his hands thrust into the pockets of his coat. Poor father! He was going to his work, as was his habit in the early morning and in the afternoon of every day. Rain and snow did not mean even a temporary excuse from work, or from the twenty minutes' walk to reach the office. With what words would his only son — his hope in life — say to him: "I have been expelled from school"?

•

"Thank God — I am free at last." Ahmad drew a deep breath, and threw himself violently onto his bed. All the household was asleep — all except Ahmad.

"I am a coward. I am a coward..." He sprang from his bed and began pacing the floor of the room, nervous and agitated.

"Why did I not face my father with the truth? Why? Why was I too cowardly to speak? And how did I dare look into his eyes as he said to me before he slept — Good night, Ahmad — good!! Ha... what a good night indeed. I, who was the victim, who offered myself as a ransom for my comrades. I, who tried at every moment of my life to be a model of perfection. I do not remember ever wronging a human being. I — I am no longer Ahmad, that model student, in the eyes of people. But... is God not pleased with me? Am I not pleased with myself? No

— perhaps I am not? No, no — I do not know."

Suddenly he stopped pacing, and his right hand clenched inside his pocket. What was there?

He drew out his hand, and behold, it held the great trust the principal had handed him at the start of the school year, saying: "I know, Ahmad, that you are the best one to take charge of the library, and the best one to know the value of a book. Here are the keys. And my wishes for your success." A new worry — one that would force him to go back to the school, to return the trust to the one who had handed it to him.

"What wretched luck! Facing my father is a thousand times easier than facing the principal. And

what would my father do? He flares up; he may punish me and threaten me. But the principal — if only he would do something of the kind. He does not flare up, he does not rage; he only looks at me with those calm, deep eyes of his, and his glances pierce to the depths of my soul.

O Lord, what have I done, to be tormented with this torment? I meant well, and I met with misery."

•

Gandhi!!!

Yes — it was Gandhi. There he was, gazing with his merciful, deep eyes; and his lips — no doubt they were smiling, as usual.

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