NA5 \ \-A& Our Little Turkish Cousin The Little Cousin Series By By BY BY BY ILL U.S. TrA TED Jº MARY HAZELTON WADE Our Little African Cousin Our Little Armenian Cousin Our Little Brown Cousin Our Little Cuban Cousin Our Little Eskimo Cousin Our Little German Cousin Our Little Hawaiian Cousin Our Little Indian Cousin Our Little Irish Cousin Our Little Italian Cousin Our Little Japanese Cousin v Our Little Jewish Cousin Our Little Norwegian Cousin Our Little Philippine Cousin Our Little Porto Rican Cousin Our Little Russian Cousin Vº Our Little Siamese Cousin Our Little Swiss Cousin - Our Little Turkish Cousin BLANCHE MCMANUS Our Little English Cousin Our Little French Cousin ELIZABETH ROBERTS MACDONALD Our Little Canadian Cousin ISAAC TAYLOR HEADLAND Our Little Chinese Cousin H. LEE M. PIKE – ca. a- - - Our Little Korean Cousin EDWARD C. BUTLER Our Little Mexican Cousin Jº Each volume illustrated with six full-page plates in tint, from original drawings. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover, per volume, 60 cents. Jº L. C. PAGE & COMPANY New England Building, Boston, Mass. *************************************** Our Little Turkish ; Cousin - * f º By Mary Hazelton Wade J/lustrated by H. J. Bridgman --------- - - - - - º º - : º º º tºº º 2\º º Boston L. C. Page & Company A (WAPA.A.S.A.A.A.A.S. ++++++++++++++++++ ** # §: ****************** # Our Little Turkish # Cousin By Mary Hazelton Wade Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman $º U Rſ |) §§ Boston L. C. Page & Company An UBAL/S/HERS +++++++++++++++++3 +: - # - - ! sº Rid - *------ ------- - - - - - - - - - *-* -- . . . . . .” * , ! | - i : i t ! - pºve - '3 ×. $33 e 14563: {D * ! * : *on, Le Nºx A wº º i ºn Four of riº. * + ºr 3 Copyright, 1904 By L. C. PAGE & CoMPANY (INcorporated) All rights reserved Published June, 1904 Second Impression * * * * * ... • (colontal 3Bress * * * * - * * Boston, Mass., U. S. A. ãºd Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. º3.:s Preface In Europe and Asia there are two countries separated from each other by a narrow strip of water. One of these is spoken of as Turkey in Europe, and the other as Turkey in Asia. They are held together under one ruler called the Sultan. He has absolute power over his people, and can do with them as he likes. One word from his lips is enough to cause the death of any of his subjects. None dare to disobey him. It is because his rule is not the best and wisest, and also because his kingdom is always in danger from the countries around it, that the Sultan is often spoken of as “The Sick Man of Europe.” Our little Turkish cousin lives in the city of Constantinople, not far from the Sultan's V *— - *. * - - - R - * - w . * : *on, t_Exicº: Asº 7 º’ ºr FC UN pºrº’, º * ºr 3 º *------- - - - - - - 4. 5 { §t- º 3 5 Copyright, 1904 By L. C. PAGE & CoMPANY (INcorporated) All rights reserved Published June, 1904 Second Impression : " " ": . . . Colonial Bress - e - - - º - Rºoty;44 ind Printed by c. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U. S. A. * * * : *on, Le Mºx A wº 7 En Four of Tºº, * Qº º *—------ 5 6 3 3. 5- - º -- - - - - Copyright, 1904 By L. C. PAGE & CoMPANY (INcorporated) All rights reserved Published June, 1904 Second Impression * * * * - w * * * * - • * - . . . . . . . . . . . ." " ": . . . Colonial Bregg * w & -> ... • * sº--- *. 4, • * * * * - - * : * ~ * : Eestrotypid add Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. - * * * * * . . . c e & & & w ~ * Boston, Mass., U. S. A. * u, w * - - * . . . : *- : • . . . - - * - - * • * * ~ * > . . . - s º w - * - *- t - w - v * ~ * - * - * . . J. : -- C --" - - * - : ... • - - . . . . . º - ~ * º * - c. • * * * - ------- - - - - - - - * * - - * / -: º : * ... º. . - a " * * ~ * - . . ***on, Lenºx Avº " … ºr FC Uno, riºt. * 2: ) 3 t - - - *-*------ * * * *- - w - mºve : 456.335 * i. - , * • *, *, - Copyright, 1904 By L. C. PAGE & CoMPANY (INcorporated) All rights reserved Published June, 1904 Second Impression * * * * * ... • (colontal 33ress • * * * bād and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. ‘’’ ‘’Boston, Mass., U. S. A. ~ * º3.:s Preface In Europe and Asia there are two countries separated from each other by a narrow strip of water. One of these is spoken of as Turkey in Europe, and the other as Turkey in Asia. They are held together under one ruler called the Sultan. He has absolute power over his people, and can do with them as he likes. One word from his lips is enough to cause the death of any of his subjects. None dare to disobey him. It is because his rule is not the best and wisest, and also because his kingdom is always in danger from the countries around it, that the Sultan is often spoken of as “The Sick Man of Europe.” Our little Turkish cousin lives in the city of Constantinople, not far from the Sultan's v vi Preface palace. He does not understand why some of his people live in wealth and luxury, while so many others spend their lives in begging for the food and clothing they must have. He has no thought but that the Sultan of Turkey is as great and noble as the ruler of any other land. The child is brought up to love ease and comfort, the daintiest food and the richest clothing. He feels sorry for the poor and the homeless, but he does not know how to truly help them. He hears little about other coun- tries where every one is free and can claim just treatment as his right. But as he grows older he may, perhaps, think for himself, and do some noble deed to save his country and make his people better and happier. Let us open the doors of our hearts to him, and let him feel our love and sympathy. Contents chapter pAGE I. OSMAN e e e e e e º I II. SCHOOL . e e e º º • I 2 III. THE FIRE - e e e - . 22 IV. THE PICNIC . e e e - • 33 V. GIPSIES . - e e e º • 54 VI. A TURKISH BATH . e e - . 67 VII. THE WEDDING . e e e - . 85 VIII. THE CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL . e . 92 IX. THE TWO FRIENDS . - - e • IOI List of Illustrations PAGE OSMAN - - - - • - . Frontispiece OSMAN AND HIS MOTHER - - - - . I7 “IT LOOKED ALMOST LIKE A FAIRY CITY” . . 39 “‘SHE Told ME HE would BE MY HUSBAND’” . 58 “THROUGH THE CROWD OF BUSY PEOPLE ". . . 