had come to be eight years old he would go to draw the water for the family, and he would see the ripe mulberries hanging from the tree and would climb the tree to gather them, and he would fall into the river and be drowned, and again she burst out, "Oh! Ali! My son Ali! My son Ali is dead!"
Then the mother also burst out crying, and the two sat there all day lamenting and weeping over the poor, drowned Ali.
Late in the afternoon there came to the door begging bread a Chingana woman (gypsy). When she heard the great outcry and saw the two women weeping she asked, "What is the matter?"
The mother told her the story, how her daughter had gone to draw water from the river, had sat down under the mulberry-tree, and all that she had imagined, how she came home crying, and how ever since they had been grieving over the lost Ali.
The gypsy said, "I can tell you about your son, for you know my people can not only read the past and the future, but can see into the other world and tell what is going on there."
"Oh," cried Fatima, springing up. "Can you give me some word of my son? Where is he? How is he? Is he happy? Is he well? How old is he?" And she stopped crying, and danced, laughing, about the room in expectation of hearing about her dear lost Ali.
Then the cunning old Chingana said, "I see your son. He is now about twelve years old. He is not well. He is very poor and hungry. If any one should give him one piece of bread, he would be so glad that he would jump ten times for joy. He is lying down, faint and weak, wanting food; but if you will give me food I will carry it to him, and soon he will be well and strong."
Then the mother and daughter made themselves very busy preparing food to send by the Chingana woman to little Ali. Fatima hurried out to the shop to buy nuts and fruit. The mother brought some saddle-bags, which they packed with bread and all kinds of delicacies. They also put in clothes that they thought a twelve-year-old boy could wear.
By the time that all was ready the saddle-bags were so heavy that the Chingana said she could not carry them. She was very cunning, and as she had entered the house she had seen a fine horse standing in its stall at the side of the house. This horse belonged to Fatima's brother. The old woman said, "Have you not a horse that you could lend me to ride upon to carry the saddle-bags to your Ali, for he is suffering, and I should hasten to bear your presents to him?"
"Yes, yes," cried Fatima and her mother. "We have a horse," and they hurried to lead forth the horse to the front of the house. The saddle-bags were placed on the horse, and the old woman mounted and rode away.
