He was not a warrior, or I should have hated him, but he was brought up with me in my father's house, and was a near relative.

I was grave and full of pride, he was gay and fond of music; and although there was no music to me equal to the tom-tom, yet I did not always wish for excitement.

I often was melancholy, and then I liked to lay my head in the lap of one of my wives, under the shady forest behind my house, and listen to his soft music.

At last he went to a town near us where his father lived, and as he departed I gave him gold-dust.

He had been sent to my father to be formed into a warrior, but he had no strength of body, and he had no soul; still I loved him, because he was not like myself.