75 “THEY CAME IN SIGHT of THE Mosque AT LAST" 96 Our Little Turkish Cousin CHAPTER I. OSMAN Of course Osman cannot remember his first birthday. He is a big boy now, with brown eyes and soft, dark hair. Ten years have rolled over his head since he lay in the little cradle by the side of his mother's grand bedstead. He made an odd picture, — this tiny baby in cotton shirt and quilted dressing-gown. His head was encased in a cap of red silk. A tassel of seed-pearls hung down at one side. Several charms were fastened to the tassel. His mother thought they would keep Osman 3 ing him tenderly, he carried him from the room. He stopped just outside the door. There he stood for a few moments while he repeated a short prayer and whispered the , name “Osman” three times in the baby's ear. This was the only christening the Turkish boy would ever receive. Osman would be his name for the rest of his life; and a fine name it was, his mother and friends all agreed. When the baby was three days old, there was a grand celebration at his home. Certain old women, called “bringers of tidings,” went from one house to another where the lady friends of Osman's mother had their homes. Wherever they stopped, these old women left bottles of sherbet made of sugar-candy, spices, and water. As they presented the sherbet, they told of the good news about the new baby, of the name his 4 Our Little Turkish Cousin father had given him, and of the feast to be held at Osman's home. “Do come, do come. You will surely be welcome. You will be glad to see the child and rejoice with his mother.” In this way the invitations were given; and so it happened that many ladies found their way to Osman's house on the day named. No special hour was set for their visit. But, from morning till night, people were coming and going. It was easy enough for passers-by to know something of interest was taking place inside. They could hear the band of music playing lively airs as the ladies drove up to the door and entered the house. All the visitors wore long cloaks, with veils over their faces, hiding everything except their soft, dark eyes. For it is still the fashion in Turkey that no lady shall be seen away from her home with her face uncovered. Osman 5 Very few of these visitors came alone. They were attended by their slaves and serv- ants, laden with baskets. These baskets were very pretty. They were trimmed with flowers and ribbons, and filled with all sorts of delicious sweets. Of course they were presents for the new baby's mother. She lay in her grand state bed, smiling softly as the ladies came up, one by one, to greet her. Before they entered her chamber, they took off their veils and cloaks in an outside room. “Mashallah May the child live long and be happy,” said the visitors, as they bent over the young mother. At each kind wish, she kissed the hands of the speaker. This was her way of thanking them. Strange to say, the ladies seemed hardly to notice the baby himself, in whose honour they had come to the house. Do not think for a moment they had for- Osman 7 No, I like best to hear them speak as they do. I know they do not mean what they say.” The visitors were in no hurry to leave Osman's home. They made themselves com- fortable on the soft couches. They laughed and chatted together while they ate ices and rich cakes, and sipped coffee or sherbet. The refreshments were of many kinds, for the baby's father was rich and held a high office under the Sultan, as the ruler of Turkey is called. If Osman had been born in a poor family, his parents would have had a celebration just the same. The feast would not have been as rich, but coffee and fruits would have been served, at any rate, and the visitors would probably have enjoyed themselves just as much. When Osman was eight days old, there was another great ceremony at his house. He received a bath. The ladies who were invited 8 Our Little Turkish Cousin could join in the bath if they liked, as well as his mother. There would be music and refreshments and a general good time. The baby was bathed first. His mother's turn Came next. A Turkish bath is not like that of other people, as perhaps you have heard. A long time is spent before it is finished. On this great day in Osman's life, it was even longer than usual. Many songs were sung, and the visitors stopped several times to eat refreshments. All this sounds odd to us, but the rich ladies of Turkey have little to do except to ride and make calls, bathe in their own homes or at the public bath-houses, meet together for picnics or some entertainment. Osman grew so fast it seemed to his mother only a short time before he was able to toddle about without the help of his nurse. The carpets were soft and thick, so he did not get IO Our Little Turkish Cousin Then the baby's mother poured out the coffee and, handing it to her husband, sat down on a cushion at his feet. Osman, still in his nightclothes, toddled about, nibbling a sweet-cake. The slave who had brought the coffee was now busy in tidying the room. First of all, mattresses and wadded coverlets must be stowed away in a cupboard. There was no bedstead. Such a clumsy piece of furniture had been used in the house but once. That was when the young mother lay in state to receive her friends when Osman was born. Would you believe it ! the baby's mother was still wearing her wadded night-dress. She often kept it on for hours after she got up in the morning. “It is so comfortable,” she thought. “Why should I hurry to dress myself for the day ?” After the coffee, the father took his pipe School I3 our good books, and understand the use of numbers.” The important day was set and the teacher was told about the new pupil. Word was also sent to the priest. Osman's father spent some time in choosing a pony on which his boy should first ride to school. At last he decided on one of an iron- gray colour and very handsome. “What beautiful trappings l’exclaimed Os- man, when the pony arrived at the door. “Oh, you dear, kind father to get them l’’ Any boy would be pleased to ride on a pony decked out in such a gay manner. The pony had no sooner arrived than the whole school appeared at the door. The children were dressed in their best clothes to do honour to the new pupil. The priest took his place in front of the young company. They instantly bent low while he made a short prayer. After this, Os- I4 Our Little Turkish Cousin man was lifted to the back of the pony, the other children formed in double line, and the procession started out for the school. But it did not move quietly. Hymn after hymn was sung by the little ones in strong, clear voices as they went along. The grown-ups whom they passed smiled and said to themselves, “A child is on his way to school for the first time. It is a glad day. May he grow wise and be happy.” What an odd-looking schoolroom it was that Osman soon entered; neither seats nor desks could be seen. Three divans, as the big, soft Turkish couches are called, stood along the wall. The children squatted cross- legged on these, side by side. After they had taken their places, the teacher sat down in front of his little class and began to hear their lessons. Each child had by this time opened his X § º § § § º § º § º § º º º § § º º º Y º º º º OSMAN AND HIS MOTHER. tº Nºy º PUBLIC LIBRARY **Tofº, is rºox art, Tºloch FoundaTown. School 17 write letters for them, as these people were doing. Osman's school was only a short distance from home, and he was soon at his own gate. The moment he arrived, the door was opened by an old black slave, who had been watching for the darling of the house. “I’d like to stop and tell you what I’ve been doing this morning, but I can't now,” said Osman. “I must tell mother first.” The little boy ran up the stairs to his mother's rooms. In another moment he was seated on a divan beside her and talking faster than one often hears among the quiet people of his country. Lunch was soon brought, and, you may be sure, the little boy was ready for it. There was a dish of pilaf, of course. It was made of nicely cooked rice and butter, and was de- licious. Then there was a juicy melon, and 18 Our Little Turkish Cousin fresh figs, besides cakes sweetened with