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 They stopped their romping, some of them rising up on their knees to see us the better.

"Why, Djimlah Hanoum, what have you there?"

Djimlah surveyed me with eyes full of that humour which is so strong a characteristic of the Turkish people, and replied seriously: "It looks to me like a Christian child."

"And where did you find it?" they cried.

"I borrowed it from the effendi, her father, who is out in the garden talking to grandfather. She will be here a long, long time, as my own baby."

"Really?" They became quite excited about this.

"Yes. And she can understand us, and talk the way we do," Djimlah announced proudly, as if she had imparted to me a knowledge of her language in the short time she had been holding my hand.

"Os-geldi! os-geldi!" then they cried to me in welcome.

"Now let's go to grandmother," said Djimlah.

This bevy of women were the slaves of the house and the slaves of the ladies who were with the great lady within. We passed through several rooms, filled with the outdoor garments of the visiting ladies, and then came into the divan-khané, or principal reception room, where the hostess was entertaining her guests.