The Pelican was attracted by these beautiful plants and made his home in their midst, having an eye for colour; the life suited him but for one thing, and that was the dull company which he found among the other birds. He hardly cared to speak to them, for, though they were civil and pleasant enough, he had been so long accustomed to the talk of the young man in yellow that all other seemed dull in comparison. As for marrying, he gave up the idea, for he could not find one hen-pelican whose silly chatter did not drive him mad. In spite of the luxury in which he lived, he counted the days of each week till Friday should come round and bring his friend to sit with him for an hour or two among the scarlet flowers. Now it happened that the girl who sold melons, and whom the young man in yellow had never seen since the day on which the Pelican first spoke, was sitting one afternoon by the Nile. The reason he had not seen her was that her father, a cross old man, had begun to sell his fruit on the bank of the river, and now made her sit by it from morning till night. One day it was very hot, and the sun was so fierce that she grew sleepy and laid herself down under a palm tree to rest. While she slept a string of camels came by, and one of them knocked its foot against the pile of fruit; with a great splash all the melons rolled, one over the other, like round balls, down the bank, and were carried away by the running water. The girl jumped up, wringing her hands, and calling to the camel-drivers to save them, but they only laughed and passed on. “Who sleeps long at noon weeps long at night!” they shouted. The poor girl did not wait till night, but sat down at once in the dust and cried. When she looked up she saw her father coming along on his donkey, for he had been to admire his melon beds on the river-bank some way off. She was so frightened that she began running away as fast as she could. She ran and ran till she came to a great wall in which a door was standing open. Through it she went and found herself in a fine garden full of jessamine and orange trees. She was so tired that she looked about for water to bathe her hot face, and a shady place where she might rest and hide from the burning sun. Not far off she could see the shine of a lake, and a scarlet patch of high water plants in which a white Pelican dozed, half asleep. “By the beard of the Prophet!” exclaimed the bird, “this is none other than the melon girl! O Master! Master! Would I could see your yellow kaftan approaching through the trees!” But it was only Thursday, and there was no chance of the young man coming till the morrow. When the girl had bathed her face and drunk some water he came forward, and, with much politeness, invited her to rest among the tall cannas, as the scarlet flowers were called. When he had heard her story his face grew subtle.