honey, candy, and many other nice things. Osman's mother is as fond of sweet things as her little boy, and she is ready to eat them at any time. The lunch was served at an odd little table. Indeed, it could hardly be called a table, – it was a small, low stand, about eight inches above the floor. The dishes were brought in one at a time, and placed on the stand. Osman and his mother ate the pilaf with their fingers, from the same dish. But they did not hurry. The grains of rice were picked up so daintily with their finger-tips, they were hardly soiled by the touch of the food. “We will wash now,” Osman's mother said, as the lunch was finished. A queer basin was at once brought by a servant, and held in front of the lady. In the middle of the basin was a little stand holding a cake of soap, while underneath was a sort of well. This was to School I9 receive the water as it left the basin. As Osman's mother held out her hands, one servant slowly poured the water over them, while another held an embroidered towel ready for her use. It was Osman's turn next. No matter how much he wished to hurry out to play, he must not rise from his cushion till his hands were bathed. “Wash before eating and afterward,” is a law of the Koran. Osman thinks it would be as wicked to break this rule as to tell a wrong story, or take anything belonging to another. As soon as the hand-washing was over, the little boy started for the courtyard to watch his tame pigeons and play with his friend Selim. Osman's house is divided into two parts. His father's rooms are down-stairs. A sepa- rate door leads into them from the street. No 2O Our Little Turkish Cousin woman ever enters these rooms. Even the servants who take care of them are men. The boy's father receives his gentlemen friends in this part of the house. It is here that he talks over business with his visitors. Sometimes he holds dinner-parties in these rooms, but they are only for men. He even has a separate courtyard and garden. Osman may come here if he likes, but the real home of the family is up-stairs in his mother's rooms. This part of the house is very beautiful. Rich curtains hang in the doorways. Soft and heavy rugs are placed here and there on the floors. Divans with soft cushions stretch along the sides of the walls, under the latticed windows. Yes, every window is covered with lattice- work, so that no one passing along the street below can see the faces of the persons within these upper rooms. School 2 I This is the fashion of the country. Poor women of Turkey ! They seem to us almost like prisoners, but they have been brought up to think of their life as the most natural and best in the world. They may go out- doors whenever they like, so long as a veil is worn over the face. But no man, unless he is a very near relative, must enter the part of the house where the women and children have their home. 26 Our Little Turkish Cousin him 1" cried Osman, turning around to watch. “Fatima, don’t you see what is the matter? He is driving a strange dog out of the street. I hope he will succeed.” Just as Osman spoke, a half-dozen other dogs came tearing along, eager to join in the chase. There was small chance for the stranger, who was now running with all his might. His tongue was hanging from his mouth, and his tail was thrashing from side to side between his legs. Poor homeless dogs of Constantinople ! There are thousands of them. Yes, it is the very truth. There are scores of thousands of them. Those big, gaunt, yellow creatures live in the streets and byways, under the door-steps and in the graveyards. They feed on the garbage thrown out from the kitchens, but sometimes get a little choicer food through the kindness of the people. The Fire 27 “Kill a dog without real need of doing so No, no,” Osman's father would say, very sol- emnly. “It is the law of our religion that we should kill nothing living if we can possibly help it. Let the dogs live. “Besides, they are useful creatures. They keep our streets clean of all decaying matter. By doing this, fevers and many other kinds of illness are prevented. The poor animals are a real blessing.” “I know where there are some new-born puppies,” said Selim, as he was leaving Osman for the night. “Where? Let's go and see them now. Is it near here 2° cried his little friend. “Yes, it's only a few steps.” “No, no, children,” broke in Fatima, “ you ought to be in your own homes this very moment. Wait till morning, and I will go with you before school-time.” “Are their eyes open yet? Does their The Fire 29 papa They are gentle and quiet and clever.” “Yes, Osman, the city would not seem like home without our yellow-haired dogs. Before you were born, however, the Sultan thought it would be wise to clear our streets of them. Great numbers were taken to an island near the coast.” “Did they die there from want of food, papa P" “Oh, no. They were too wise to stay there and starve. They all swam back to the city. Our people were so pleased, the dogs have never been troubled since then.” “I love the dogs because they are not only gentle, but they do not forget a kindness. They are grateful creatures,” said Osman's mother. “I have a friend who told me the story of an English lady living here in our city. She had a small terrier she had brought back with her after a visit to England. 3o Our Little Turkish Cousin “I suppose, Osman, you know that our dogs are always ready to attack one of a different breed P’’ “Yes, mamma.” “Well, it happened one day that this little terrier escaped from his home and got out into the street among the dogs of the city.” “Did they kill him ; " “No, indeed. But they had a reason for being friendly to him. The English lady and her family had always been kind to them, and had often fed them. Not only this, but she had seen that pans of water were placed in the street on hot days, so the dogs should not suffer from thirst. They were grateful to her, and seemed to feel that her pet terrier was also a friend. “After this, the lady allowed her dog to play with the others as much as he liked. He was always well treated. But he did not have sense enough to keep in his own street. 