A dark shadow crossed the rays of the sun which fell through the open door. It was one of the soldiers who came in with the sheik.

Mohammed did not step forward to meet him, as he should have done, out of respect for the old man, with his white beard. To-day he was no longer the poor boy, who must bow down before his superiors. He was himself one of the powers that be. He held his head aloft while the sheik approached.

"I was summoned in the name of the tschorbadji," said the sheik, looking with astonishment at Mohammed. "It is very strange that I find here no one but Mohammed Ali, the son of Ibrahim Aga. Had I known that the tschorbadji had sent a boy to me, I would have required him to bring me the message."

"I summoned you in the name of the tscborbadji, and in his name I stand here!" said Mohammed, proudly. "I am not a boy, as you are pleased to call me, but an acknowledged authority. I have received my authority from the tschorbadji, and I demand submission from you!"

"Submission to you!" exclaimed the sheik, with a contemptuous glance.

Mohammed's eyes flashed fiercely, as he placed his hand threateningly on his pistol.

"Yes, you the sheik, must yield to me. See! there are the others who dared to revolt. -Guard the sheik well, you men; the ulemas also!"

The latter had now approached, accompanied by the soldiers, and Mohammed informed them that he, in the name of the tschorbadji, insisted upon their gathering in the taxes.

(Editor：power)