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 go there, but always to remember his place filled by his kindly presence?

Though reasoning thus, my feet still took me onward to where he used to be, and there, at his accustomed place, sat Ali Baba, his face looking like a nice red apple, wrinkled by the sun and rain.

I went and stood before him. "Ali Baba!" I said, tears in my voice.

He rose, a trifle less quickly than he used to, and looked at me incredulously.

"Benim kuchouk, hanoum," he said slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh! it is I!" I cried. "It is I," and gave him both my hands.

We walked toward the little caïque, where he took some time to unfasten the rope. We did not speak until he had rowed again mid-way, under the bridge.

"Where have you been all these many, many years?" he asked reproachfully.

"I have been to America." I replied, "the newest and biggest of all countries"—and as of old I was talking, and he was listening; only this time it was not of the past, and of the people, who, having done their work, were dead and forgotten, but of a country of a great present, and a still greater future. And as of old his old face was full of interest and kindness.

Presently he asked, "But my little lady, what