know now what the storm is. It is fireworks, Allah's fireworks!"
"Fireworks—foolishness!" I exclaimed peevishly; for I was sorely hurt at the idea of her being on equal terms with me before God. "God is not frivolous—He does not want any fireworks. He is vastly busy watching the world, and guiding the destinies of the human race."
"Why should He watch and guide?" Djimlah said proudly. "He knows everything from the beginning; for He writes it on the foreheads of people. My destiny is written here," she pointed to her forehead, "and yours is written there." She tapped my forehead.
I hated her, and crossly pushed her finger from my forehead.
"He doesn't," I cried, "for He leaves us free to choose whether we shall be brave or cowardly, whether we shall do good or evil."
She laughed derisively. "A nice kind of a father you would make of Him—taking no more care of us than that. But do stop arguing and watch the storm. Isn't it glorious?"
Indeed the lightning over the Asiatic side of Turkey was wonderful. The storm had worked its way over there, and the rain had followed, leaving our side of the coast clear. Right above us a yellowish cloud tore open and disclosed the sun. Djimlah greeted him with delight. She extended her little arms up toward him, crying:
