and the nights became colder and longer. There were no more tourists in the hotel now, so there were no cars to watch and no luggage to carry. The boys often begged for money or scraps at rich people’s houses. Life became hard and uncertain. The only comfort that could really be depended on was supper at the house of the English nurse.
She lit a charcoal fire for them these nights and let them in early. They would troop across her hall, leaving a trail of black footprints on the tiles, their rags dripping. Then they would huddle around the glowing coals to warm their blue fingers, and gradually their teeth would stop chattering.
Clothes were a great problem. The wind and rain pierced and rotted their rags, and Hamid wondered just how much longer his flimsy summer gown would hold together. He did not know what he would do when it finally fell to pieces. Some of his friends hadbegged or stolen sacks, but Hamid had not been so lucky.
Kinza, on the other hand, had no clothes problem. She always went shopping with the English nurse, and Hamid often saw her waddling across the market on legs that had grown amazingly fat and sturdy during the past two months. Over her clean gown she wore a red woolly jersey and a little brown cloak. She had rubber shoes on her feet and a woolly hood over her dark curls. She looked the picture of health and happiness, and Hamid, edging up as close as possible, felt very proud of her.
The rain was pouring down one night when the children splashed their way up the cobbles and hammered on the door of their refuge. They shook themselves on the step like wet little dogs and surged forward toward the fire, puffing and blowing and sniffing. The English nurse felt especially sorry for them, for she thought she had never seen them look so wretched and sad. Yet they lifted their merry, cheeky faces to her and their dark eyes were still bright. She marveled at their courage.
But there was one well-known little figure missing, and this was the second night he had not turned up—an undersized shrimp of a boy who had come regularly for months.
“Where is Abd-el-Khader?” the nurse asked.
“He can’t come,” replied one child in a careless voice. “His rags fell right to pieces, and he hasn’t a father. He has nothing to wear at all, and he must stay at home till his mother can save enough to buy a sugar sack.”
No one seemed to care or seemed surprised, and the evening passed as usual. But when supper was finished the nurse turned to Hamid, who always lingered to the last. “Do you know where Abd-el-Khader lives?” she asked.
Hamid nodded. “Up at the top of the town by the prickly-pear hedges,” he replied, “but the path is like a muddy river. You could not go there tonight.”
“I think I could,” said the nurse, “and if you would like to earn a little money, you can take me there.”
Hamid nodded enthusiastically. He liked Abd-el-Khader. He waited at the bottom of the stairs while the nurse went upstairs to sort out some old clothes, and while he waited, his bright eyes roamed around the house. He had never been left alone before, and he found it very interesting. He poked his nose into the room on the left and found himself in a little kitchen. On one shelf stood a china bowl of eggs, just low enough for him to help himself.
Hamid hesitated. He could not count, but perhaps the nurse could and would notice if he took two. On the other hand, raw eggs sucked through a little hole in the top were delicious, and Hamid had not tasted one for a long time. He decided it was worth the risk. If he waited outside the door, the nurse would never see in the darkness. Even if she noticed later, she would not be able to prove it was him.
So he took an egg in each hand, slipped out into the street, and stood waiting in the dark. Soon the nurse appeared with a bundle and a key, and, what Hamid had not bargained for, a powerful flashlight.
“Come along,” said the nurse, turning on
She lit a charcoal fire for them these nights and let them in early. They would troop across her hall, leaving a trail of black footprints on the tiles, their rags dripping. Then they would huddle around the glowing coals to warm their blue fingers, and gradually their teeth would stop chattering.
Clothes were a great problem. The wind and rain pierced and rotted their rags, and Hamid wondered just how much longer his flimsy summer gown would hold together. He did not know what he would do when it finally fell to pieces. Some of his friends hadbegged or stolen sacks, but Hamid had not been so lucky.
Kinza, on the other hand, had no clothes problem. She always went shopping with the English nurse, and Hamid often saw her waddling across the market on legs that had grown amazingly fat and sturdy during the past two months. Over her clean gown she wore a red woolly jersey and a little brown cloak. She had rubber shoes on her feet and a woolly hood over her dark curls. She looked the picture of health and happiness, and Hamid, edging up as close as possible, felt very proud of her.
The rain was pouring down one night when the children splashed their way up the cobbles and hammered on the door of their refuge. They shook themselves on the step like wet little dogs and surged forward toward the fire, puffing and blowing and sniffing. The English nurse felt especially sorry for them, for she thought she had never seen them look so wretched and sad. Yet they lifted their merry, cheeky faces to her and their dark eyes were still bright. She marveled at their courage.
But there was one well-known little figure missing, and this was the second night he had not turned up—an undersized shrimp of a boy who had come regularly for months.
“Where is Abd-el-Khader?” the nurse asked.
“He can’t come,” replied one child in a careless voice. “His rags fell right to pieces, and he hasn’t a father. He has nothing to wear at all, and he must stay at home till his mother can save enough to buy a sugar sack.”
No one seemed to care or seemed surprised, and the evening passed as usual. But when supper was finished the nurse turned to Hamid, who always lingered to the last. “Do you know where Abd-el-Khader lives?” she asked.
Hamid nodded. “Up at the top of the town by the prickly-pear hedges,” he replied, “but the path is like a muddy river. You could not go there tonight.”
“I think I could,” said the nurse, “and if you would like to earn a little money, you can take me there.”
Hamid nodded enthusiastically. He liked Abd-el-Khader. He waited at the bottom of the stairs while the nurse went upstairs to sort out some old clothes, and while he waited, his bright eyes roamed around the house. He had never been left alone before, and he found it very interesting. He poked his nose into the room on the left and found himself in a little kitchen. On one shelf stood a china bowl of eggs, just low enough for him to help himself.
Hamid hesitated. He could not count, but perhaps the nurse could and would notice if he took two. On the other hand, raw eggs sucked through a little hole in the top were delicious, and Hamid had not tasted one for a long time. He decided it was worth the risk. If he waited outside the door, the nurse would never see in the darkness. Even if she noticed later, she would not be able to prove it was him.
So he took an egg in each hand, slipped out into the street, and stood waiting in the dark. Soon the nurse appeared with a bundle and a key, and, what Hamid had not bargained for, a powerful flashlight.
“Come along,” said the nurse, turning on
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