32 Our Little Turkish Cousin mother,” he said. “I love puppies. They are beautiful little things, and their hair is as soft as silk.” Osman loved pets as much as any other boy in the wide world, and he was always ready to take a family of puppies into his heart. His parents taught him, however, that it was not good to handle them. “The dog is an unclean animal,” said the boy's father. “Be kind to him and love him, but touch him as little as possible.” CHAPTER IV. THE PICNIC It was a beautiful summer day. The sun was shining brightly on the glossy leaves of the olive-trees in Osman's garden, and the plants were loaded with blossoms. Osman had just picked a bunch of flowers when he heard his mother's voice. “How would you like a day by the Sweet Waters of Europe, my child?” The little boy looked in the direction of the voice. His mother was moving slowly down the garden path. “That would be lovely, mamma, but can't Selim go with us?” “Certainly, and I have sent word to some 33 34 Our Little Turkish Cousin of my friends to join us, too. We will have a merry time. I am tired of the house, and I long for a row on the beautiful river. Let Fatima go for Selim, and make yourself ready at once.” The little boy's mother was already dressed for the excursion. So, while the servants were preparing the lunch and Osman was getting ready, she sat down on a cushion under the trees and idly waited. She was richly clad in a pink silk mantle with wide sleeves and deep cape. It was so long it reached down to her ankles. A small, bright-coloured cap, trimmed with pearls, was fitted closely to her head. The thin muslin veil, fastened to this cap, was brought around her face so no part of it could be seen except her soft, kind eyes. She did not have long to wait before her friends and Selim arrived to join in the day's outing. The slaves, with wraps and carpets, 36 Our Little Turkish Cousin On and on they went, now rapidly as the river widened; again, they moved more slowly as they entered a narrow stretch of water, almost filled with the boats of other pleasure- seekers. Sometimes they were obliged to pass under a little wooden bridge. Then it was fun for Osman and Selim to reach up and see if they could touch the floor of the bridge before they left it behind them. Pretty houses stood here and there on the banks of the river, or groves of trees that seemed to say, “Stop here and rest awhile. I will give you shade and comfort.” But still the rowers kept on, as though their arms would never get tired. They did not speak, these sober-faced men. Each wore a red fez on his head, which made him look hot and uncomfortable in the strong sunshine. There was a time when all Turks wore soft turbans, which are the best and most comfort- The Picnic 37 able covering for the head. But times are changed now. The great Sultan likes the fez best, and the turban is seen more and more seldom as the years pass by. At last the party reached a spot where Osman's mother decided to stop. It was a favourite picnic-ground for the people of Con- stantinople. A pretty grove of trees was growing close to the shore, while, near by, tiny coffee-houses stood here and there in the meadows. “I hear sweet music,” said Osman. “Lis- ten, mamma.” “Yes, it is a wandering player. After we get settled, we will pay him to play for us,” answered his mother. The ladies made themselves comfortable on the rugs their servants spread under the trees. The children wandered about as they liked. “Sweet Waters of Europe” is a good name for this part of the river. It was a pleasant 38 Our Little Turkish Cousin place, and everything about them looked fresh and inviting. “Osman, let's see what that man is show- ing,” cried Selim, after the boys had listened to some music and eaten the ices they had bought at a stand. The children joined a crowd of people gathering around a showman. It was a puppet-show, something like the Punch and Judy one sees in England and America. But the funny little figures acted out a very different play. It must have been amusing, for every one laughed heartily. Before the day was over other showmen came along, each with a different exhibition of his own. Then there were men who per- formed tricks, and others who had candies and dainties to sell. - As cºor the ladies, you must not think they at quietly on their mats all day long. Oh, no indeed! They laughed and romped, ** IT LOOKED ALMOST LIKE A FAIRY CITY.” 42 Our Little Turkish Cousin But when the ladies sat down there was no food to be seen, except the pieces of bread, some saucers containing olives, bits of cucum- ber, melons, and radishes. And now the slaves moved from one guest to another, bringing a basin of water and towels. Each one must bathe her hands be- fore eating, as well as afterward, whether alone or in the grandest company. It was a pleasure to watch them. As the stream of clear water fell slowly into the basin, each one rubbed her fingers gracefully and daintily, and then dried them on the fine linen towel held out by the watchful servant. When this had been done by every one, Osman's mother clapped her hands, and a tureen of thick, creamy soup was brought in and set on the leather pad. The hostess politely waved her hand toward her principal guest. She was inviting her to be the first one to dip her spoon into the The Picnic 43 soup. After this, the other ladies joined in, all eating together from the same dish. After a few mouthfuls, the hostess made a sign to the slave to remove the soup and bring in another dish. Before the meal was over there would be sixteen courses, at least, and, therefore, it would not be well to eat much of any one of them. The guests ate a little of every course. But, between the courses, they nibbled at the olives, cucumbers, and different sweet- meatS. More than once, Osman’s mother broke off a choice bit of food with her fingers, and held it up to the mouth of one of her friends. It was a very polite attention, and her visitor was pleased. “How rude some people in the world are about eating,” said one of the ladies. “They use the most clumsy things in their hands. They call them knives and forks. And be- 44 Our Little Turkish Cousin sides, I have heard they do not wash before and after each meal. Ugh ! It makes me shiver to think of their unclean ways.” “Yes, they are certainly not neat, and they are very awkward, if all I have heard about them be true,” said another visitor. “They should study the ways of our people.” At last the luncheon was ended. The hostess led the way into the drawing-room, where coffee was now served. They were having a merry time, laughing and chatting, when Osman entered the room. His face showed he had something he wished to tell. Making a low bow to the ladies, he turned to his mother and said: “Oh, mamma, I just saw a cat fall ever so far. She was on the roof of that old building behind our house. She fell down, down to the ground. And, mamma, I thought she would be killed. But she came down softly on her feet and ran off as if she hadn’t been The Picnic 45 hurt the least bit. How is it that a cat can do such a thing? No other animal is like her, I’m sure.” His mother laughed, and turned to one of her friends. “Won't you tell my little boy the story of Mohammed and the cat?” she asked. “We should all be pleased to listen, and perhaps there are some here who do not know it.” The rest of the company nodded their heads. “Yes, do tell it,” said one after another. “Very well, little Osman,” said the lady whom the boy's mother had asked. “You shall have the story. I trust you will remem- ber it whenever you think of the Holy Prophet. “Mohammed once travelled a long, long distance over the desert. He became very tired, and at last he stopped to rest. As he did so, he fell fast asleep. 