And she whispered some words to the queen, who seemed much pleased, and went off at once to see the king. Now the queen was a very wise woman, so she pretended to think she might have made a mistake, and only begged to be allowed to put a test to the two young men to prove which was the real prince. The king, who was feeling much ashamed of the rage he had been in with his dear wife, consented at once, and she said: “No doubt others would make them ride or shoot, or something of that sort, but every one learns these things. I wish to set them a task which requires sharp wits and clever hands, and I want them to try which of them can best make a kaftan and pair of trousers.” The king laughed. “No, no, that will never do. Do you suppose my son would compete with that crazy tailor as to which could make the best clothes? Oh, dear, no, that won’t do at all.” But the queen claimed his promise, and as he was a man of his word the king gave in at last. He went to his son and begged that he would humour his mother, who had set her heart on his making a kaftan. The worthy Labakan laughed to himself. “If that is all she wants,” thought he, “her majesty will soon be pleased to own me.” Two rooms were prepared, with pieces of material, scissors, needles and threads, and each young man was shut up in one of them. The king felt rather curious as to what sort of garment his son would make, and the queen, too, was very anxious as to the result of her experiment. On the third day they sent for the two young men and their work. Labakan came first and spread out his kaftan before the eyes of the astonished king. “See, father,” he said; “see, my honoured mother, if this is not a masterpiece of work. I’ll bet the court tailor himself cannot do better. The queen smiled and turned to Omar: “And what have you done, my son?” Impatiently he threw the stuff and scissors down on the floor. “I have been taught how to manage a horse, to draw a sword, and to throw a lance some sixty paces, but I never learnt to sew, and such a thing would have been thought beneath the notice of the pupil of Elfi Bey, the ruler of Cairo.” “Ah, true son of your father,” cried the queen; “if only I might embrace you and call you son! Forgive me, my lord and husband,” she added, turning to the king, “for trying to find out the truth in this way. Do you not see yourself now which is the prince and which the tailor? Certainly this kaftan is a very fine one, but I should like to know what master taught this young man how to make clothes.” The king sat deep in thought, looking now at his wife and now at Labakan, who was doing his best to hide his vexation at his own stupidity. At last the king said: “Even this trial does not satisfy me; but happily I know of a sure way to discover whether or not I have been deceived.”