“That is very well,” he said, “but you do not realise that in this retreat, a resort of darvishes and pious people, I have but to say that I suspect you of being an Armenian or even a Shi’a, and you would not reach the bottom of the valley alive. As it is, I am convinced of your identity, and there is no need for anyone to talk about it. How you explain your presence here I do not know, and shall not ask; let me only tell you this, that if you seek favours from the Halabja family I shall oppose you, for I have all my suspicions. Let us now dismiss the subject. So long as you remain in Halabja I shall treat you in a friendly way, for we are both strangers, and each is bound to assist the other in a strange land. If you would stay here the night, do so, and I shall be glad to act as your host. The way back to Halabja is far, and you may not arrive by sunset.” “No,” I said; “I will return, and hope to get back safer than I came, for I was robbed on my way here by one of these Turkish soldiers.” He called for his servant, and told him to bring food, for he insisted upon my eating with him once, and I did not refuse; for thereby, if he were a true Kurd, he would lay upon himself in a measure the obligation of hospitality, and the fact of my having eaten in his house would tend to soften in him whatever enmity he might feel. So when they brought a simple meal, of bread and buttermilk, I joined him, dipping from the same bowl. He excused the frugality of the meal, saying that here this was their diet, and this alone, and when I had finished allowed me to bid him good-bye. I stood before him, bidding him the lengthy parting words of Persian, and he took my hands in his, and looked up for a moment straight into my eyes, as if he would see truth there. Then he smiled, and said, “My son, the ways of the world are hard, and the stranger brave who comes to the unknown, as you have done. There is that in you I like, for you are not afraid; but you lie, like all your countrymen. But I am sorry for you, yes I am truly grieved for you, poor lad!” and with that he let me go. At the threshold, however, he called me back in his slow tones, unused to Persian, and I halted in the doorway. He had gone to the opposite side of the room, and now hastened across and pressed into my hands a small sum of money, saying, “Take this; thou wert robbed within our bounds, and we at any rate can give back.” “But not to me,” I said; “you refuse a gift and seek to give? No, I hunger not, nor do I look for favours from any; keep it, it is a fit mate for my sugar loaves.” The priest smiled, and patted me on the shoulder. “A good test, a good test,” he cried; “Persian, ah! Persian of the Persians, pride forbids you to take it. You are from the south, and not like the Teherani, who would take a kran from his wife’s murderer because it was money. Now give it to the poor for me, and we shall both acquire merit, nor seek by imagining to make out why I gave it.”