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journey, he never thought of refusing to go.
    He whistled softly, and a few young goats grazing nearby came up and pushed their noses into his lap. He suddenly knew he loved them and would be sorry to leave them. He wondered when he would see them again, and for the first time he began to think about his own future, as well as Kinza’s. He certainly could not come back for a long time. His stepfather would be much too angry.
    He led them home early that evening and sat quietly down beside his mother and Rahma, who were busy spinning wool. Both were working hard because Fatima was sitting by watching, and neither spoke when Hamid joined them.
    Hamid’s young heart ached. Except when his mother had gone on the five days’ pilgrimage to the tomb, he had never spent a night in his life away from her. Now he must leave her for a long time. Her silent love flowed out to him, comforting and strengthening him.
    The evening dragged on and the light faded. Tonight everything felt different. For the first time in his life,Hamid was not hungry when the family gathered around the supper bowl, but he forced himself to eat in case Si Mohamed should notice. Then without a word he went out and lay down by the door and waited, battling with his fears and thoughts until his stepfather had lain down and the moon had risen.
    He watched his stepfather fall asleep at last, and listened until his breathing became heavy and regular. Yes, he was sleeping deeply, snoring in his dreams. Only a little longer now. Hamid crept to the edge of the mattress and waited, with his eyes fixed on the mountain. On silent feet he stepped through the doorway and slipped behind the granary.
    The old dog cocked its ear and rattled its chain, and Hamid held his breath. If the dog should bark, the whole plan would be ruined. He flung himself down beside it, burying his face in its mangy coat, fondling its ears, and wordlessly begging it to be silent. It turned its large head and licked the child’s face, puzzled but loyal.
    So he crouched waiting, with his arms around the dog’s neck, listening for his mother. He jumped when she appeared with Kinza in her arms.
    In complete silence she tied Kinza to his back. The baby wondered what was happening, but, trusting them completely, she laid her head down on her brother’s shoulder and fell fast asleep again. Then Zohra tied two loaves of bread on his other shoulder, took both his hands in hers and kissed them. He in turn pressed her fingers to his lips and clung to her for a moment. Then she gently sent him on his way and stood watching as he passed through the gate.Not a word had passed between them. Then, content with what she had done, she went back to her hut— to the empty cradle and the anger of her husband. And Hamid, like a small boat cut loose from its moorings and swept out into unknown seas, set off along the moonlit path.

Adventures on the Way

    U phill, downhill, along the river path, Hamid trudged on, becoming more and more exhausted. Kinza seemed to weigh heavier and heavier on his back. He remembered all he had left behind—his mother, Rahma, the thatched hut and charcoal fire, the goats, and the dog with the torn ear. He felt afraid of the unknown he was walking toward, but he knew he must keep going.
    At last, exhausted, he reached a cornfield and, hiding himself and Kinza among the tall stalks, they fell asleep. Kinza woke before Hamid and, crawling out from the prickly cornstalks, she started to explore. She heard the sound of a grindstone and, with a cry of delight, she toddled toward it. Grindstones meant mother—and food and shelter and comfort.
    A woman sitting at the door of her hut heard the cry and looked up. She could hardly believe her eyes! Coming toward her was the strangest little figure she had ever seen—a tiny child in a cotton gown, her outstretched hands groping, her face lifted to the light. Her black, tangled curls had straw sticking out all over them like a halo.
    Kinza