It befell one day of the days that as he was sitting
about the quarter at play with the vagabond boys, behold, a dervish
from the Maghrib, the Land of the Setting Sun, came up and stood
gazing for solace upon the lads. And he looked hard at Aladdin and
carefully considered his semblance, scarcely noticing his companions
the while. Now this dervish was a Moorman from Inner Morocco, and he
was a magician who could upheap by his magic hill upon hill, and he
was also an adept in astrology. So after narrowly considering Aladdin,
he said in himself, "Verily, this is the lad I need and to find whom I
have left my natal land." Presently he led one of the children apart
and questioned him anent the scapegrace saying, "Whose son is he?" And
he sought all information concerning his condition and whatso
related to him.
After this he walked up to Aladdin, and drawing him aside, asked, "O
my son, haply thou art the child of Such-a-one the tailor?" and the
lad answered, "Yes, O my lord, but 'tis long since he died." The
Maghrabi, the magician, hearing these words, threw himself upon
Aladdin and wound his arms around his neck and fell to bussing him,
weeping the while with tears trickling a-down his cheeks.
Pages:
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695