Two nights before I left Bludan I had another dream. Again Something
came to me in the night, and pulled me and whispered, "Go and look after
that Bedawi boy, whose grandmother took him away when you were treating
him for rheumatic fever." I was tired and miserable, and tried to sleep.
I was pulled again. I remonstrated. A third time I was pulled by the
wrist. "Go, go, go!" said the voice. "I will go," I answered. At dawn
I rode out in the direction where I knew his tribe was encamped. After
three hours I saw some black tents in the distance, but before I got to
them I met an old crone with a burden covered with sacking on her back.
"Is that the boy?" I asked. "Yes," she said; "he is very bad, and wanted
to be taken to you so I was bringing him." I got down from my horse, and
assisted her to lay the boy on the sand. I saw that death was near; he
looked so wistfully at me with his big black eyes. "Is it too late?" he
whispered. "Yes, my boy, it is," I said, taking hold of his cold hand.
"Would you like to see Allah?" "Yes," he said, "I should. Can I?"
"Are you very sorry for the times you have been naughty and said bad
words?" "Yes," he said; "if I get well, I will be better and kinder
to grandmother." I parted his thick, matted hair, and, kneeling, I
baptized him from the flask of water I always carried about at my side.
"What is that?" asked the old woman, after a minute's silence. "It is
a blessing," I answered, "and may do him good.
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