y. I sank down among
the roots regardless of the slime and watched the crocodile crawl
deliberately away, with the gallant little dog retreating before him,
keeping up a succession of angry barks.

When I arrived at the mouth of the creek, weak, faint, and covered
from head to foot with mud, I found the Chief Justice awaiting me. The
barking of the dog had attracted his attention and he had steamed up
to see what was the matter.

I had not strength left to stroke the head of the brave little fellow
who had thus twice done me a most welcome service. I had, indeed, but
just strength enough to spring in, throw myself down on the cushions,
and let my "boys" pull off my clothes and bring me a suit of clean
pajamas and cool grass slippers.

A NEW YEAR'S DAY IN MALAYA

And some of its Picturesque Customs

My Malay syce came close up to the veranda and touched his brown
forehead with the back of his open hand.

"Tuan" (Lord), he said, "have got oil for harness, two one-half
cents; black oil for cudah's (horse) feet, three cents; oil, one cent
one-half for bits; oil, seven cents for cretah (carriage). Fourteen
cents, Tuan."

I put my hands into the pockets of my white duck jacket and drew out
a roll of big Borneo coppers.

The syce counted out the desired amount, and handed back what was left
through the bamboo chicks, or curtains, that reduced the blinding
glare of the sky to a soft, translucent gray. I closed my eyes and
stretched back in my long chair, wondering vaguely at the occasion
that called for such an outlay in oils, when I heard once more the
quiet, insistent "Tuan!" I opened my eyes.

"No got red, white, blue ribbon for whip."

"Sudah chukup!" (Stop talking) I commanded angrily. The syce shrugged
his bare shoulders and gave a hitch to his cotton sarong.

"Tuan, to-morrow New Year Day. Tuan, mem (lady) drive to
Esplanade. Governor, general, all white tuans and mems there. Tuan
Consul's carriage not nice. Shall syce buy ribbons?"

"Yes," I answered, tossing him the rest of the coppers, "and get a
new one for your arm."

I had forgotten for the moment that it was the 31st of December. The
syce touched his hand to his forehead and salaamed.

Through the spaces of the protecting chicks I caught glimpses of
my Malay kebun, or gardener, squatting on his bare feet, with his
bare knees drawn up under his armpits, hacking with a heavy knife at
the short grass. The mottled crotons, the yellow allam