But Rhamon had never been inside one of the big Mosques where Mohammedans go to pray. So when Friday came his uncle took him with him. All about the Mosque were beggars and cripples and blind people, and many with things to sell. Holding his uncle's hand, Rhamon passed through the splendid entrance, all covered with tiny blue, green, and orange stones.
In the courtyard were many people, some saying their prayers, others washing themselves. Rhamon and his uncle left their slippers beside a pool and like all the others bathed their faces and arms, then chests and feet. They must be clean before they prayed. Rhamon gazed up at the great dome sparkling in the sunlight and the high slender towers capped in gleaming gold.
"Soon," his uncle told him, "the Muezzin will come out on the top of one of those towers and you will hear him calling the faithful to their prayers."
It was as his uncle had said. While they stood there a tiny figure appeared high up on the
