When John awoke he had a feeling it was late afternoon. The sky above him was not such a brilliant blue, some of the lustre had gone out of it. The stream sang louder than before, otherwise there was perfect quiet, for the insects had ceased humming. All at once he realised he was naked. Of course, he had been bathing and had slept in the grass, waiting for Ali! Where was Ali? John got up and then gave a low cry. His friend too, was fast asleep at his side. John stretched out his hand to wake him, when he felt something upon his head. It was a wreath, twined out of asphodel, pressed over his brow like a crown. He drew it off with a laugh. Ali had been playing tricks. His laughter woke Ali, who sat up. "Hadn't we better get dressed?" asked John, standing up. "What's the wreath for?" "To crown you." John laughed gaily, and then checked himself, for there was an expression of pain on Ali's face. His friend was now on his knees, his sunburnt body erect, and he was looking at him from under a brow half hidden with hair tousled by the wind. John had never seen Ali look like that before. The eyes were no longer those of a merry lad, but belonged rather to a suffering dumb brute. As John looked down at him, their eyes met, and a low cry escaped Ali's lips. "What is it, Ali?" John asked, stooping, and his question seemed to loose a floodgate of the emotions, for Ali flung his arms round the boy's ankles, and sobbed as if his heart would break. Like all males, John hated the sight of tears; it made him feel awkward; he knew not what to say or do. So he just stood still and looked down at the bowed back of his friend. Then, unable to watch Ali's distress any longer, he bent down, and with sheer strength, lifted him on to his feet and held him just as a mother would a troubled child. Somehow, John felt years older, and Ali seemed like a baby--it was strange, because Ali had always been so silent, so reserved, with a kind of hidden strength which had often made John admire him secretly. "I say, Ali--you mustn't go on like this,--what is the matter?" "You are going away, John effendi." "Yes, but I shall come back,--besides why do you worry so?" "You are my friend, John effendi--I would never leave you--you are more to me than a brother." "Thanks, Ali--we--we've been great friends, and when I come back--" "You will come back?" "Of course I shall! I shall spend my summer holidays at Constantinople with my father. He wants to take you there with him, unless you are there at school. I didn't know you--thought so much--of me, All." "Have I not always followed you, effendi? You are English, I am a Turk--but we are brothers--and now you are leaving me."