Our Little Turkish Cousin

"Come, come, children," said Fatima, "it is late. The shadows are beginning to fall. Osman, your father is surely home by this time and will wonder where you are."

While the old woman hurried the boys along, they ate fig-paste they had bought of a peddler.

No doubt you, children of other lands, have eaten fig paste, too. But perhaps you have never thought of the people who invented it. It is a Turkish sweetmeat, and Osman thinks it is delicious when freshly made by a candy merchant in his city.

"The fire has waked up every dog in this quarter," said Fatima, fretfully, as she hurried the children along. She was right in saying so, for "Bow-wow-wow, bow-wow-wow," could be heard in every direction. Even as she spoke, the old nurse stumbled against a big dog that was rushing past her and barking furiously.

"Hurry up, old fellow! Catch him, catch him!" cried Osman, turning around to watch. "Fatima, don't you see what is the matter? He is driving a strange dog out of the street. I hope he will succeed."

Just as Osman spoke, a half-dozen other dogs came tearing along, eager to join in the chase. There was small chance for the stranger, who was now running with all his might. His tongue was hanging from his mouth, and his tail was thrashing from side to side between his legs.

Poor homeless dogs of Constantinople! There are thousands of them. Yes, it is the very truth. There are scores of thousands of them.

Those big, gaunt, yellow creatures live in the streets and byways, under the door-steps and in the graveyards. They feed on the garbage thrown out from the kitchens, but sometimes get a little choicer food through the kindness of the people.

"Kill a dog without real need of doing so! No, no," Osman's father would say, very solemnly. "It is the law of our religion that we should kill nothing living if we can possibly help it. Let the dogs live.

"Besides, they are useful creatures. They keep our streets clean of all decaying matter. By doing this, fevers and many other kinds of illness are prevented. The poor animals are a real blessing."

"I know where there are some new-born puppies," said Selim, as he was leaving Osman for the night.

"Where? Let's go and see them now. Is it near here?" cried his little friend.

"Yes, it's only a few steps."

"No, no, children," broke in Fatima, "you ought to be in your own homes this very moment. Wait till morning, and I will go with you before school-time."

"Are their eyes open yet? Does their mother seem fond of them? How many are there?" asked Osman.

But Fatima did not give Selim a chance to answer. She had already rung the bell at the door of his house, and a servant had appeared to take charge of him.

So, without stopping for anything except a kind wish to Selim for his peace and happiness, she led her own little charge home. His father had reached there before him, and was all ready to talk over the day's doings with his only child.

As the Turk sat smoking that evening, Osman described the fire he had seen, and told of the hunted dog he had met on the way home.

"He ought to have known better than to come into a strange quarter," said the boy. "It was all he could expect. Any dog that remains at home is not troubled by the others. I love the creatures; don't you, papa? They are gentle and quiet and clever."

"Yes, Osman, the city would not seem like home without our yellow-haired dogs. Before you were born, however, the Sultan thought it would be wise to clear our streets of them. Great numbers were taken to an island near the coast."

"Did they die there from want of food, papa?"

"Oh, no. They were too wise to stay there and starve. They all swam back to the city. Our people were so pleased, the dogs have never been troubled since then."

"I love the dogs because they are not only gentle, but they do not forget a kindness. They are grateful creatures," said Osman's mother. "I have a friend who told me the story of an English lady living here in our city. She had a small terrier she had brought back with her after a visit to England.

"I suppose, Osman, you know that our dogs are always ready to attack one of a different breed?"

"Yes, mamma."

"Well, it happened one day that this little terrier escaped from his home and got out into the street among the dogs of the city."

"Did they kill him?"

"No, indeed. But they had a reason for being friendly to him. The English lady and her family had always been kind to them, and had often fed them. Not only this, but she had seen that pans of water were placed in the street on hot days, so the dogs should not suffer from thirst. They were grateful to her, and seemed to feel that her pet terrier was also a friend.

"After this, the lady allowed her dog to play with the others as much as he liked. He was always well treated. But he did not have sense enough to keep in his own street One day he wandered off into another quarter, and he was instantly attacked. His dog friends heard the noise and rushed after him. When they got to him, he was surrounded on all sides by his enemies.

"It would have gone hard with him, if one brave friend had not seized him by the neck and rushed home with him. He did not stop till he reached the lady's house, where he dropped the terrier on the door-step.

"Even then, he and his comrades did not go away. There they waited till the owner appeared, when they tried to explain, as well as poor doggies can, what had happened."

"What noble fellows they were," said Osman, when his mother had finished the story. "I shall love them more than ever." Then the little boy went on to tell of the family of puppies Selim had discovered.

"I will go to see them early to-morrow morning, and will carry some food to the mother," he said. "I love puppies. They are beautiful little things, and their hair is as soft as silk."

Osman loved pets as much as any other boy in the wide world, and he was always ready to take a family of puppies into his heart. His parents taught him, however, that it was not good to handle them. "The dog is an unclean animal," said the boy's father. "Be kind to him and love him, but touch him as little as possible."

CHAPTER IV

THE PICNIC

It was a beautiful summer day. The sun was shining brightly on the glossy leaves of the olive-trees in Osman's garden, and the plants were loaded with blossoms.

Osman had just picked a bunch of flowers when he heard his mother's voice.

"How would you like a day by the Sweet Waters of Europe, my child?"

The little boy looked in the direction of the voice. His mother was moving slowly down the garden path.

"That would be lovely, mamma, but can't Selim go with us?"

"Certainly, and I have sent word to some of my friends to join us, too. We will have a merry time. I am tired of the house, and I long for a row on the beautiful river. Let Fatima go for Selim, and make yourself ready at once."

The little boy's mother was already dressed for the excursion. So, while the servants were preparing the lunch and Osman was getting ready, she sat down on a cushion under the trees and idly waited.

She was richly clad in a pink silk mantle with wide sleeves and deep cape. It was so long it reached down to her ankles.

A small, bright-coloured cap, trimmed with pearls, was fitted closely to her head. The thin muslin veil, fastened to this cap, was brought around her face so no part of it could be seen except her soft, kind eyes.

She did not have long to wait before her friends and Selim arrived to join in the day's outing. The slaves, with wraps and carpets, were also ready, and, at a sign from their mistress, the party started out.

How queerly the ladies walked! They waddled along in a clumsy fashion with their skirts tucked up under their mantles and around their waists. They looked like shapeless bundles moving along in loose trousers and clumsy overshoes.

It was only a few steps to the waterside, where boats were waiting for them. The boatmen first helped the ladies to get in and seat themselves on soft cushions; next came the two boys, and, last of all, the servants.

When every one was comfortably settled, and umbrellas had been raised over the ladies' heads to protect them from the strong sunlight, the men bent to their oars and they were off.

The boats were light and very graceful. They were of a kind the Turks call kaiks. They sped onward through the water as the men gave long, strong pulls at the oars.