The Big Fisherman by Lloyd C. Douglas Page B

yours.'
    'Nonsense!' muttered Fara. 'You can't be contented here any more than I can! This place stifles me! Sometimes I think I'll jump out of my skin!'
    'Your mother would be very sorry, Fara, if she heard you say such things,' reproved Ione.
    'Well, she won't,' declared Fara. 'But'—suddenly dejected—'I had to say it to somebody. Please forgive me.'
    'Of course,' murmured Ione, quick to understand. 'It's natural for children of your age to be restless. You're growing so fast that the encampment isn't big enough to hold you. You will get over that when you are older.'
    Fara crossed the room, flung herself down on her bed, and lacing her fingers behind her head, stared at the blue ceiling.
    'Wouldn't you like to see something besides sheep?' she mumbled, mostly to herself. 'And go to some place where they talked about other things than the price of camels—and how are we going to find enough grass? Wouldn't you like to live in a great house—in a great city?'
    'No, dear,' replied Ione, when some rejoinder seemed necessary. 'I have done that. I'm quite satisfied to be here—where I am, in these beautiful mountains.'
    'Maybe I should be satisfied too,' admitted Fara. 'I wish I was like other people. There's something wrong with me, Ione,' she exclaimed impulsively. 'I'm different! And I hate it!'
    It was not until she was eleven that Fara learned how and why she was different. She came by accident upon the soul-sickening truth about her father's perfidy and her mother's incurable unhappiness and her own defenceless position as a half-breed. She had ridden with Arnon, that midsummer afternoon, to the King's encampment. Zendi was absent on a tour of the eastern tribes. Rennah and Arnon lounged in the Queen's suite while Fara and the spoiled young Prince Deran strolled about indifferently inspecting the kennels and stables.
    Tiring of this entertainment and agreeing that the sun was too hot, the children returned to the spacious living quarters, where Deran, eager to impress his guest, led the way into the huge, high-vaulted tent which was set apart for the exclusive use of the King and his Councillors. With a boyish swagger, Deran stalked about, explaining the various appointments. Having casually seated himself in the King's massive chair, he invited Fara to do the same. He wouldn't think, he said, of letting anyone else sit there. Fara smiled prettily to show her appreciation. Thus encouraged, Deran led her around the ancient table, declaiming what he knew about the symbolic carvings, and—in a hushed voice—called her attention to the impressive documents which lay waiting official action.
    Fara, who had come to have deep respect for ancient crafts and historical writings, gave full attention to the table and its important freight.
    'You mustn't touch anything,' cautioned Deran.
    Fara shook her head and continued to survey the awesome documents with fascination. Presently she came upon a slightly faded, multi-coloured sheet of papyrus which she read, with widening eyes and mounting comprehension. Deran, a little younger but much taller, stood at her shoulder, staring in bewilderment at her flushed cheek. She turned abruptly toward him, searching his face, but he gave no sign of knowing or caring what tiresome thing she had been reading.
    When they arrived home shortly before sunset, Fara followed Arnon into her bedroom, impulsively reported what she had seen in the King's tent, and entreated her mother to tell her everything, which she did. Everything!—the alliance, the marriage, the lonely days in Jerusalem, the humiliating days in Rome! All the pent-up wretchedness of Arnon's ruined life poured forth, accompanied by a flood of tears. When the sad, sordid story was finished, the unhappy Princess dried her eyes and was surprised to find that Fara, instead of sharing her mother's grief, was standing there dry-eyed, with her childish mouth firmed into a straight line and her brows contracted into an expression of