Our Little Turkish Cousin

On and on they went, now rapidly as the river widened; again, they moved more slowly as they entered a narrow stretch of water, almost filled with the boats of other pleasure-seekers.

Sometimes they were obliged to pass under a little wooden bridge. Then it was fun for Osman and Selim to reach up and see if they could touch the floor of the bridge before they left it behind them.

Pretty houses stood here and there on the banks of the river, or groves of trees that seemed to say, "Stop here and rest awhile. I will give you shade and comfort."

But still the rowers kept on, as though their arms would never get tired. They did not speak, these sober-faced men. Each wore a red fez on his head, which made him look hot and uncomfortable in the strong sunshine.

There was a time when all Turks wore soft turbans, which are the best and most comfortable covering for the head. But times are changed now. The great Sultan likes the fez best, and the turban is seen more and more seldom as the years pass by.

At last the party reached a spot where Osman's mother decided to stop. It was a favourite picnic-ground for the people of Constantinople. A pretty grove of trees was growing close to the shore, while, near by, tiny coffee-houses stood here and there in the meadows.

"I hear sweet music," said Osman. "Listen, mamma."

"Yes, it is a wandering player. After we get settled, we will pay him to play for us," answered his mother.

The ladies made themselves comfortable on the rugs their servants spread under the trees. The children wandered about as they liked.

"Sweet Waters of Europe" is a good name for this part of the river. It was a pleasant place, and everything about them looked fresh and inviting.

"Osman, let's see what that man is showing," cried Selim, after the boys had listened to some music and eaten the ices they had bought at a stand.

The children joined a crowd of people gathering around a showman.

It was a puppet-show, something like the Punch and Judy one sees in England and America. But the funny little figures acted out a very different play. It must have been amusing, for every one laughed heartily.

Before the day was over other showmen came along, each with a different exhibition of his own. Then there were men who performed tricks, and others who had candies and dainties to sell.

As for the ladies, you must not think they sat quietly on their mats all day long. Oh, no indeed! They laughed and romped, they sang and danced, they ate candies and cakes as freely as the children themselves. The serious ways of the city were quite forgotten.

But at last the shadows of evening began to fall.

"Come, come, we must start for home," cried Osman's mother. "I must certainly be home by sunset to greet my husband."

They made haste to start, and in a few minutes they had taken their places in the boats and were moving back toward the great city.

As it came into view once more, it looked almost like a fairy city. The soft light of the late afternoon bathed the tall spires and minarets, which reached up toward the sky like long, slender needles.

Here and there were grand buildings of white marble, while the whole place was dotted with groves of dark cypress-trees.

Yes, it looked very, very beautiful, but when the boats were left behind, and the narrow, dirty streets were reached again, it did not seem possible it could be the same place the party had seen from the water.

There was no likeness to fairy-land now. The hungry dogs, the ragged beggars, the tumble-down houses in the very midst of the fine buildings, make the stranger feel sad.

But Osman is so used to these sights, they do not trouble him. This city, the greatest one of his people, always seems grand and beautiful to him.

On the evening after the picnic, Osman's mother said to her husband, "I have invited a party of my friends to lunch with me to-morrow."

The Turks do little visiting after sunset. The ladies often spend the day with each other, but are seldom away from home at dinner-time.

The next morning, after their master had gone away for the day, and Osman had started for school, the servants began to make ready for the party.

As soon as the first guest arrived, a pair of shoes belonging to Osman's mother was placed outside the door of her room. If her husband should happen to come home during the day, he would see these shoes. He would know by this sign that his wife had lady visitors. It would not be polite for him to enter her rooms during their stay in the house.

The lunch-hour soon came. The hostess led her friends into the dining-room. They seated themselves on the soft cushions placed by the servants around the low stand.

There was a spoon, and also a piece of bread, at each lady's place. On the centre of the stand was a leather pad on which hot dishes would be set as they were brought in. But when the ladies sat down there was no food to be seen, except the pieces of bread, some saucers containing olives, bits of cucumber, melons, and radishes.

And now the slaves moved from one guest to another, bringing a basin of water and towels. Each one must bathe her hands before eating, as well as afterward, whether alone or in the grandest company.

It was a pleasure to watch them. As the stream of clear water fell slowly into the basin, each one rubbed her fingers gracefully and daintily, and then dried them on the fine linen towel held out by the watchful servant.

When this had been done by every one, Osman's mother clapped her hands, and a tureen of thick, creamy soup was brought in and set on the leather pad.

The hostess politely waved her hand toward her principal guest. She was inviting her to be the first one to dip her spoon into the soup. After this, the other ladies joined in, all eating together from the same dish.

After a few mouthfuls, the hostess made a sign to the slave to remove the soup and bring in another dish. Before the meal was over there would be sixteen courses, at least, and, therefore, it would not be well to eat much of any one of them.

The guests ate a little of every course. But, between the courses, they nibbled at the olives, cucumbers, and different sweetmeats.

More than once, Osman's mother broke off a choice bit of food with her fingers, and held it up to the mouth of one of her friends. It was a very polite attention, and her visitor was pleased.

"How rude some people in the world are about eating," said one of the ladies. "They use the most clumsy things in their hands. They call them knives and forks. And besides, I have heard they do not wash before and after each meal. Ugh! It makes me shiver to think of their unclean ways."

"Yes, they are certainly not neat, and they are very awkward, if all I have heard about them be true," said another visitor. "They should study the ways of our people."

At last the luncheon was ended. The hostess led the way into the drawing-room, where coffee was now served.

They were having a merry time, laughing and chatting, when Osman entered the room. His face showed he had something he wished to tell. Making a low bow to the ladies, he turned to his mother and said:

"Oh, mamma, I just saw a cat fall ever so far. She was on the roof of that old building behind our house. She fell down, down to the ground. And, mamma, I thought she would be killed. But she came down softly on her feet and ran off as if she hadn't been hurt the least bit. How is it that a cat can do such a thing? No other animal is like her, I'm sure."

His mother laughed, and turned to one of her friends. "Won't you tell my little boy the story of Mohammed and the cat?" she asked. "We should all be pleased to listen, and perhaps there are some here who do not know it."

The rest of the company nodded their heads. "Yes, do tell it," said one after another.

"Very well, little Osman," said the lady whom the boy's mother had asked. "You shall have the story. I trust you will remember it whenever you think of the Holy Prophet.

"Mohammed once travelled a long, long distance over the desert. He became very tired, and at last he stopped to rest. As he did so, he fell fast asleep.

"Then, sad am I to tell it, a wicked serpent glided out from among the rocks and drew near the Prophet. It was about to bite him, when a cat happened to come along. She saw the serpent and what it was about to do; she rushed upon it and struggled and fought. The serpent defended itself with all its strength and cunning, too. Great was the battle. But the cat killed the snake.

"As it was dying, the wicked creature hissed so horribly that the noise awakened Mohammed, and he saw at once that the cat had saved his life.

"'Come here,' he said. As the cat obeyed him, the holy man stroked her lovingly three times. Three times he blessed her, saying these words:

"'May peace be yours, O cat. I will reward you for your kindness to me this day. No enemy shall conquer thee. No creature that lives shall ever be able to throw thee on thy back. Thou art indeed thrice blessed.'"

"And is this the reason a cat always falls on her feet?" asked Osman.