Khalid’s door, and the fire crackled under the roof within. The father commands; the mother begs; the father objurgates, threatens, curses his son’s faith; and the mother, prostrating herself before the Virgin, weeps, and prays, and beats her breast.
Alas, and my Khalid? he goes out on the terrace to search in the Nursery for his favourite Plant. No, he does not find it; brambles are there and noxious weeds galore. The thorny, bitter reality he must now face, and, by reason of his lack of savoir-faire, be ultimately outfaced by it. For the upshot of the many quarrels he had with his father, the prayers and tears of the mother not availing, was nothing more or less than banishment. You will either go to Church like myself, or get out of this house: this the ultimatum of Abu-Khalid. And needless to say which alternative the son chose.
“I still remember how agitated he was when he came to tell me of the fatal breach. His words, which drew tears from my