46 Our Little Turkish Cousin “Then, sad am I to tell it, a wicked serpent glided out from among the rocks and drew near the Prophet. It was about to bite him, when a cat happened to come along. She saw the serpent and what it was about to do; she rushed upon it and struggled and fought. The serpent defended itself with all its strength and cunning, too. Great was the battle. But the cat killed the snake. “As it was dying, the wicked creature hissed so horribly that the noise awakened Moham- med, and he saw at once that the cat had saved his life. “‘Come here, he said. As the cat obeyed him, the holy man stroked her lovingly three times. Three times he blessed her, saying these words: “‘ May peace be yours, O cat. I will reward you for your kindness to me this day. No enemy shall conquer thee. No creature that lives shall ever be able to throw 50 Our Little Turkish Cousin had any effect on the wood-cutter. He would not rise from the bed. In a little while a man came to the door of the cottage, and said: “Friend Wood-cutter, will you help me with your mules 2 I have a load to move.” But the wood-cutter would not get up. “I have made a vow to stay in my bed, and here I shall stay,” he answered. “Then, will you let me take your mules 2 ” asked the neighbour. “Certainly, help yourself,” said the wood- Cutter. The neighbour took the mules and went away. It happened that he had found a rich store of treasure in his field, and he needed the mules to carry it for him to his home. But, alas for him The animals were safely loaded and had nearly reached his house, when some armed policemen came that way. The man knew the law of the Sultan, by which he claimed all treasure-trove for himself. 52 Our Little Turkish Cousin ground was soon covered with a golden carpet, richer than the most precious stores of the great East. “A treasure | A treasure l’’ cried the woman, as she rushed to her husband's bed- side. “Fortune has truly come to our home. Husband, you did right in waiting for her here. Look and see how rich we are now.” It was certainly time for the wood-cutter to get up, for he had kept his vow. As he looked at the piles of gold pieces, he said: “I was quite right, dear wife. One must wait for Fortune. She is very fickle. You will never catch her if you run after her. But, if you wait for her, she will surely come to you.”. When the story was ended, one of the ladies pointed to the clock. “My dear friend,” she said, turning to The Picnic 53 Osman's mother, “I have had a most delight- ful day. But it is now late in the afternoon. I must bid you farewell.” As she rose to go, the other ladies followed her example, each one thanking the hostess for the pleasant day spent with her. CHAPTER W. GIPSIES “I wish you had been with me this after- noon, Osman,” said his father, as his little boy ran to meet him. “What did you see, papa Please tell me all about it.” “I went to walk with a friend. We wan- dered on and on until we came to a large field near the city walls. The field was alive with gipsies, who were having some sort of a holi- day. They were dressed in their gayest colours and were having a dance.” “Outdoors in that field, papa?” “Yes, Osman, and it was a very pretty sight. A number of the men were squatting on the ground in a circle. Those were the musicians. 54 Gipsies 55 They played on different kinds of instruments. There were drums, flutes, and mandolins. “The players banged away with no kind of time, but the gipsies seemed to enjoy it, not- withstanding.” “How did they dance, papa?” “The men kept by themselves, each one moving separately. But the women danced together. They all beat time with their hands. At the same time they kept saying, ‘Oh, Oh, Oh,' as they moved about. “When the dance was ended, the gipsies went over to a corner of the field where a feast was being prepared. Great fires had been kindled. Huge kettles of rice were boiling there, and whole sheep were being roasted. “Many of the young gipsies were hand- some. Their eyes were dark and sparkling, and their teeth were of a pearly white. But the old women were wrinkled and ugly. Their long, thin fingers made me think of witches.” 58 Our Little Turkish Cousin moment of her time unless she were paid for it,” said his mother. “When I was a young girl, I loved to have my fortune told. One day a beautiful young gipsy girl came to the door of my house. Of course, she asked to tell my fortune. “I spread out the palm of my hand and she looked at it a long time with her bright black eyes. She seemed to study the lines as though she were reading. At last, she began to speak slowly in a low voice. And, would you believe it! she described your father, Osman, although I had never seen him at that time. She told me he would be my husband.” Osman’s father smiled a little and then said, “The less we have to do with these strange people, my son, the better. It is very easy for these fortune-tellers to make one or two guesses that afterward turn out to be true. But we have talked enough about the gipsies for one day. Let us speak of something else.” “‘SHE TOLD ME HE would BE MY HUSBAND.’” II, NEW ºf PUBLIC LIBRARY as Tofº, Lenox Ants t{Leºn found ATIowa. Gipsies 59 “Then tell me about our great ruler, whom you serve,” said Osman. “I like to hear about the palace and the Sultan's little children who live in a city of their own inside of our great one.” The people of Turkey seldom speak of Osman's city as Constantinople, the name given it by the Christians. They prefer to call it “ The Town.” “Yes, the palace and the buildings belong- ing to it really make a city by themselves,” said his father. “It is a beautiful place, with its lovely gardens and parks. There is a lake in the midst of the park, and the Sultan some- times sails around it in an elegant steam launch. “The palace is of white marble, as you know, Osman. The furniture is of ebony inlaid with ivory. The curtains and carpets are of the brightest colours, and are rich and heavy.” 6o Our Little Turkish Cousin “There is a theatre, as well as a great many other buildings, isn't there, papa?” “Yes, Osman. It is decorated in the rich- est colours. The Sultan's seat is in the front part of the gallery.” “He has many children, hasn't he?” “Yes, and he loves them dearly. He often spends the evening with them and plays duets on the piano with his favourites. The building where they live with their mothers is in the park. I have been told it is very beautiful.” “The Sultan has many, many wives, I have heard mother say.” “It is true. And each wife has a great number of slaves as well as other attendants. Sometimes his wives drive through the city in elegant carriages.” “But the Sultan never leaves the palace grounds, except on the two great times each year, does he?” Gipsies 61 “Never, except at those times, Osman. But any one can get permission to see him as he rides on horseback to the mosque in his grounds, where he worships.” “It is a beautiful sight, papa. You know you have taken me there to see him. The lines of soldiers, all in red fezzes, reach from the door of the palace to the snow-white mosque. The Sultan himself looks so grand as he rides along ! “The troops cheer him as he passes them and enters the mosque, but everybody else is very, very quiet. I suppose they feel some- what as I do, papa. I’m not exactly afraid. But he is such a great and powerful ruler, it doesn’t seem as if I could move or make a sound while I look at him.” Dear little Osman Our far-away cousin has never heard how the people of other countries speak of Turkey. They call it the “Sick Man of Europe.” They think it is Gipsies 65 saved.” She led him to an old furnace in the palace and begged him