After this the air cleared somewhat, so that Mohammed enjoyed a temporary peace; yet it was not long before he incontinently got himself into another scrape. His harem had not particularly objected when he took four other brides in fairly rapid succession--Juweiriya and Safiya, both captives taken in war; Um Habiba, the daughter, _mirabile dictu_, of Abu Sufyan; and the beauteous Meimuna, the sister-in-law of his uncle Al-Abbas,--but when his wives discovered that one of his latest concubines, Mary the Coptic maid, was about to become a mother, confusion was worse confounded. For they knew that, above all else, Mohammed desired a son: he had no living boy, he was naturally affectionate, and he suffered agonies from his enemies who applied to him the sobriquet “al-abtar,” which means one without descendants, or, translated literally, “one whose tail has been cut off.” When in the course of time Mary gave birth to a son, who was named Ibrahim, she was raised from the status of a slave to a position almost on par with her “Sisters”; and Mohammed, overjoyed at his long frustrated good fortune, immediately shaved his head--which had been shorn about a month before--weighed the snippings, and distributed among the poor a corresponding weight of silver. He was also foolish enough to carry his little son to Ayesha and to burst out, in the fulness of parental pride, “Look, what a likeness it is to me!” “I do not see it,” snapped Ayesha. “What!” he cried, “canst thou not see the likeness, and how fair and fat he is?” “Yes, and so would be any other child that drank as much milk as he,” was the answer.