“Yes, yes—but in the devil’s name, where is the cleaver? Since Karl went away I have to do all the work, and that makes our meals very late.”      

       “Did the old man remain with the young girls?” asked Morok.     

       Goliath, amazed that, notwithstanding his importunities, his master should still appear to neglect the animals’ supper, regarded the Prophet with an increase of stupid astonishment.     

       “Answer, you brute!”      

       “If I am a brute, I have a brute’s strength,” said Goliath, in a surly tone, “and brute against brute, I have not always come the worst off.”      

       “I ask if the old man remained with the girls,” repeated Morok.     

       “Well, then—no!” returned the giant. “The old man, after leading his horse to the stable, asked for a tub and some water, took his stand under the porch—and there—by the light of a lantern—he is washing out clothes. A man with a gray moustache!—paddling in soap-suds like a washerwoman—it’s as if I were to feed canaries!”        added Goliath, shrugging his shoulders with disdain. “But now I’ve answered you, master, let me attend to the beasts’ supper,”—and, looking round for something, he added, “where is the cleaver?”      

       After a moment of thoughtful silence, the Prophet said to Goliath, “You will give no food to the beasts this evening.”      

       At first the giant could not understand these words, the idea was so incomprehensible to him.     

       “What is your pleasure, master?” said he.     

       “I forbid you to give any food to the beasts this evening.”      

       Goliath did not answer, but he opened wide his squinting eyes, folded his hands, and drew back a couple of steps.     

       “Well, dost hear me?” said Morok, with impatience. “Is it plain enough?”      

       “Not feed? when our meat is there, and supper is already three hours after time!” cried Goliath, with ever-increasing amazement.     

       “Obey, and hold your tongue.”      

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