"Where
is your home? What is your name?"
He told them pleasantly, but they laughed at his country way of
speaking and mimicked his pronunciation.
"Yalilean! Yalilean!" they cried. "You can't task. Can you play?
Come and play with us."
So they played together. First, they had a mimic wedding-procession.
Then they made believe that the bridegroom was killed by a robber,
and they had a mock funeral. The Boy took always the lowest part.
He was the hired mourner who followed the body, wailing; he was the
flute-player who made music for the wedding-guests to dance to.
So readily did he enter into the play that the children at first were
pleased with him. But they were not long contented with anything.
Some of them would dance no more for the wedding; others would
lament no more for the funeral. Their caprices made them quarrelsome.
"Yalilean fool," they cried, "you play it all wrong. You spoil the
game. We are tired of it. Can you run? Can you throw stones?"
So they ran races; and the Boy, trained among the hills, outran
the others.
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