to get inside. “‘No matter what happens, nor who calls your name, do not make a sound until I speak to you,' she told him. “He did as she said. Hour after hour, he stayed quietly inside the furnace while his father and many of his friends were being cruelly killed. “The Sultan's enemies hunted everywhere for him, but he was nowhere to be found. They called his name coaxingly, but he knew better than to answer any one else than his old nurse, so he did not make a sound. “In the meanwhile, the old woman was patiently watching. When the janizaries had gone away, she went to the door of the furnace and whispered to Mahmoud. She told him he now had a chance to gather his men about him and seize the government. “There was not a moment to lose; Mah- CHAPTER VI. A TURKISH BATH “OSMAN, you may go with me to the public bath-house,” said his father, one bright morning. “I have business at the bazaar to- day, and we will go there afterward. You can have a good bath.” Osman was delighted. A whole day with his father was a great treat. Besides, it pleased him to think of a visit to the public bath- house. There was a large marble bath-room in his own home, and there were furnaces underneath to heat it. There were servants to wait upon him as he bathed. “Yet the public bath is better still,” thought Osman, “and I love to go there.” Probably you have all heard of 67 68 Our Little Turkish Cousin Turkish baths. They are so delightful that people in America and other countries have copied them from the Turks. They have built similar bath-houses in their cities. “Are we to drive or walk, papa?” asked Osman. “We will drive. The carriage will be here in a few moments.” After a short drive they drew up in front of a large and handsome building. It was the public bath-house. The first room entered by Osman and his father was a large hall. It was open overhead to let in the fresh air. There was a raised platform around the sides. This platform was covered with a soft carpet and divided into small dressing-rooms. Each visitor would have one of these for himself. A fountain was playing in the middle of the hall, making sweet music as the water fell into the marble basin. A Turkish Bath 69 “Go into one of those little rooms and take off your clothing, Osman,” said his father. The little boy was soon ready for the bath. The attendant had wound three bright-bor- dered towels around him. One of these was tied about his waist, the second was twisted into a turban around his head, while the third one was thrown over his shoulders. He would not catch cold, for the towels were thick and warm. He wore wooden slippers on his feet. Now for the warm chamber. Osman knew what was coming. He went at once to the marble platform in the middle of the room. There he stretched himself on a soft mattress which the attendants placed for him. They began to rub his feet and limbs very gently. How pleasant and restful it was The little boy soon began to perspire. This 72 Our Little Turkish Cousin and his clothes were torn and ragged, although they were gay with bright colours. As he leaned against the side of a fountain, he made a picture you would like to paint. He kept crying, “Baksheesh, baksheesh,” to the passers-by. What a beautiful fountain it was It had a wide roof, giving a pleasant shade. There were gilded gratings all around it, worked in lovely patterns, – roses and honeysuckles and trailing vines. Brass drinking-cups, hanging around the sides, seemed to say, “Come, thirsty traveller, come and drink.” What a fluttering and cooing there was over the roof. At least a hundred pigeons were flying about, fearless and happy. No one would harm them, not even the ragged street boys who were playing about the fountain and ready for any mischief. After Osman had given a silver coin to the A Turkish Bath 73 beggar, his father pointed to the fountain, and said, “Look, my child, at the beautiful pattern of the grating.” “How pretty the gilded flowers are,” an- swered Osman. “I love to see them. But, papa, there are ever so many fountains in our city. Nearly half of them are as pretty as this one. I believe there is hardly a street without one.” “I knew a very good man who died a few months ago. He left his money to be used in building a fountain. It was a kind deed. Don't you think so * * “Yes, indeed, papa. There are always peo- ple and animals who are thirsty. It is a com- fort to have fresh water at hand, especially if it is a warm day.” As Osman was speaking, he heard a sound of music. Looking down the street, he saw two gipsies coming toward him. The man was playing on a bagpipe, and leading a tame 74 Our Little Turkish Cousin bear. The woman was dressed in bright colours. She was beating a tambourine. “Isn't it pretty music, papa Oh, do look at the bear,” cried Osman. “He is doing some tricks.” His father was in no hurry, so he and Osman joined the crowd who gathered around the gipsies. The bear danced in time to the music, and did other amusing things. Osman tossed him a coin, which he carried to his master. This pleased the others, and they threw him some more coins. “At this rate, the gipsies will go home to-night quite rich,” laughed Osman's father, as they passed on. “We will go to the bazaar now. I must attend to some business there before it is much later.” “See that man with the tiger's skin over his shoulders,” said Osman, a few minutes later. “He is clothed in rags, but he isn't a beggar, is he ’’ “THROUGH THE CROWD OF BUSY PEOPLE.” 76 Our Little Turkish Cousin As for dogs and beggars, there were hun- dreds of them, without a doubt. “There is the bazaar, papa. I can see it on the hilltop beyond us.” It was an immense building of a brownish gray colour. You might almost call it a city in itself. As Osman and his father began to climb the hill, they made their way between many stands and tiny booths where goods were for sale. Everything looked inviting, and Osman saw several things he wished to buy. “See those lovely grapes, papa. I should like to carry some of them home,” said the boy. But his father would not stop. “We will not buy anything till we reach the bazaar,” he said. “You will see enough there to tempt you, I do not doubt.” They passed on, and soon reached the entrance of the great building. It was quiet and dark inside, and there were many narrow 78 Our Little Turkish Cousin stones. I should like to buy that necklace for mamma, she is so fond of amber.” But the boy's father replied, “Not to-day, Osman, not to-day.” Some queerly wrought swords now caught the boy's eye. They were made of the finest steel, and the handles were richly ornamented. “How I wish I could have one of those for my very own, papa. Mayn't I please have one * * “When you are a young man, Osman, we will look for the most elegant sword to be bought. But not now, my child.” Osman forgot his longing for a sword when he stood in front of a stand where perfumes were sold. “We will buy some of this attar of roses. It will please your mother, and you may give it to her,” said the father. The Turks are fond of delicate perfumes, A Turkish Bath 79 and there is none they like better than attar of roses, which is largely made in Turkey, and sent from there to other countries. “Why does it cost so much 2" asked Osman, as his father handed a gold coin to the shopkeeper. “It is because only a few drops can be obtained from hundreds and hundreds of the flowers. Next year, you shall take a journey with me, Osman. I am going to the part of our country where the roses are raised for this purpose. It is a beautiful sight, — the fields thickly dotted with the sweet-smelling blos- soms. You shall then see how the people get fragrant perfume from the flowers.” “I’m getting so hungry, papa. Can't we get some lunch * That cheese makes my . mouth water.” A man with a round wicker basket contain- ing different kinds of cheese was going through the street and calling his wares. 