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 "Come out, Sun Effendi, come out! You are so golden and warm, and I am so cold."

She shook her little body and rose, jumping up and down to get warm.

As if to oblige her the sun's rays grew stronger and stronger, and we began to feel better under their warmth. We could hear the storm growling miles away now, and see only bits of lightning.

"It's working its way back to Allah," said Djimlah, "so let's go home, and get dry clothes and something to eat. But I am glad we came out, for now you know that it has no roots." She put her arm around me. "I used to be afraid of the noise," she confessed sheepishly. "I used to hide my head in some one's lap. I never knew it was so beautiful. You made me see that."

This deference pleased me, yet it did not take away the smart from which I was suffering. Indeed, the calm assertion of Djimlah that we were all in the same way children of God hurt me more than any abstract proposition has since been able to. Had she intimated that the Turks and the Greeks were alike, I could have proved to her by actual facts that the Greeks were superior to the Turks, because they had attained to the noblest civilization, the most beautiful architecture, and the greatest literature in the world; but how was I to prove my position of superiority before God?

The afternoon passed in various games, in