‘Is that Dschemil?' asked the mother when he knocked softly.

‘Yes, it is.'

‘And have you found her?'

‘Yes, and I have brought her to you.'

‘Oh, where is she? let me see her!' cried the mother.

‘Here, behind me,' answered Dschemil.

But when the poor woman caught sight of her daughter, she
shrieked, and exclaimed, ‘Are you making fun of me? When did I
ever give birth to an ass?'

‘Hush!' said Dschemil, ‘it is not necessary to let the whole
world know! And if you look at her body, you will see two scars
on it.'

‘Mother,' sobbed Dschemila, ‘do you really not know your own
daughter?'

‘Yes, of course I know her.'

‘What are her two scars then?'

‘On her thigh is a scar from the bite of a dog, and on her breast
is the mark of a burn, where she pulled a lamp over her when she
was little.'