warm. Out of doors the wind was blowing. The men heard it as it whistled through the trees and rattled the doors of the abbey. They drew up closer to the fire and felt thankful that they were safe from the raging storm. "Who will sing us a song?" said the master woodman as he threw a fresh log upon the fire. "Yes, a song! a song!" shouted some of the others. "Let us have a good old song that will help to keep us warm." "We can all be minstrels to-night," said the chief cook. "Suppose we each sing a song in turn. What say you?" "Agreed! agreed!" cried the others. "And the cook shall begin." The woodman stirred the fire until the flames leaped high and the sparks flew out of the roof hole. Then the chief cook began his song. He sang of war, and of bold rough deeds, and of love and sorrow. After him the other men were called, one by one; and each in turn sang his favorite song. The woodman sang of the wild forest; the plowman sang of the fields; the shepherd sang of his sheep; and those who listened forgot about the storm and the cold weather.