The
Caliph lifted up his foot to stroke his beard in astonishment, but
found a long bill in its place.
"By the beard of the Prophet, since I have not one of my own to swear
by, but we are a pretty pair of birds, Mansor!"
"If I may say so, your Highness, you are equally handsome as a
stork as when you were a Caliph," replied the Vizier. "I see our two
relations are conversing over there; shall we join them?"
When they came near to where the storks were smoothing their
feathers and touching bills in the most friendly manner, this was the
conversation they overheard, "Will you have some of my frog's legs for
breakfast, Dame Yellowlegs?" "No, thank you; I am obliged to practise
a dance for my father's guests, and cannot eat." Thereupon Dame
Yellowlegs stepped out, and began to pose most gracefully. The Caliph
and the Vizier watched her, until she stood on one foot and spread
her wings; then they both, at the same time, burst into such peals of
laughter that the two storks flew away.
Suddenly, however, the Vizier ceased his mirth, and commenced bowing
to the east. The Caliph recovered himself and did the same, but
neither could think of the magic word.
"Mansor, just recall that unholy word, and I will become Caliph once
more, and you my Grand Vizier.
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