At length they reached a little plain, or cup-shaped hollow, among the hills, in the midst of which stood an ancient terebinth full three parts dead. A number of rags hanging from the withered branches gave to that tree a curious bearded look. “We will halt awhile in its shade,” said Hassan, who had assumed the chief command. “The sun is hot; and after a little, Allah sends to us the midday breeze, when it will be more pleasant riding.” At that Shibli, with a shout, set off galloping toward the tree. At his shout a flight of small birds forsook its branches and flew, wavering, with faint tweets, toward the northern hillside. With a scream of delight, the youth unslung the gun from his back, leveled it, and fired after the birds. In a second his horse was standing on its hind legs, and he himself lay on his back among the stones. His gun had flown a great way off, in another direction. A roar of laughter went up from the cavalcade. The women peeped forth, tittering, between the curtains of the palanquin. Only Shems-ud-dìn betrayed concern. “Art hurt, O my son?” he inquired, dismounting amid a general stampede in chase of Shibli’s horse, which was by that time careering madly across the plain, showing the flat of its hind hoofs to the pursuit. “This is a lesson,” said Hassan Agha, chuckling. “Boys must learn from Allah! Did not I warn thee to have a care in handling thy gun? Did not I tell thee how to sit for firing—bridle dropped, feet forward, pressing the stirrups? Yet when the time came, thy feet were somewhere behind thee and thou didst drag up the bridle. Another time, perhaps, thou wilt remember.” Shibli arose, crestfallen, tears trickling down his cheeks. He admitted with shame that he was unhurt. The litter was set down in the shade. The beasts were hobbled and turned loose. The men who had gone in pursuit of the runaway returned successful, their horses panting and half-blind with sweat. All crowded together beneath the tree. Shems-ud-dìn sat with his back to the trunk, where the shade was darkest. It was nowhere a continuous blot of shade, but rather like a net enmeshing forms and faces. Nesìb the Thief, who had brought a waterskin along with him, gave to drink in a horn cup, to the sheykh first, and then to all the company; not forgetting the women, upon whose needs Mâs waited. By and by, as they sat in drowsy converse, came a sighing of the branches overhead. Flowers that grew among the stones swayed a little. It was as though a cool hand fell on every brow. The breeze which tempers noon had found them out. Throughout the halt Shems-ud-dìn gazed straight before him, or else upon the ground at his feet. Not until Hassan gave the word to remount did he raise his eyes in thanksgiving for that half-hour’s refreshment. They remained fixed in awful contemplation.