"But how will you begin it?" asked Mohammed. "I should like to do
so, too."

"I don't know yet," replied the boy, carelessly; "it will depend
upon how I succeed in recommending myself to a bey with my
horsemanship and sword. One thing I can tell you, if I once become a
Mameluke, I shall rise. In case you should hear of me some day, in
case my celebrity should reach even this desolate rock, I will tell
you my name. My name is Osman, and in mockery, because I served a
nobleman, they added bey to it. But I tell you, I will make of the
name given me in derision a real title! If you hear of me some day,
I shall be called Osman Bey in earnest."

"I will tell you my name, too," said Mohammed, proudly, "and if you
ever hear of me, you shall know that you once met me here upon the
beach. My name is Mohammed Ali, and I am Ibrahim Aga's son. I am a
freeman, you must know, and have never bowed my head beneath the
yoke of another! Remember my name, little Osman, and, if Allah wills
it, you shall hear of me someday. My name is Mohammed Ali."

He nodded to the boy contemptuously, and walked off.

Osman laughed, and cried after him:

"You will probably hear of me first, you bold boy, you beggar-
prince! I shall probably never hear of the beggar-prince, Mohammed
Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga, but of me you shall hear, you silly lad!
Don't forget my name: I am called Osman Bey."

If they both could now have known the future! If a prophet had