The next morning, Wali Dad rose before dawn. "Goodby, old hut," 
     he said. "I will never see you again." 
          The old grass-cutter started down the road. But he had not gone 
     far, when he heard a voice. 
          "Where are you going, Wali Dad?" 
          He turned and saw two radiant ladies. He knew at once they were 
     peris from Paradise. 
          Wali Dad sank to his knees and cried, "I am a stupid old man! Let 
     me go my way. I cannot face my shame!" 
          "No shame can come to such as you," said one of the peris. 
     "Though your clothes are poor, in your heart you are a King." 
          The peri touched him on the shoulder. To his amazement, he saw 
     his rags turn to fine clothes. A jeweled turban sat on his head. The 
     rusty sickle at his waist was now a gleaming scimitar. 
          "Return, Wali Dad," said the other peri. "All is as it should 
     be." 
          Wali Dad looked behind him. Where his hut had been, a splendid 
     palace sparkled in the rising sun. In shock, he turned to the peris, 
     but they had vanished.