Ever since the tragi-comical incident at Lipman's shop, Heyman was not present to Beile's thoughts except in the pitiful, cowering attitude in which he sat through that awful scene by his machine. She was sure she hated him now. And yet her heart was, during the first few days, constantly throbbing with the expectation of his visit, and as she settled in her mind that even if he came she would have nothing to do with him, her deeper consciousness seemed to say, with a smile of conviction: "Oh no, you know you would not refuse him. You wouldn't risk to remain an old maid, would you?" The idea of his jilting her harrowed her day and night. Did he avail himself of her leaving Lipman's shop to back out of the proposal which was naturally expected of him, but which he never perhaps contemplated? Did he make game of her?

When a week had elapsed without Heyman putting in an appearance, she came near allowing her mother to see a lawyer about breach-of-promise proceedings. But an image, whose outlines had kept defining itself in her heart for the last several days, overruled this decision. It was the image of a pluckier fellow than Heyman-of one with whom there was more protection in store for a wife, who inspired her with more respect and confidence, and, what is more, who seemed on the point of proposing to her.

It was the image of David. The young baster pursued his courtship with a quiet persistency and a suppressed fervor which was not long in winning the girl's heart. He found work for her and for himself in the same shop; saw her home every evening, regularly came after supper to take her out for a walk, in the course of which he would treat her to candy and invite her to a coffee saloon--a thing which Heyman had never done-kept her chuckling over his jokes, and at the end of ten days, while sitting by her side in Central Park, one night, he said in reply to her remark that it was so dark that she knew not where she was:

"I'll tell you where you are-guess."'

"Where?"

"Here, in my heart, and keeping me awake nights, too. Say, Beile, what have I ever done to you to have my rest disturbed by you in that manner?"

Her heart was beating like a sledge-hammer. She tried to laugh, as she returned:

"I don't know—. You can never stop making fun?"

"Fun? Do you want me to cry? I will, gladly, if I only know that you will agree to have an engagementparty," he rejoined, deeply blushing under cover of the darkness.

"When?" she questioned, the word crossing her lips before she knew it.

THE STORK-CALIPH*

BY WILHELM HAUFF

NCE upon a time the Caliph Chasid, of Bagdad, on a lovely afternoon sat comfortably upon his sofa. He had slept a little, and appeared cheerful after his slumber. He smoked a long pipe, drank now and then a little coffee, which a slave poured out, and, as if it tasted good, stroked his beard in a pleased way. In short, one perceived from his appearance that he felt in good humor. At this hour one could easily have speech with him, because he was then always mild and amiable; and at this time also his Grand Vizier paid his respects. This particular afternoon he came as usual, but appeared very thoughtful, which was not his usual custom. The Caliph took the pipe partially out of his mouth, and spoke: "What makes you wear so thoughtful an expression, Grand Vizier?"

The Grand Vizier flung his arms crosswise over his heart, bowed himself before his master, and spoke: "Sir! whether I wear a thoughtful expression I know not, but there stands yonder at the castle a peddler who has

such pretty things that it angers me that I have not more superfluous gold."

The Caliph, who for some time past would willingly have given pleasure to his Grand Vizier, sent his black slave to fetch the peddler. This was a little stout man, swarthy in appearance and in ragged dress. He carried a chest in which

he had all kinds of wares, pearls and rings, richly inlaid pistols, goblets and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier examined everything; and the Caliph finally bought for himself and Mansor beautiful pistols, but for the wife of the Vizier a comb. As the peddler was closing his chest,

*Translated by A. A. Entz, from the German, for Short Stories. Illustrations by Charles Lederer.-Copyrighted.

the Caliph saw a little drawer, and asked if there were wares in it. The peddler drew out the drawer and showed therein a box containing a blackish powder, and a paper with singular writing, which neither the Caliph nor Mansor could read. "Some time ago I took these two pieces from a merchant who had found them in a street in Mecca," said the peddler; "they are at your service at a low price. I cannot accomplish anything with them." The Caliph, who would

gladly have an old manuscript in his library, even though he could not read it, bought the manuscript and powder, and dismissed the peddler. But the Caliph being anxious to know what the manuscript contained, asked the Vizier if he knew of one who could decipher it. "Gracious Sir and Master," answered the other, "in the large Mosque lives a man called Selim the Learned, who. understands all languages; let him come; perhaps he understands these mysterious characters." The learned Selim was soon fetched. "Selim," spoke the Caliph to him, "Selim, they say that thou art very learned; peep a little into this manuscript to see whether thou canst read it. If thou canst read it thou shalt receive from me a new holiday dress; if not, thou shalt receive twelve strokes on the ear and five-and-twenty on the soles of the feet, because, without reason, they call thee Selim the Learned." Selim prostrated himself and spoke: "Thy will be done, O Sir!'' Long contemplated he the manuscript, but' suddenly cried out: "This is Latin, O Sir,

or let me be hung." "Say what is therein," commanded the Caliph, "if it is Latin.

Selim commenced to translate: "Of all mankind whosoever finds this, praise Allah for his grace. For whosoever snuffs of the powder in this box and thereupon says: Mutabor (a Latin word denoting a wish to be transformed), can be changed into any animal, and understand its language. When he wishes to return again to his human form, he bows himself three times toward the East, and speaks that word. But let him take care when he is transformed that he laughs not, else the magic word vanishes completely from his memory, and he is and remains an animal.”

As Selim the Learned thus read, the Caliph was pleased beyond measure. He made the learned man swear to tell no one at any time of the secret, presented him with a hand

some dress, and dismissed him; but to his Grand Vizier he said: "That I call a good purchase, Mansor. How delightful to be an animal for a time. Come thou to me early to-morrow morning. Then will we go together in the fields snuff something out of the box, and listen to what is spoken in the air and water, amid the woods and in the fields!"

The next morning the Caliph had scarcely dressed himself and broken his fast, when the Grand Vizier appeared, as his Master had commanded, in order to accompany him in his walk. The Caliph stuck the box with the magic powder in his girdle, and, commanding his attendants to remain behind, went alone with the Grand Vizier on the way. They went first through the Caliph's large garden, but in vain sought some living thing in order to try the experiment. The Vizier finally proposed to go far away to a pond where he had often seen many animals, especially storks, which had attracted his attention through their grave ways and rattling bills.

The Caliph approved of the proposition of his Vizier, and went with him to the pond. As they arrived there, they saw a stork going seriously to and fro, seeking frogs, and now and then clapping his bill together. At the same time they saw a stork way up in the air soaring toward their neighborhood.

"By my beard, Gracious Master," said the Grand Vizier, "these two long-legs are holding a pretty talk with one another. How if we become storks?"

"Well spoken!" answered the Caliph, "but beforehand, we will once more contemplate how to become men again. So! Bow three times toward the East, and say Mutabor. So again I am Caliph and thou Vizier. But for heaven's

sake! do not laugh, else are we lost!''

While the Caliph was speaking he saw the other stork flying over their heads and finally alight. He drew the box quickly out of his girdle, took a good pinch, offered it to the Grand Vizier, who 'ikewise snuffed, and both cried "Mutabor!"