8o Our Little Turkish Cousin “Hush, Osman.” His father pointed to the tower of a small mosque. High up in this tower stood a man crying out to all faithful believers of Mohammed. It was the call to prayer. Five times each day this prayer-caller mounted the tower. Each time he cried out to the people who were within reach of his voice. Osman and his father instantly turned toward the sacred city of Mecca, and, kneeling down right where they stood, repeated a short prayer. Then they slowly rose and turned their steps toward a restaurant, where they could get a delicious lunch. There were many other peddlers in the streets besides the cheese-seller. Some of the shoppers bought what they wished from these peddlers. They could get unleavened bread or biscuits, custards, ices, sherbet, sweetmeats, hot vegetables, and many other things. A Turkish Bath 83 can get such a fine view of the Golden Horn.” “Why do people call our harbour the Golden Horn ?” “It is shaped somewhat like a horn. Be- sides this, it is the channel through which many shiploads of the richest goods are carried. Think of the precious things you saw in the bazaar to-day, the beautiful gems, the spices, the silks, the shawls of camel's hair.” “I understand now. But look | There is a camel with a heavy load on his back. His master is leading him. I love camels.” “When I was a little boy,” said his father, “my mother used to tell me stories of the old times. In those days there were none of the new-fashioned carriages in our streets. Only the gaily trimmed arabas, and sedan-chairs carried on men's shoulders could be seen.” “Mamma sometimes goes in a sedan-chair now,” said Osman. “It must be a warm 84 Our Little Turkish Cousin way of riding in summer-time, though. The close curtains keep out the air.” “You would have liked to see the camels in the old days, Osman. Merchants often trav- elled through the streets with whole proces- sions of those animals. They went very slowly, to be sure, and they blocked up the streets. But camels are steady, faithful creatures, and are good beasts of burden.” “The dress of the people was much prettier long ago, wasn't it?” “Indeed, it was. It is a shame so many of our people copy the fashions of other countries. The dress now looks stiff and ugly beside the loose robes and bright colours of the old times. But see, my child, the day has left us and I am tired. We must hasten homeward.” The Wedding 87 for the bower. We hung up fine embroideries and festoons of gauze, and fastened numbers of artificial flowers here and there in the draperies. When it was done it was lovely 1” Osman's mother sighed with delight as she thought of it. “But our work did not stop there, my dear. Oh, no. We placed the most precious wed- ding-presents in glass cases, so every one could see and admire them. Then we hung garlands of flowers on the walls of the room. It was very beautiful now. “When this room was finished, we went into the next one and set up the new furniture and bedding, the beautiful candelabra, the smok- ing-set, and the kitchen ware.” “What did you do on Tuesday, mamma” “We went with the bride to the bath. When it was over, she put on borrowed cloth- ing. Some bad fortune might come to her, if she did not follow this old custom.” 88 Our Little Turkish Cousin “You spent Wednesday with the bride, too, didn't you?” “Certainly, Osman. That is a very impor- tant day in the wedding-festival. I went to the bride's house quite early in the day, for we are very close friends. I helped her in receiving the bridegroom's mother and other relatives. All her special friends gathered there with me. We formed in a double row and helped the other guests up the stairs. “I hope my dear Morgiana will be good friends with her new mother. As they sat side by side, the old lady passed sugar from her own mouth to that of her daughter-in-law.” “Why was that, mamma; ” “It was a token of the good feeling there will be between them, Osman.” “Dear me, a wedding-festival is a grand thing, isn't it? I wish I could have gone Thursday with you and papa. That was the greatest day of all.” The Wedding 9I “The bride kissed his hand as he entered. He knelt down on her veil and made a short prayer. After this a mirror was held in front of the young couple by an old woman friend of the bride, so they could see their faces in it side by side. “Then sugar was passed from the young man's mouth to that of the bride. It was a symbol of the sweetness of their future life. “But, my dear child, I have been so busy talking I did not notice the time. I must leave you to dress for the banquet at the home of our young friends. Run away and play with Selim.” The Children's Carnival 93 Osman had looked forward to this festival for a long time. “Isn’t it beautiful ?” he exclaimed, when he and Selim, with their veiled mothers, entered the courtyard and joined the crowd of happy little people. The children played one game after another. The boys had their tops and marbles, and did many wonderful things with them. Of course, refreshments were plentiful; there were delicious sweetmeats, sherbets, and other things the children loved. And all the time the mothers, sitting on their gay carpets, watched the boys and girls at their play, and seemed to enjoy it as much as the little ones themselves. “I have had such a good time,” Osman told his father that evening. “Papa, do you re- member when you were a little boy like me, and went to children's carnivals 2 '' “Yes, as if it were only yesterday, my dear. 96 Our Little Turkish Cousin Osman's father bent his head, saying these words very slowly: “Allah is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet.” Osman repeated them after him. Then both father and son sat quiet for a few minutes. When the Turk spoke again, he said: “It is bedtime for my little boy. Good night, my child.” He bent down and kissed Osman, then motioned to his waiting nurse to go with him to his room. The next day was clear and beautiful. Even the street dogs seemed quieter and happier than usual. “It is good to be outdoors in the bright sunshine,” said Osman, as he walked down the street with his father. They came in sight of the mosque at last. It was not beautiful to look at, but it was very, very large. “Once there were no minarets rising from this mosque toward heaven,” the boy's father 98 Our Little Turkish Cousin wonder how men could ever build such a great, great place of worship.” There were no altars, no images, no seats. But along the walls, there were slabs of marble of all sorts and colours. Pillars of rare and beautiful stones held up the root. “They have been polished so they shine » 2 like mirrors,” thought Osman, “and they are as beautiful as gems.” The floor of the mosque was strewn with prayer-rugs. They were arranged so the peo- ple who came to worship might all kneel toward the sacred city of Mecca. “It is hundreds of years since Christians worshipped here,” Osman's father had once told him. “They had altars of solid gold and shrines sparkling with precious jewels. Pic- tures of their saints were on the walls. But we, Osman, are taught not to have such paint- ings. A mosque should have no pictures of human shapes, nor of any other. For it is The Children's Carnival 99 written: ‘Thou shalt not make the likeness of anything.’ “When the great Sultan who conquered the Christians took possession of the city, he rode through this very building. It was crowded with people who had fled here for safety. The Sultan ordered that no blood should be shed. But he made the Christians the slaves of himself and his people. “He changed the building into a place of worship fit for followers of Mohammed, say- ing, ‘There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his Prophet.’” “What was done with the altars and the images and paintings, papa?” “The altars and images were torn down. The walls were covered with a coating of red- dish plaster, even as you see them to-day, and this hid the pictures from sight.” “I love to come here in Ramazan. The brightness dazzles my eyes. I wish I could 456.335 The Two Friends IO3 “Ibrahim was told of the plan. What did he do He rushed to Joannes's home and said to his friend, ‘I am going away, Joannes. I must bid you good-bye.” “‘No, indeed,” answered Joannes. ‘Where you go, I will go, too.” “‘But that cannot be. My father has ar- ranged it so that I go into another country. I am to serve the Pasha of Bagdad. But I shall never forget you, Joannes. And when I come back to this city, I shall come as your true and loving friend.” “The two boys embraced and kissed each other. Then Ibrahim went away. Soon after this he was sent far away to the city of Bagdad. “He served the pasha so well that he soon held a high position. Years passed away and the pasha died. A surprise was now in store for Ibrahim. He himself was made pasha. “But he longed for his old home. He wished to see his friend Joannes once more, Ioô Our Little Turkish Cousin “‘Arise !” said the Grand Vizier. ‘ I do not wish you harm. I want to talk with you. Do you remember Ibrahim, your boy friend?' “‘ Remember him " I loved him above all others. But he went away, and I never saw him again.” “‘I am he,' answered the great man, and he fell on Joannes's neck and kissed him. Then he reminded Ibrahim of the last words spoken before they parted. “‘I am still your friend, he said. “Behold, I will show you that I am. “He sent for his accounts, and then and there made Joannes his chief banker. He gave him charge of all his money. He sent him home in a grand uniform, on a fine horse, and with servants to attend him. “You can imagine the surprise of Joannes's wife when he came home in such style. “No, he had not been killed, after all. The poor woman fainted with joy at the glad sight. THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. Each I vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six full- page illustrations in color by L. J. Bridgman. Price per volume - - - - - . $o.6o By MARY HAZELTON WADE Our Little African Cousin Our Little Armenian Cousin Our Little Brown Cousin Our Little Cuban Cousin Our Little Eskimo Cousin Our Little German Cousin Our Little Hawaiian Cousin Our Little Indian Cousin Our Little Irish Cousin Our Little Italian Cousin Our Little Japanese Cousin Our Little Jewish Cousin Our Little Mexican Cousin Our Little Norwegian Cousin Our Little Philippine Cousin Our Little Porto Rican Cousin Our Little Russian Cousin Our Little Siamese Cousin Our Little Swiss Cousin Our Little Turkish Cousin By BLANCHE. McMAMUS Our Little English Cousin Our Little French Cousin By ELIZABETH ROBERTS MacDowALD Our Little Canadian Cousin By ISAAC HEADLAND TA YLOR Our Little Chinese Cousin By H. LEE M. PIKE Our Little Korean Cousin A-1 A. C. PAGE AAWD COMPAAVY'S By MISS MULOCK The Little Lame Prince. A delightful story of a little boy who has many adven- tures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. Adventures of a Brownie. The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him. His Little Mother. Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of delight to them, and “His Little Mother,” in this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers. Little Sunshine's Holiday. An attractive story of a summer outing. “Little Sun- shine” is another of those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly famous. By JULIANA HORATIA EWING Jackanapes. A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching story, dear alike to young and old. Story of a Short Life. This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. It is a part of the world's literatüre, and will never die. A Great Emergency. How a family of children prepared for a great emergency, and how they acted when the emergency came. A-6 CO.SY COA’AVER SEA’/E.S. By FRANCES HODGES WHITE Helena’s Wonderworld. A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in the mysterious regions beneath the sea. Aunt Nabby's Children. This pretty little story, touched with the simple humor of country life, tells of two children who were adopted by Aunt Nabby. By MARSHALL SA UAVDERS For His Country. A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country; written with that charm which has endeared Miss Saunders to hosts of readers. Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter. In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how dear to her heart are all of God's dumb creatures. By OTHER AUTHORS Susanne. By FRANCEs J. DELANo. This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing charm the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E. Richards. The Great Scoop. By MoLLY ELLIoT SEAwell. A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon. John Whopper. The late Bishop Clark's popular story of the boy who fell through the earth and came out in China, with a new introduction by Bishop Potter. A-9 A. C. AAGE AAVZ) COMPAAVY The Little Christmas Shoe. By JANE P. SCOTT WOODRUFF. A touching story of Yule-tide. Wee Dorothy. By LAURA UPDEGRAFF. A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the story is other. wise bright and sunny, and altogether wholesome in every way. The King of the Golden River: A LEGEND of STIRIA. By John RUSKIN. Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally in- tended for publication, this little fairy tale soon became known and made a place for itself. º Garden of Verses. By R. L. STEVENSON. Mr. Stevenson's little volume is too well known to need description. It will be heartily welcomed in this new and attractive edition. Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John Brown. Doctor Brown's little masterpiece is too well known to need description. The dog Rab is loved by all.