Star of Light by Patricia M. St. John Read Free Book Online Page A

doughnuts in a deep stone trough of oil. He was obviously busy, having to do everything himself, and this had put him in a bad temper, for he was muttering and growling to himself.
    Hamid suddenly had an idea. Drawing as near as he could to that delicious smell, and being desperate with hunger, he boldly walked up to the man and asked him if he needed an assistant.
    The man looked him up and down. His usual boy had not turned up that morning, and Sillam, the doughnut-maker, was prepared to accept help from the first boy who came along. He opened the woodenbarrier and beckoned Hamid inside. Sillam did not recognize the boy and did not know whether or not he was a thief.
    “Take the bellows,” he said, “and blow up this fire, and if I find you helping yourself to anything that doesn’t belong to you, the police station is across the street!”
    Hamid squatted down and began to blow. He did not feel very well; it was very hot, and the leaping flames scorched his face. Many little boys before him had been unable to stand the heat. At last he heard his master’s voice say, “Enough,” and he staggered to his feet, dizzy and flushed.
    “Now stand there and thread the doughnuts onto the blades of grass,” said Sillam. Hamid worked quickly enough, burning his fingers a little, but not minding much because he was too hungry to think about anything else except the pains inside his stomach. But he did notice that quite a crowd of tattered, grimy little boys were watching him closely. He realized that somehow, before long, he would have to say who he was.
    He had worked for about two hours when the master suddenly said, “Have you had any breakfast?”
    “No,” said Hamid, “and no supper last night, either.”
    Sillam handed him a couple of hot, golden doughnuts. With a sigh of relief, Hamid bit into the first one. It was wonderful. But the dark eyes of the little boys watching him suddenly became hostile. They were hungry, too, and this stranger was taking a jobthey wanted.
    Doughnuts were a breakfast food, and the shop shut at midmorning. The master told Hamid he had worked well and could return early the next day. Then he gave him a small coin, and Hamid, feeling like a king, strutted across the market to decide how to spend it. He noticed a pile of sticky green sweets and longed to buy one for Kinza. But Kinza probably no longer needed green sweets. Perhaps she had forgotten all about him already. He suddenly felt sad, and decided to stop thinking about it and turn his attention to the baker’s shop.
    A voice at his side suddenly said, “Who are you?” He turned to see a little boy about his own age, with a shaved, spotted head, dressed in a dirty white gown. A strange little figure, but his dark eyes were bright and intelligent, and he looked at Hamid in quite a friendly way.
    Hamid faced him shyly. “I’m from the country,” he replied.
    “Why have you come to town?”
    “To find work.”
    “Where are your mother and father?”
    “Dead.”
    “Where do you live?”
    “In the street.”
    The little boy, whose name was Ayashi, nodded approvingly. “I too,” he said cheerfully, “have no mother, and my father has gone to the mountains. I too live in the streets. We all do. Now, buy us a loaf of bread with the money the master gave you, and give us each a piece. Then you shall be one of us andwe will show you where we go for supper at night.”
    His confident voice and cheerful acceptance of his homelessness fascinated Hamid. “You shall be one of us” were wonderful words. Hamid bought his loaf quickly and spent the change on a handful of black, bitter olives. Then he followed his new friend to the eucalyptus tree in the middle of the square, where the gang squatted in the shade. He handed over the food to be divided up, and they fell upon it eagerly.
    Hamid, with his portion, sat a little apart through shyness, but although no one said thank you, the gift had done its work. From that day onward he was