The Big Fisherman by Lloyd C. Douglas Page A

important guest. And Fara clapped her hands with delight.
    'I would give much for that knowledge,' said Zendi soberly.
    'It's easy, sire,' said Fara.
    When he left, shortly afterward, Fara walked beside him in the paddock.
    He took her small hand. The old master of the stables led forward a beautiful roan gelding. Fara's eyes shone.
    'How do you like my new horse, Fara?' asked the King as he gathered up the reins.
    'Prosphilay!' murmured Fara reverentially, patting the gelding's glossy shoulder. 'Prosphilay hippos!'
    'What did you say?' demanded the King.
    'Lovely!' said Fara. 'Lovely horse!'
    Zendi chuckled and swung himself into the saddle.
    'Kai megaleios hippikos!' ventured Fara coyly.
    'And what does that mean?' the King wanted to know.
    Fara shrugged a pretty shoulder, gave an enigmatic smile, and made a graceful curtsey. Zendi waved a hand and rode away. It was evident that Fara's final remark—whatever it meant—was complimentary.
    After that the tribesmen were often amused to see their King cantering alongside Princess Arnon's pretty child, evidently engaged in serious conversation. One day, after a visit to Petra, Zendi presented his young preceptress with an armful of scrolls which he had bought. Ione, on her knees, laid them out in a row on the rug and caressed them with worshipful hands, murmuring, 'Thaumasia! Thaumasia!' To have such a rich library—it was indeed wonderful! Marvellous!
    As for Fara's early knowledge of her origin, she had been contented with the explanation that her father was a Prince who had been required to leave them that he might perform his duties as the ruler of a faraway country. Now that she was asking for a little more information, Arnon would talk of the great cities in which she had lived with Fara's father, carefully avoiding any mention of her unhappiness.
    'Will my father ever visit us?' Fara had asked wistfully.
    'He would find it difficult,' Arnon had replied; and this was the exact truth. 'Great rulers,' she went on, 'have many cares.'
    'But—does he not care—at all—for us?'
    'A ruler's life, my dear, is not his own. His only concern is for the welfare of his country.' Arnon despised herself for what, in this case, was a ridiculous lie; but felt that it was an easy way out of a painful discussion. The time would come soon enough, she knew, when the whole matter would have to be faced; but she hoped to postpone it as long as possible.
    Fara was beginning to be aware of her loneliness and singularity. She was nearing ten and growing very restless. She needed companions of her own age. It had been a long time since Kitra had brought Voldi along when she came to visit. One day Fara ventured to inquire how he was.
    'Oh—that boy!' exclaimed Kitra, busying herself with her needlework. 'He thinks he is quite a man now. Growing so fast; tall as I am. You know how boys of that age are, Fara. They don't want to play with girls. All they think about is their horses—and hunting dogs—and archery—and fencing.' Her eyes slid past Fara to Arnon. 'You may be glad Fara is a girl. I never have a peaceful moment when Voldi is riding that unruly horse of his!'
    'Fara rides too,' said Arnon quietly.
    'Yes—I know,' said Kitra. 'And Fara rides very well indeed!'
    Then the talk veered off to another topic and Fara strolled away to her own room. She languidly took up the little tapestry on which she had been investing oddments of unoccupied time. Ione joined her. They sat in silence for awhile, Ione exasperatingly tranquil, Fara recklessly stabbing her needle into the stiff fabric.
    'Don't you ever feel penned in, Ione?' The tapestry sailed across the room and landed on the bed. 'How does it feel to be a slave?' Fara went on savagely, as if she meant to offend. 'If I were a slave, I'd run away! Why don't you?'
    'Where would I run to?' asked Ione, blinking back the tears, for Fara's rudeness had hurt.
    'You could go home,' gruffly.
    'But—this is my home, dear; same as it is