Mohammed turned his head a little to one side, and avoided meeting the merchant's keen gaze. " O yes, a number of other things. I want some table-ware, cups, glasses, and the like. I also want," he continued talking rapidly, and with forced indifference, "I also want a warm woollen cloak, such as women wear. I promised a cloak to an old friend of my mother. Give me a warm woollen cloak." The merchant made no reply. He only smiled significantly, and brought out the goods; dark, plain goods, such as became an old woman, and a friend of poor Sitta Khadra. But Mohammed promptly rejected it. That would not be nice enough for a present. He wanted better, finer material, and in lighter colors. The merchant expressed no astonishment, but silently brought out finer goods. Mohammed selected the very handsomest cloak for the old friend of his deceased mother. Finally, he timidly asked for finger- rings and bracelets. "Also for the old friend of your good mother Khadra?" inquired the merchant, with an air of mock gravity. Mohammed did not reply; he had probably not heard him. He quietly selected, from the box handed him, a beautiful ring set with a precious stone, then four beautiful cups and saucers of the finest Chinese porcelain, and a variety of other articles necessary for housekeeping. He concluded by demanding a pair of pillows and coverlids. Mr. Lion asks no more questions; he now knows that Mohammed intends to marry, and is furnishing his house. He is satisfied, and lets his young friend have all he has selected at half the price he would have charged other purchasers. Mohammed joyfully paid the price, and gazed at the beautiful articles he had purchased, with sparkling eyes. "If you wish it, Mohammed," said the merchant, "I will send a servant with you." "Thank you; I am going to my house, and he can accompany me with the things." Mohammed took leave of the merchant, and left the store, the servant following heavily laden. After a few moments Mohammed, however, turned, and came back to the merchant, who was standing on the threshold looking after him. "One thing more, dear sir. You are my friend, and, as I well know, mean well by me," said he, in low, hasty tones. "Certainly, Mohammed Ali, and gladly would I prove to you my friendship." "You can do so; tell no one of my purchases--no one," replied Mohammed with a look of entreaty. The merchant promised to be silent on the subject. "Thank you, kind friend. I am happy; yet all depends on Allah's blessing." He pressed the merchant's hand once more, and walked out, hastily beckoning to the servant, who had remained standing in the street, to follow him. He then walked on to the little hut of his mother Khadra.